Code Girls: the Book and the Mom

My brother highly recommended that I read Code Girls: The Untold Story of the American Women Code Breakers of World War II, by Liza Mundy. He suggested this as a must-read shortly after it was published in 2017. I'm finally listening to it now, in 2021. It's a good thing that books wait for me.

This historical account is at times enthralling and at times tedious. We're talking about codes, and the details are difficult to absorb on the fly. But the real point of the book for my brother and now for me is that our mother volunteered for service during WWII, and she revealed many years later that she was part of a group that cracked the Japanese weather code. Whaaa? She suddenly announced this sometime in the 1960s, a good twenty years after the fact. We knew she had joined the WAVES during the early part of the war, and gone to basic training in Cedar Falls, Iowa, before taking a post in Norfolk, Virginia.

My memories of my mom are clouded by time and by the disability brought on by her stroke. She loved to bake bread and wild blackberry pies, lived each week by a strict schedule (Monday washing, Tuesday ironing, etc.), enjoyed writing letters, and had a positive outlook on life. Not very exciting, right? Except she was also a college graduate who decided to take the opportunity to get away from home by joining the Navy. Wild!

I wish that I had asked her to tell me all about her wartime experiences. Our dad didn't want to talk about his time in the Army, and maybe this made me assume that Mom didn't want to talk about her history. But, wow, if we could have read this book together, and looked at her old photos... or pondered which club she visited on this public transit route:

Mom's notes, written on envelope from a Tacoma photo shop

Well, the opportunity to talk with her is long past, but this book (and others) is right here. As always, Polo is listening with me. He didn't care much about sniffing these photos, but it always warms my heart to see Mom when she was young and happy.

Polo's review: Many people moved away from homes. Very crowded dormitories. They could have used the love of a few good dogs back there.

"C" is NOT for Cat -- Authors Whose Last Names Begin with C

I let my dog pick out books. Polo can’t actually read them, so I limit his search options to things we can download and listen to together. We're working our way slowly through the alphabet of authors, one letter at a time. Sometimes we listen to mysteries or realistic fiction, sometimes history or psychology or biography. We listen when we're relaxing, while we're cooking, when we're sewing or doing housework. Okay, actually, Polo doesn't cook or sew or do housework, but he's a pro at relaxing and listening to books with me. And then we do this little report to share our thoughts, one author-letter at a time. 

Monsters

I love football, although my one-word summary of this story is "profane" -- both in the sense of the language quoted in interviews and as a description of the game itself. Football is just now (maybe) beginning to get a little cleaner, a little less punishing in terms of players' lifetime health. This book replays the long history of football, from company and town teams to the NFL as we know it today. George Halas, longtime owner of the Chicago Bears, was the first coach to use an "eye in the sky" by having an assistant way up in the stands who could observe formations and send notes down to the field. In the 1980s, animosity between head coach Mike Ditka and defensive coordinator Buddy Ryan was legendary, yet together they led the team to win the 1986 Super Bowl. It was fun to hear about many players that I watched back then. They were hard-working athletes, if not the best role models. (Also available as a book.)

Polo's response: I like it when my humans watch football, because it keeps them at home with me. But it's bad when the Seahawks score, because there are very loud fireworks.

The Crow Trap

Detective Chief Inspector Vera Stanhope is a British version of Columbo, all messy and scattered and sly as a fox. It wasn't until we were halfway through this book that I realized that the BBC's Vera television series originated here. This particular novel involves three women taking an environmental inventory of a large plot of land slated for industrial development. Before they even arrive, there is a suicide. Then, as they're busily counting plants and mammals and birds, and maybe having a secret affair with a man from town, there's a murder -- and then another murder. Complex characters, tangled lives, scenic countryside, and a gripping story!  (Also available as an eBook, audiobook CD, or book.)

Polo gives this one two paws up. He dreams of running over hill and dale, looking for birds and otters.

The Orchardist

Wenatchee's apple country provides a beautiful, inspiring setting for this piece of historical fiction and the reader does a masterful job of taking you right into the orchard, the barn, the simple farmhouse. Life there has sharp edges, rocky ground, difficult relationships. From the mother who vanished, to young mothers-to-be who appear from out of nowhere, Talmadge is the lone constant with the fruit and the garden and the house. A hard story and beautiful at the same time, like the time and land in which it's set. (Other formats include eBook, audiobook CD, book, or pre-loaded audiobook.)

Polo's pause: Good men -- both the reader and the main character. This was a story I could really sink my teeth into.

The Invisible Gorilla

So, you think you're pretty smart? Especially observant? With an above-average memory? Then don't read this book. The authors devised a social experiment in the form of a video, instructing viewers to count the number of times a basketball was passed from one person to another. There was just enough distracting action in the scene that counting those passes took effort. But in the middle of the basketball activity, an actor in a gorilla suit walked in, pounded its chest, and walked off. Most people did not notice the gorilla. At all. Even though they were working hard to give full attention to the video, they missed seeing something big and unexpected -- because it was totally unexpected. This is just one example of a typical illusion of our abilities, and the whole book gives very interesting insight on basic human nature. (You may choose to read the book or eBook.)

Polo, being a dog, admits no "blind spots" of inattention or perception. [Note from Katharine: I won't mention the times I've seen rabbits along the trail, and he was busy looking up at squirrels in the tree. Please don't tell him I told you.]

Birds in my Hood

This has been an amazing spring for birdwatching. I've observed pairs of European collared doves, red-winged blackbirds, goldfinches, crows, sharp-shinned hawks, and a family or two of house finches -- all near my front porch feeder. (The hawks swung by to pick off a couple of those house finches while I was sitting quietly on the porch watching. Yikes!) And I have been privileged to listen to some barred owls, sometimes in my own back yard. Another yikes! Most of these birds were visible because I've been at home. A lot.

Once in a while, walks have been allowed. Yesterday, needing to get OUT, I went to a nearby natural area to walk and take photos of flowers and maybe birds. As it happens, the birds were out in force, and several of them posed for me. Yay!

Pretty sure I heard this Anna's hummingbird feeding her babies!

All right, not a bird -- but it was flying.

Just hanging out here, having a flicker moment.

Song sparrow in full-throated splendor.

Done! I'm outta here.

In plain sight!

Common yellowthroat kept chirping, but was hiding in the tree except for this one-second opportunity.

I didn't focus well, but I think this is a turkey vulture.

And now I can't remember what this towhee was saying...

"G" Authors -- Going to Work, Going Home, Going Criminal?

Author's note: A couple of years ago, my library system added blog posts to our website. Many of the posts were short collections of book reviews, often following a theme. I tried writing a few of these, but never felt like I could keep up with the thought-provoking themes of my librarian colleagues. It was a good challenge, a growth opportunity, and I was honored to have been selected to write for our site. After a few successes, and several wadded-up-and-thrown-in-the-trashcan failures, I realized that what I needed was my old writing partner to get me going again. Enter Polo! 

All of the books reviewed here are available as downloadable audiobooks.


Making Jack Falcone

Joaquin Garcia

A real-life story of the mob, crime, punishment, and maybe justice. Joaquin Garcia is a hulk of an FBI agent who was able to infiltrate one of the biggest crime families on the East Coast. There are scenes of violence, crude language, and every bit of illegal behavior you’d expect to find in a book on this subject. What was most surprising to us, though, was how Mr. Garcia (six feet four inches tall, weighing in at three hundred pounds or more) kept from being recognized over the course of several years and a handful of aliases.

Polo’s thoughts: “Apparently the Mafia doesn’t run Lab tests. One sniff would have sent them running from this ‘Jack Falcone’ guy. Woof!”

Sous Chef

Michael Gibney

Subtitle: 24 Hours on the Line

We picked up this one because one of our favorite people works in a dining establishment of multiple star rating (that is, a classy restaurant). Our person has told stories of stress and intensity, of being slammed with customers and of coworkers who don’t take their turns polishing silver or buffing the glassware. We wanted to see inside a kitchen, and this book gave us that view. Let the listener beware – very salty content.

Polo’s insight: “No wonder my man is exhausted on his days off! The noise and action is too much. I enjoy my kibbles in our own quiet house, thank you very much.”

Mrs. Pollifax Pursued

Dorothy Gilman

(narrated by Barbara Rosenblat)

We enjoy listening to Barbara Rosenblat, and Katharine read all of the Mrs. Pollifax books many years ago. The best thing about Mrs. Pollifax? She’s full of surprises! She dabbles in martial arts, travels extensively to obscure locations, keeps secrets, makes friends, and stirs up trouble while uncovering world-class villains. While she is utterly lovable, she is a force to be reckoned with – but the bad guys never suspect!

Polo’s perception: “Mrs. Pollifax seems like a cat – but a good one, sneaking up on bad guys. She’s all good!”

Camino Island

John Grisham

Although we usually skip bestselling authors (because their books are already in demand, it’s not like they need more publicity, and we like to suggest things that might not be on your radar), we had to choose another “old favorite” and go with Grisham. The story did not disappoint. Great setting, interesting characters, and a plot that is part mystery, part normal life.

Polo’s pondering: “There’s a dog here, but the dog doesn’t get to participate much except to walk on the beach. I like beach. Good story.”

The Stranger Game

Peter Gadol

Pick a stranger, follow them, but don’t let them see you, and see how far you can get away from your own humdrum life routines. The “game” goes from innocent to edgy to… murder??? For the duration of this audiobook, every time I (Katharine) was out alone somewhere, I was tempted to play the game myself. Who doesn’t want to watch, to imagine a story about a person, to throw yourself into an innocent but secret mission?

Polo’s regrets: “I watch people all the time, in front of my house. I’d follow them, too – but I would also bark to let them know I’m here. I’m always ready to play!”

Triggers

Marshall Goldsmith

Eye-opening reminder that I am not in absolute control of my reactions, habits, and go-to behaviors. That sounds harsh, but this author really is gentle. We all have personal triggers – tone of voice, physical tics, even childhood memories – that arouse anger or sadness, fear or compassion. The book is full of helpful advice and real-life examples of both good and not-so-good behavior. Goldsmith takes things to an extreme for himself – he suggests paying someone to be your accountability partner, calling them at the end of every day to rate yourself in a number of areas of concern. I guess that would be like a dieter doing a weigh-in, with an observer holding a clipboard and writing down every scale reading. You don’t have to follow every suggestion in this book, but you’ll probably find insight, encouragement, and challenge here. I did.

Polo’s response: “Squirrel? Trigger! Crow? Trigger! I must bark my loudest at every bad invader! Why would I want to change? Oh – you said dog biscuit? Play with toy? Well…”

The End of the Suburbs

Leigh Gallagher

Polo and I live in the suburbs. Very happily, we thought. But this study of “new urbanism” and other trends of residential life introduced us to different ideas (and ideals) of sustainability, walkability, and community. Descriptions of large, planned communities are appealing, in some ways, and made us reconsider the style of population density to which we are accustomed. Among our extended family, there are people who live right in the city and people who live more than five miles away from a small town, covering a range of lifestyle choices and opportunities. Very eye-opening to ponder the variety of situations that we in North America call home.

Polo’s observation: “I like my yard. I like my neighbor’s yard. I don’t like cars or buses or busy streets. I don’t even like neighbors walking on my part of the street. Woof!”

"A" is for Author -- Listening to Books with Polo, Letter by Letter

This material originally appeared on our library's website. I was fortunate to have been allowed to post book reviews there for a time. Please pardon the awkward formatting -- I'll try to fix it later. 

Sometimes I let my dog pick out books. Polo can’t actually read, so I limit his search options to things we can download and listen to together. I should warn you that Polo’s not a great fan of romance (too mushy), sci-fi (non-human creatures make him bark), or horror (he parks his 80 pounds of fear in my lap), but he enjoys a good mystery and a good all-around story. In order to keep track of new authors, we’re starting to move through the alphabet one letter at a time.

Here are our top three selections from authors whose last names begin with the letter A.

Adrenaline

This book opens with adrenaline, as the main character runs through his parkour workout in a half-constructed building in London. Leaping off one wall, scaling another, flying across gaps two stories high, grasping, clinging, propelling himself to the next ledge. The plot of the entire book follows these unpredictable twists and turns, from one danger to another. Part spy novel, part heartbreaking story of love lost, this was a great listen – and there’s a dog at the end! 

A Darkness Absolute

Way up north in Canada’s Yukon Territory is a secret town. Everyone who lives there has a deep, dark secret. Rockton is forbiddingly remote, a place for extreme witness protection. In deepest winter, the darkness is long and the suspense longer. When a resident takes off, it’s up to the local police force to find him before he freezes to death. But while searching for him, Detective Casey Duncan stumbles upon a woman being held in a cave. Who kidnapped her? How did they keep this secret? Will Casey and Chief Erik Dalton be able to prevent another kidnapping? Not only does this story provide chilling suspense, but Kelley Armstrong builds a fascinating community of characters whose company I missed when the book ended. Good thing there are more titles in this series, and Polo was thrilled about the big puppy who appears midway in this book. 

Thin Places

Skye’s mother disappeared after they were involved in a scary one-car accident. Although Skye was soon placed in a permanent foster home, she never felt like she belonged anywhere. Despite her emotional disconnect, Skye grows up and prepares to go away to college. The mystery of her mother’s disappearance finally begins to come out as Skye develops new friendships and opens up to a counselor. Can she ever have a relationship with her mother again? What happens to the fragile ties with her foster mom? If you haven’t yet read an “indie” book (produced by an independent publisher), try this one. (Although it's not available in audio formats, the book was short enough for me to read aloud with Polo.)

Epic Seattle Adventures, Part One

I had an unexpected opportunity to see a few of THE things to do in Seattle. Here are a few photos from our first stop -- the Space Needle! First time I've been up there since my son became a t**nager lo, those many years ago. (When my kids were adolescents, I vowed I would not say that particular four-letter word.)

Wheel Ferry Crane Port

it was kind of wet that day

"Rain Gets in Your Eyes"

it stopped raining for a while

fall colors

Sea plane! Sea plane! Landing on Lake Union

those hills are pretty marvelous way out there

the Stadia, and that remarkable red building

For authentication purposes, here's a self portrait from the glass-floored observation level. Sorry I didn't think to adjust the lighting, but this is obviously me. You can even see the tread on my left boot.

Hello? Hi? Is Anybody There?

Golly, when did the wallpaper get changed to this very innocuous light blue fluff? At least I fixed the text so it's black on white. More readable and all that, you know. I've learned a little about writing with accessibility on the Web.

So I've been paying a lot of attention to that daily time-stealing, friend-conversing, mainly-used-by-my-generation face thing. A lot of attention, as in, several years' worth of attention. One lonely blog post here last year. Yikes. I'm sorry! I think often about blogging, but it takes so much time and energy to write up and edit (and edit, and re-edit) multiple paragraphs here. Meanwhile, on that other platform, there are pretty pictures and greetings from friends and more pictures, and I can scroll through a hundred short pieces in an hour and feel as though I've caught up with my people.

But this blog thing has value. Sure, the posts really are short, and they're not deeply personal, but I can pretend that hundreds of kind strangers (or no one at all) will read and nod in understanding. Is there still a place for blogs any more? My, how quickly things change.

I'm blogging for work, though only occasionally. I'm supposed to be able to post book suggestions -- not reviews, exactly, because I don't think I should say that something is so awful that no one should pick it up. I wanted to do this because it's writing, and I'm a writer. (Being a writer, in this case, does not necessarily mean that anyone will choose to read my writings. But I like to write.) Once I got all trained and instructed in the professional aspects of writing for work, I did a few posts... and lost my motivation. Crickets.

Recently, however, I re-discovered my muse and became re-energized to blog again. My alter ego, my writer-side, was right there in front of me all the time. I just hadn't been looking to him for help, because this was supposed to be professional, you know, for my career, writing. This muse of mine, you see, has a sweet face, a black and pink mottled nose, and a long wagging tail. It's Polo. It's so much easier to imagine my dog's responses to things than to write my own highly edited thoughts. Polo is straightforward, honest, and only a little bit cynical about human nature. He's kind and witty. And he uses a simpler vocabulary than I can muster. (Another rule about writing for the work blog is to keep it very readable for English language learners. I don't mean to sound high-falutin' -- it just happens to be how the words fly off my fingers.)

So, I'm taking my dog to work these days, hoping he can get away with writing book stuff for me. We'll see how it goes. At least 30% of the blog posts on our website are read by fellow staff members, and everything is carefully reviewed as soon as it's published. If Polo isn't allowed on that blog, at least he can come back here to lend a paw regularly.

Thanks for checking in. I'll try to get back here more often. Mostly, I'll try to write. Somewhere. Like this guy on the side of a building at the University of Washington. Because he's been at it a long time, and he isn't finished yet.

"I hereby declare, on oath..."

It was a very long time ago, and no one now living was even a gleam in our forefathers' eyes. But some of my ancestors were on that boatload of people -- immigrants, refugees, sturdy dreamers -- who sailed on the Mayflower.

With all the talk about new people coming to America these days, I can't help but consider my family as immigrants. I'm sorry that my people maybe didn't treat their American hosts very well. That's hard to swallow. I'm grateful that we were able to stay, despite all that.

This week at work (yes, as part of my job!) I was privileged to attend a Naturalization Oath Ceremony. There were a couple of short welcoming speeches. There were 19 people from eight different homelands -- Bahrain, China, India, Korea, Lithuania, Romania, Russia, and Tanzania -- who stood to take the Oath of Citizenship. They pledged to renounce all prior national allegiances, and to take up arms or do whatever was legally required of them to defend their new country. I cried a little. When they sat down again, they were citizens of the United States of America. We joined another immigrant in singing our national anthem. I couldn't help but cry. One of the new citizens led us all in the Pledge of Allegiance. I cried some more. The ceremony was totally official and, for me, completely emotional. (I did not shed any tears during the cheesy inspirational videos. I will not be manipulated, after all!)

When my people landed here, there was no oath, no pledge, no anthem, no flag. Nor was there a city in which to find housing or a job. No established resettlement assistance. No national leader to whom they might appeal for refuge. They had to make things up as they went along, from scratch, and they must have made more than a few errors. But they made it, many of them, and even welcomed more refugees and pilgrims who came later.

There are so many, many stories of pain and loss and peril suffered by those who are new arrivals to the United States. And so many more people who are not yet here. Some of those stories are hard to hear, hard to even imagine.

I think it's my job to carry out acts of welcome and care. But I've been really busy, all my life, just living my life. What needs to change, how must I grow, to expand my personal horizons? That's scary. Already, though, I am supporting English language learning and Citizenship classes through my work at the library. My church reaches out to assist refugees in a variety of ways, and I have done small things to join these efforts. I can do some more.

For the Lord your God is the God of gods and the Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God who does not show partiality, nor take a bribe. He executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and shows His love for the alien by giving him food and clothing. So show your love for the alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt."

Highlights from the ceremony --

[The Beginning of] the Beginning of the Story

The whole "baby in the manger" thing has me thinking. What in the world are we supposed to do with an infant whose birth was heralded by angels, visited by sheep herders, lauded by wise travelers? It makes for a great story, except there's no closure at the end of our Christmas holiday. That Baby, no matter how special and holy, can't do anything. It's great that He came, but...

My dad used to travel for business, and he'd sometimes bring special gifts home. When he went to Alaska, he returned with photos and explanations of a large retaining wall for which his company had supplied the interlocking pieces. Oh, and jade necklaces for my mom and me. One of his early trips to the east side of the state, he witnessed tumbleweeds blowing across the highway. I was thrilled to take a real tumbleweed to school for show-and-tell! (Side note: I had to wrap it in newspaper so my classmates wouldn't guess what it was. Ha!) Looking back, I enjoyed the stories as much as the presents.

my completed moccasins were something like this

And then, on a jaunt to Arizona, he picked up a moccasin kit so I could stitch up my own slippers. No story, but something representative of the place. I loved the idea of having my own moccasins. But the kit, by itself, was only a beginning. It was what came after, the process of putting them together, that would make them useful. Only after that would I be able to wear them.

The baby in the manger is kind of like the moccasin kit. In order to really get something out of it -- Jesus, that is -- you have to involve yourself in a process. There's the first part of His story, understanding that His birth and His very existence is amazing. As an adult, He did things and told stories and taught lessons that should have our attention. But then... then there was the whole "end of story" part when He was killed -- but He could have gotten out of it. What? Yes, Jesus could have opted out, but He let them put Him to death as a religious criminal. And then, after He was proven to be dead, He was resurrected and reunited with His followers before returning to the right hand of God the Father. The point of all of this was to pay the penalties for all of our misdeeds, so that we could also be with Him forever.

So, celebrating the miraculous birth of the Baby is like opening that moccasin kit. It's exciting just to see this beginning, but there's much more to come if you carry it out to the end. Read and follow the instructions, as it were, to receive the real joy and fulfillment.

But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name, who were born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

Canyon Sunday

Here is a glimpse of what I was doing a couple of days ago. Had to drive home from a conference... chose to stop SO MANY times to take photos.

It impresses me that God didn't create a stagnant world. Those rock formations probably didn't start out tilted, right? They got moved. Who would have the power to move them?

               O God, when Thou didst go forth before Thy people,
               When Thou didst march through the wilderness,
               The earth quaked;
               The heavens also dropped rain at the presence of God;
               Sinai itself quaked at the presence of God, the God of Israel.

Can I Just Say That God Ate My Homework?

This week's assignment... shooting a single subject with varied focal lengths. It took me a couple of days, but I figured out what props I wanted to use and how I might set the scene. Here it is, up close and personal, without background or variances:

The sun was very close to dropping below the horizon, so I hurried off several shots with the wrong shutter speeds, incorrect apertures, and no sun filter. Meh and bleh. Good ideas, but bad light. But then, this began to happen:

Are those sky jellies?

Meanwhile, off to the east...

Add moon...

and eight tiny reindeer...

And there you have it -- my excuse for not finishing my photography homework tonight.   

                   

Thy lovingkindness, O Lord, extends to the heavens,

They faithfulness reaches to the skies.

Well... so maybe I shouldn't use God as my excuse... but still... He did this... and it was amazing!

A Look Around the Plate from a Non-Baseballer

The Mariners beat the Blue Jays this week. I was there. No one would call me a baseball fan, but the live experience is interesting. Here are some highlights of the game:

Some pitches are a bit too high. (It has to be really obvious for me to see this.)

And some are too low. (I think.)

Batters don't like the pitches to come too close.

When bat connects, the ball doesn't always go the right direction. But sometimes it does.

That pretty much covers all the offensive action. If you're still interested, maybe I'll post pictures of my inattentiveness -- that is, the rest of the stuff that happened. 

Oh -- but one more batting photo. This one illustrates a pitch that was right over the bun. Just right.

Is There Such a Thing as "Codependent Anti-Humility"?

What's the opposite of humility? And by humility, I mean the good, genuine variety.

Humility means not thinking too highly of oneself, or not thinking too much of oneself.

Anti-humility can be typified by super-inflated ego, a person who thinks every good thing is attributable to them. It's easy to think of examples of this person, right?

What about a person who thinks every little bad thing (burnt toast, being late for an appointment, forgetting to buy milk on the way home from work) is his/her fault? In a way, this is also thinking "too much" or -- more precisely -- too often of oneself.

The person who thinks the world owes him continual thanks for his wonderfulness is deceived. But so is the one who lives in a perpetual state of apology. The toast was burnt? Maybe the old toaster is losing its timing. Late for an appointment? Maybe an accident tied up traffic. Forgot the milk? After a long day at work, it's no surprise that the only thing on your mind is getting HOME.

Humility, in light of emotional well-being, is a balance between the extremes of over-inflation and painful deflation. It's being okay with things as they are. Being okay with me, as I am.

So Many Distractions!

Today, I had to drive way out to Small Town Library for work. Rough commute, with scenes like this in the foggy sunshine...

By the time I got to work, my usual parking spot wasn't available and I had to park under this tree...

(The last one is doctored. Do not adjust your monitor.)

Instead of sneaking a nap during my lunch break, I had to drive to Very Large Flagship Library for an interesting (and rather short!) meeting. On my way back to work at the third library of the day, I had to sit in traffic...

(This shot looks odd, but I liked the repetition of the beams on the overpass. 

Trying to enhance the shadows also darkened the drippages from above.)

After work was truly done for the day, I went for what was supposed to be an aerobic walk. I'll upload my phone photos later, but catch this from a street near my house...

I lost count of how many times I paused for photo ops today. As I said, so wonderfully distracting!