The grass is back

No time, no blog.  Halfway ready to be off to the Kon.  House filthy--guests coming--I won't be here.  Off to the Kon.

Not your typical Wednesday

Worked.  Stopped at Hancock fabrics to get more webbing and some stiff black elastic.  Stopped at grocery.  Forgot to get chocolate.  Stopped at egg lady's. 

Came home.  Sewed.  Sewed.  Looked for old black shirt.  Found substitute black shirt (brand new).  Callie cut the cuffs off.  Pinned harness.  Tried on.  Tested wings.  marked PVC pipe.  Sewed harness.  Walked dogs.  Hemmed shirt sleeves.

Quit work, cussing.

We have one whole night and one "eleventh hour" night to finish this.

Meanwhile I finished reading A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck.

I wish they'd made me read this book when I was a pre-teen.  I'd have enjoyed it just as much, plus I wouldn't have suffered the embarrassment of crying my eyes out in the bathroom at work.  (Lunch break.)

I can't describe this--it's about a Shaker boy coming of age in the 1930s.  He and his father--and his pig--have the sort of close, love-filled relationship that breaks your heart.  I'll never read it again--it hurt too much the first time.  I'll never forget it.

Setting aside the handkerchief for a minute--why were the women so out of the picture?  Yeah, they were old.  And yeah, the sisters were wedded and gone.  But old people can work.  Why weren't they growing a garden?   In Little House in the Prairie, Laura's mother grew a garden.  Farming women--in America--traditionally fed the family from the garden.  Where was the garden?

Infidel--my review vs. others and you got to see for yourself.

It's a funny coincidence that I just happened on a review of Infidel, written by someone whose opinion I enjoy reading.  She disliked it, a lot.   I liked it, a lot.

I think it's technically more of an autobiography than a Memoir.  Wiktionary says:

A memoir differs from a simple autobiography by not focusing on the author as the primary subject matter, but on people and events in the author's life. Emphasis is placed on personal observations about external events.

There are a few places in the book where she reacts to external events, but most of it is simply autobiographical--what she did; where she went; etc.

The reviewer and I are in agreement that it is an uneven book.  At some times Ms. Ali is deeply introspective and at other times, superficial.  But I don't think she shows a lack of empathy and I don't think she needs to get psychotherapy to work out her father issues.   She's not mad at her father--she's mad at her culture.  Her religion.

Not to say I came away applauding Ms. Ali.  Many times she showed a severe lack of judgement by making  inflammatory remarks and then professing surprise at the reactions they provoked.  But she wasn't a career politician; not a debater or a trained diplomat--she was thrust into those roles and didn't seem to know when to say, "no."  Did that hurt her cause?  Maybe--but it got her issue (oppression of women in Muslim societies) some air time.  She didn't know when to shut up. 

The biggest insight I gained from this work is this: Islam is a danger to the modern world.  Islam isn't a religion; it's a way of life. If you are a true believer, your family will demonstrate your devotion and if they don't, they must be compelled to conform or be cast out.  And it's literal--when the prophet says, "wage war on the unbelievers," that's what it means to many, many people.  To the men who murdered filmmaker Theo van Gogh.  To the Ayatollah Kohmeini who issued the fatwa against Salman Rushdie.  To the hundreds of fathers and brothers who murder young girls for committing adultery.

I think this book should be read.  I think it's truth.  Maybe a greater person would have lived a nobler life--but this is a life that was lived.  Period.

Sunday...over...work...much

It's 6:30 and the day is pretty much gone.  The work day, that is.  The wings are by no means complete but Callie gave in on the piece of plywood.  It's waiting for me to trim, attach to the harness, and then we'll try articulating.  If it works, we're nine-tenths done.

I made 28 strawberry cupcakes--heavenly--and two plates of tuna sandwiches.  Callie made a poster board celebrating Edward's graduation, and now they're gone.  Off to church and then a party in his honor.  And I'm reading Infidel.

I'm having more fun than they are...but I feel a little guilty about it.

the pigman

Writing a review of The Pigman is going to be awkward. 

I loved it--it bugged me--it hurt.  The bugged me part came from his endless recitation of names of kids coming to the party; that, and other places where he was writing exactly the way a real teenager would have.  And Lorraine, too--why couldn't she get some spine and stand up for herself?  And why couldn't they say no just once when the party got wild?  Just back off a little.

It's almost like...they're real people and I really care.  Almost?  Heck no--it's exactly like.

I won't bother with a plot synopsis.  Just read it and find out for yourself.

Memorial Day weekend, started early

Vacation day and you could say that made it a good day.  And I say--a day.  We didn't get moving early but it wasn't super late; found what we needed at JoAnn Fabric but spent forever waiting in line.  By the time we got home and did a quick jogging trip (make-up for Thursday); there was only about an hour to work on The Bat Wing project before time to go to the movies.

Then Posados took freaking forever.  Most unusual--I think our waitress had a hard day.  When we left there were thunderstorms moving in from the west.  Luckily, we were going east.

But you know--despite my anxiety attack about the thunderstorms--it was a winner because (a) the whole family was together and (b) we liked each other.     And the movie was

Who says dogs have noses?

One dog walked right over this poor dead critter and didn't even stop--the other two walked past it.

It was gone the next day so I guess something smelled it.