My personal interests can be resumed in this phrase: All Things Human. It is us, little human beings on this big planet, that fascinate me. I love the many questions we ask, and the ease with which we seem to be happy with our simple answers.
I just finished reading LaPlante’s novel Turn of Mind, and it too was fascinating to me from the perspective that it deals with the process of insanity that befalls a brilliant and intellectual orthopedic surgeon in Chicago. Dr. Jennifer White is in her mid sixties, widowed, with two children, a 29 year old son who seems to be having issues with addiction and a 24 old year girl who is in academia. Even though her husband is dead, it turns out that he will end up playing an important role towards the end of the novel.
Dr. White seems to realize she will need to “retire” from her job because she has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. In spite of her experience and her professional brilliance, the disease interferes more and more with her everyday life to the point that she needs to be constantly supervised by a caregiver to assure her safety.
The book is narrated by Jennifer: cool, aloof, withdrawn, rational and very intellectual Jennifer. We learn from her during moments of lucidity how she feels about love, sex, and motherhood and she gives us no sentimental bullshit. She’s hard, stubborn, meticulous, rational and highly intelligent.
The novel becomes a bit dark, well, because it’s never easy to talk about madness, especially when it hits so close to home. Except for Jennifer herself, the characters seem imprecise and blurry being that we get to know them through the eyes of a woman who is steadily declinining into her disease.
The plot thickens and becomes more complex when we find out that Jennifer’s best "frenemy," Amanda, who lives three doors down, is found murdered in her home with four of her fingers surgically removed. (Yes, Jennifer’s area of expertise is hand surgery.) Jennifer does not have any recollection of Amanda’s demise, but this is how she becomes a ”person of interest.”
So if learning a possible manner in which a person might deal with Alzheimer’s was not enough, now you must continue reading avidly because you must also learn if Jennifer killed Amanda and if she did, why.
I liked the pace of the book. Not too slow, not too fast. It’s hard not sympathize with Jennifer as she watches her wonderful mind unravel and she discovers what she is capable of even in her dementia.
Bottom line: I just talked myself into re-reading this book soon.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
#27 - My Books: The Gap Year by Sarah Bird
I just finished reading The Gap Year that roped me in when I found out that it was about a mother-daughter relationship. Being the mother of one preteen girl, I’m obsessed about how other women might handle this relationship and to see if there is anything different about how mothers from other cultural and racial backgrounds feel about their daughters.
I liked the book’s format. The novel is organized by dated entries: one by Cam (no, she isn’t a Cameron), the mom, and a year earlier by Aubrey her teenage daughter , so you are privy to their thoughts and points of view. They read as authentic people, as opposed to “created characters.”
We find this single mom raising her daughter since the age of two after Martin, her husband just up and leaves for what he believes is his religious true calling, and just right after Cam bets on life in the 'burbs outside the city because of its better school system. Wanting what all parents want, to be in a position to offer Aubrey a better education, Cam is not a happy camper in her chosen suburb. But as the time to go to college approaches, Cam painfully discovers that Aubrey is not so much into the plan of getting a college education any more. She is totally captivated by high school football hero Ty-Mo, who in turn, is having serious doubts about his own college education based on a sport he doesn’t enjoy anymore.
Complicated? Wait until you find out that Martin, Aubrey’s dad, decides to “friend” her through Facebook during this time and sees he has to face a still very resentful Cam.
I liked this book because like Cam, my thirteen (counting the year of my pregnancy) mother years have been all about providing the best educational opportunities that my financial situation has allowed me to offer my little girl. In my mind college is not an option it is a “must.” Period. So I can sympathize with Cam absolutely. I am disappointed by the fact that Aubrey does not see the importance of those four years at a university. And as all parents do, this is what I tell myself: "My daughter will be different."
But then I can also remember somewhat what it’s like to be seventeen or eighteen years of age, when you feel and think that you are capable of believing yourself smarter than your parents, and you are so clear about life. When the truth is, down the road, a couple of decades later you will realize you really had no idea about anything.
So reading Aubrey’s entries was the surprising part to me, a nice reminder that more than knowing and understanding what Cam is going through, it’s also about the many paths (not just college) that open up to a young person at this age and how everything acquires a life-or-death intensity for them. Tolerance, flexibility, acceptance and gut-love are the virtues that we parents have to struggle to maintain and refresh constantly. Bottom line: Stay ready, the hard part is not over once we're done potty training them.
I liked the book’s format. The novel is organized by dated entries: one by Cam (no, she isn’t a Cameron), the mom, and a year earlier by Aubrey her teenage daughter , so you are privy to their thoughts and points of view. They read as authentic people, as opposed to “created characters.”
We find this single mom raising her daughter since the age of two after Martin, her husband just up and leaves for what he believes is his religious true calling, and just right after Cam bets on life in the 'burbs outside the city because of its better school system. Wanting what all parents want, to be in a position to offer Aubrey a better education, Cam is not a happy camper in her chosen suburb. But as the time to go to college approaches, Cam painfully discovers that Aubrey is not so much into the plan of getting a college education any more. She is totally captivated by high school football hero Ty-Mo, who in turn, is having serious doubts about his own college education based on a sport he doesn’t enjoy anymore.
Complicated? Wait until you find out that Martin, Aubrey’s dad, decides to “friend” her through Facebook during this time and sees he has to face a still very resentful Cam.
I liked this book because like Cam, my thirteen (counting the year of my pregnancy) mother years have been all about providing the best educational opportunities that my financial situation has allowed me to offer my little girl. In my mind college is not an option it is a “must.” Period. So I can sympathize with Cam absolutely. I am disappointed by the fact that Aubrey does not see the importance of those four years at a university. And as all parents do, this is what I tell myself: "My daughter will be different."
But then I can also remember somewhat what it’s like to be seventeen or eighteen years of age, when you feel and think that you are capable of believing yourself smarter than your parents, and you are so clear about life. When the truth is, down the road, a couple of decades later you will realize you really had no idea about anything.
So reading Aubrey’s entries was the surprising part to me, a nice reminder that more than knowing and understanding what Cam is going through, it’s also about the many paths (not just college) that open up to a young person at this age and how everything acquires a life-or-death intensity for them. Tolerance, flexibility, acceptance and gut-love are the virtues that we parents have to struggle to maintain and refresh constantly. Bottom line: Stay ready, the hard part is not over once we're done potty training them.
Friday, July 15, 2011
#26 - My Movies: Oh, The Worth of A Better Life!
I’m no film critic by any stretch of the imagination that I know. As I know also when and why I like or dislike a movie. For example, I went to see Bad Teacher with Cameron Diaz and I have to say I don’t think I’ve ever seen a movie where I couldn’t find one single redeeming feature. This one in my mind offers the viewer nothing, not in terms of plot, hilarity, morals, aesthetics (unless you count Cameron washing a car in very small clothes a redeeming feature, then this is your movie).
Then I saw Horrible Bosses and with its crude and adult humor, I was able to enjoy more. Nowadays you expect every actor to have some talent and chops and the ones in Horrible Bosses do not disappoint.
Of course you have movies like A Better Life and if you go see it you more or less have an idea of what to expect: a story about disenfranchised and marginalized people that can’t seem to find a place where they can be allowed to have a better life (not even their country).
So we start with an undocumented Mexican, Carlos Galindo who works in an underground economy doing yard work. His wife left him with a small son, Luis, because she wasn’t satisfied with what he could provide for her.
Now Luis is 14 and moody as a bona fide teenager, and it seemed to me when I saw his eyes dart around, that he was posing those eternal and unanswerable questions of “Who am I?” “Why am I here”, “Is there any meaning to my life?” School is just a way of passing time and being exposed to the reality of gang activity in the hood. There are a couple of instances when you know Luis has to weigh this possibility for his own life, and you silently cheer him on to say no, unlike his friend who we lose as he goes through some form of violent gang initiation.
The plot revolves around a truck Carlos buys from the guy who employs him to do yard work. This used pickup truck is considered by Carlos as a way out of the painful small and inadequate home he shares with his son, the dangerous school Luis attends and their neighborhood.
After the truck is stolen by a pathetic man whose situation seems to be far worse, father and son are stopped by the police.
Yes, I cried but it’s hard not to when the story toys with the things you value the most: common decency, family, tradition, culture, education and the desire to work.
Luis is at the door of manhood. He was born in California, but his life seems pretty much decided for him: a gang or, as his friend tells him, end up doing yards like his dad.
As an American, Luis seems to have a disdain for the Spanish language, the Mexican culture and all things that are not of the white world, but his dad keeps pulling him into the intimacy of his love, reminding him of his origin and his beginning.
It’s this that I think offers a door of redemption for the teenager: somehow in his genes he carries the values of his dad. He has observed the quiet man day in and day out as he toils with his tools, as he takes care of his small yard, of how beaten up he is by life and how he never desists to keep his courage and his hope. Luis carries this knowledge in his blood and when it comes time to decide his path, there will be no gang strong enough to make him give that identity up.
Well, at least that is my take and my prayer for when life starts getting tough on my daughter.
Demián Bichir is an actor I didn’t know. I loved how he created the hard-working, decent Carlos Galindo and the moral choices he unknowingly teaches his son in the process of interacting with the youth: like paying a guy because “he kept his word, I’ll keep mine,” of paying it forward and hiring a guy because he had shared his food with him. Finally when the father breaks down and tells Luis that he had him to love him and to worry about him, and to make sure he made something with his life. He tells him what I imagine is what we all parents think at some point in our life: That that is when we will feel worthy.
Then I saw Horrible Bosses and with its crude and adult humor, I was able to enjoy more. Nowadays you expect every actor to have some talent and chops and the ones in Horrible Bosses do not disappoint.
Of course you have movies like A Better Life and if you go see it you more or less have an idea of what to expect: a story about disenfranchised and marginalized people that can’t seem to find a place where they can be allowed to have a better life (not even their country).
So we start with an undocumented Mexican, Carlos Galindo who works in an underground economy doing yard work. His wife left him with a small son, Luis, because she wasn’t satisfied with what he could provide for her.
Now Luis is 14 and moody as a bona fide teenager, and it seemed to me when I saw his eyes dart around, that he was posing those eternal and unanswerable questions of “Who am I?” “Why am I here”, “Is there any meaning to my life?” School is just a way of passing time and being exposed to the reality of gang activity in the hood. There are a couple of instances when you know Luis has to weigh this possibility for his own life, and you silently cheer him on to say no, unlike his friend who we lose as he goes through some form of violent gang initiation.
The plot revolves around a truck Carlos buys from the guy who employs him to do yard work. This used pickup truck is considered by Carlos as a way out of the painful small and inadequate home he shares with his son, the dangerous school Luis attends and their neighborhood.
After the truck is stolen by a pathetic man whose situation seems to be far worse, father and son are stopped by the police.
Yes, I cried but it’s hard not to when the story toys with the things you value the most: common decency, family, tradition, culture, education and the desire to work.
Luis is at the door of manhood. He was born in California, but his life seems pretty much decided for him: a gang or, as his friend tells him, end up doing yards like his dad.
As an American, Luis seems to have a disdain for the Spanish language, the Mexican culture and all things that are not of the white world, but his dad keeps pulling him into the intimacy of his love, reminding him of his origin and his beginning.
It’s this that I think offers a door of redemption for the teenager: somehow in his genes he carries the values of his dad. He has observed the quiet man day in and day out as he toils with his tools, as he takes care of his small yard, of how beaten up he is by life and how he never desists to keep his courage and his hope. Luis carries this knowledge in his blood and when it comes time to decide his path, there will be no gang strong enough to make him give that identity up.
Well, at least that is my take and my prayer for when life starts getting tough on my daughter.
Demián Bichir is an actor I didn’t know. I loved how he created the hard-working, decent Carlos Galindo and the moral choices he unknowingly teaches his son in the process of interacting with the youth: like paying a guy because “he kept his word, I’ll keep mine,” of paying it forward and hiring a guy because he had shared his food with him. Finally when the father breaks down and tells Luis that he had him to love him and to worry about him, and to make sure he made something with his life. He tells him what I imagine is what we all parents think at some point in our life: That that is when we will feel worthy.
Friday, July 8, 2011
#25 - Thirty Years
I’m feeling happy. Nothing unusual really. I would say my tendency is to be a happy camper, in spite of all going on. And still in thinking about this time of the year I have to take into account that July 10, 2011 marks the 30th anniversary of my father’s death.
On remembering this date last year I wrote the following in Spanish. I try to translate it into English below:
Twenty-nine years ago we found ourselves devastated without you.
Your absence was brand new and overwhelming.
Your heart very suddenly gave up on life.
As it took your body into its nightly sleep it said: “Check you later”
And it stopped beating as if nothing would happen.
It left you with your mouth agape and an expression of pain (or so I thought when I saw you as a corpse: dry, cold and stern),
Your eyes surprised by the sudden quietness
of the vital muscle.
I found myself hollow without my papi.
I blindly obeyed the order to go find a priest.
On my return I saw your Marga on the sidewalk
Crying in bursts of laughter
Telling me I didn’t get a chance to see you.
Your Gurmia, I can’t remember where she hid with our newly shared orphanhood.
Those first months I didn’t cry for you, papi;
after all I was your daughter
and I had learned your lesson well:
The strong, we don’t cry.
Months later my mother found me teary-eyed
leafing through a photo album
and surprised she said to me:
“Oh, m‘ija, so you did love him.”
But it wasn’t until about five years later
by myself at home watching On Golden Pond
when Henry Fonda suffers his heart attack
that I was shaken by a stormn of tears
contained for so long.
I imagined your head in my lap and I rocked you in my arms
While I bawled like I had never bawled before
A river of tears, of “I love yous” and “I miss yous”
I kissed you with the love and tenderness of your spoiled little girl.
Twenty-nine years, papi, and it still pains me to not have you.
Papi: Luis Hernández Villa
I want to believe and I believe
That your spirit is at my side
That every now and then you take a peek into my life
And you’re happy with what I have done with it
Especially with that autumn day when I made you a grandfather
And you felt proud knowing that one of her names is Luisa in your honor.
I carry you here, papi, intimate and close;
But I want you free and happy
In spirit and in memory.
On remembering this date last year I wrote the following in Spanish. I try to translate it into English below:
Twenty-nine years ago we found ourselves devastated without you.
Your absence was brand new and overwhelming.
Your heart very suddenly gave up on life.
As it took your body into its nightly sleep it said: “Check you later”
And it stopped beating as if nothing would happen.
It left you with your mouth agape and an expression of pain (or so I thought when I saw you as a corpse: dry, cold and stern),
Your eyes surprised by the sudden quietness
of the vital muscle.
I found myself hollow without my papi.
I blindly obeyed the order to go find a priest.
On my return I saw your Marga on the sidewalk
Crying in bursts of laughter
Telling me I didn’t get a chance to see you.
Your Gurmia, I can’t remember where she hid with our newly shared orphanhood.
Those first months I didn’t cry for you, papi;
after all I was your daughter
and I had learned your lesson well:
The strong, we don’t cry.
Months later my mother found me teary-eyed
leafing through a photo album
and surprised she said to me:
“Oh, m‘ija, so you did love him.”
But it wasn’t until about five years later
by myself at home watching On Golden Pond
when Henry Fonda suffers his heart attack
that I was shaken by a stormn of tears
contained for so long.
I imagined your head in my lap and I rocked you in my arms
While I bawled like I had never bawled before
A river of tears, of “I love yous” and “I miss yous”
I kissed you with the love and tenderness of your spoiled little girl.
Twenty-nine years, papi, and it still pains me to not have you.
Papi: Luis Hernández Villa
I want to believe and I believe
That your spirit is at my side
That every now and then you take a peek into my life
And you’re happy with what I have done with it
Especially with that autumn day when I made you a grandfather
And you felt proud knowing that one of her names is Luisa in your honor.
I carry you here, papi, intimate and close;
But I want you free and happy
In spirit and in memory.
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