Another Book Review

It has been quite a while since I commented on a book, but I just finished one that needs to be talked about. Human Smoke: The Beginnings of World War II, the End of Civilization, by Nicholson Baker was written in 2008. I am not a big fan of war stories, except for the Civil War, and really did not want to read this book when I saw what it was about. But since the book was recommended to me by someone I respect, I decided to read it.

Everyone should read this book. It has no chapters, and no continuing war stories;  just 470 pages of disparate paragraphs, each drawing us closer and closer to the war. As we get farther in time away from the horror of WWII, it is important that we not forget what happened during that awful period.

There was very little regard for human life by the leaders of some of the greatest countries of the world. To read about the killing of children locked in a room is horribly revolting, and completely unbelievable, except that it really happened. It seemed as though everyone hated everyone else.

I don't believe we were any more civil before the war. Mr. Baker calls WWII the end of civilization, but I believe we humans have always hated and killed each other, probably going all the way back to the beginning of man. It's just that now we are so advanced that we can kill each other on a huge, world-wide scale, even more so than in WWII.  There are more people, a better means of communicating the atrocities committed, and better technology/weapons to commit these atrocities. We could be on the way to eliminating the human race from the earth if we do not learn that hatred and wars only hurt mankind, and no one is ever better off afterwards.

Santayana said, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."  This book will help us to remember. Maybe it will help to prevent an apocalypse.

Family Vacation

What a wonderful time we had! At least, I had; and the others all said they enjoyed it, too. We went on a true family vacation to Sanibel Island, Florida. There were Den and me, our son Adam and daughter-in-law Beth, their daughter Heather (our granddaughter) and her husband Nick, our grandson Cody (Adam's and Beth's son) and his girlfriend Caitlyn, and Heather's and Nick's two boys, Peyton (three years old) and Landon (one-and-a- half years old). We stayed at Sandalfoot Condominiums in two side-by-side units, but could often all be found in one unit.

 Of course, the week centered mostly around the two boys. Landon may have been a bit too young to understand all that was happening, but Peyton was well aware that this week was special. He seemed to be everywhere at once. Trying to keep up with him, even between condo units, was quite a challenge. His favorite places were either playing in the sand on the beach, or swimming in the complex's pool. Both boys were really well-behaved. There was never an unpleasant meal, and with "nine people and a high chair" there could have been some real disasters.

We didn't try to do everything together, except to eat dinner. Sometimes the women would go shopping; at other times a few of us would go sightseeing. Sunning by the pool or on the beach was very popular, as was walking the beach. And we didn't always eat out. We frequented Bailey's and Jerry's for groceries and snacks, and cooked at "home." And I managed to read three books!

This trip took some planning; Beth is very good at that. We had to get it in after the college students were home for the summer, but before summer jobs and trips started. Adam, Beth, Heather, and Nick had to get time off from their jobs, condo units had to be rented, and plane connections made. But it was all worth it. We had a simply great time.

Mom and Me

Someone recently said to me that I was just like my mother, and the comment wasn't meant as a compliment. Thinking about that remark, I realize that the older I get, the less I really knew or understood my mother. I find myself becoming more closed in to myself, trying not to let anyone know what is going on inside my head, or even my heart. Some things are too painful to think about, much less talk about with someone else. Still, I do not consider myself a cold and uncaring person.

Do others see me the way I see myself? Probably not. Do they see me the way I would like to be seen? Probably not. I don't even know what that is, but I know it can change almost every day.

I am coming to have new respect for my mother, although I don't think I will ever forget some of the things she said that could have been said better. I, too, have a tendency to be too blunt in my conversation, not thinking how what I say will come across to someone else. I also have a tendency to not talk to friends often enough, thinking that if they want to talk to me, they will call. I can remember telling my mother, when she complained that I didn't call her very often, that the phone worked both ways. Now I have to remember that. The problem is that I am by nature a quiet person who usually doesn't have a lot to say that anyone else would be interested in. Was my mother that way, too?

Take this blog–why would anyone else want to read it? It amazes me when someone comments on what I have to say, or is even interested enough to read it. I know why I write it–because I have to. And I do let my FB friends know when I post a new one, even though it seems a bit presumptuous. Still, here's another one.

And I think I am more like my mother every day.

How does it happen that an innocent picture sparks a firestorm of sorts? All I did was post a picture of a deer on my Facebook page, and Wham! It's knockout time! The picture was a little out of focus because it had been taken through the window of my living room. A young buck was standing in my front yard, head up, as if he had posed just for me. He was facing another young buck out on the road, although that one is not visible in the picture. Before I could get a picture of the other buck, they both turned and left. No conflict, no disagreement, not even any posturing or pawing the ground. A total contrast to what happened when my friends saw the picture.

At any rate, when I uploaded the picture to my computer, I thought it was just different enough that some of my FB friends would enjoy it; so I posted it. Big mistake. That a picture of a deer can provoke political name calling, hate mongering, and cursing is beyond my understanding, but that is what happened.

My friends are not, and never have been, limited to one particular group, be it political, religious, relatives, or neighbors. I like them all; some I love, and I never use that word lightly. I enjoy the different points of view that my friends offer, even if I don't always agree. But I do not stop liking someone just because we disagree in our politics. Sometimes, I even listen to the "other side." Although most of my friends would call me a liberal, I try to choose what's right. That's right as in correct, not right as in politically on the right.

Maybe that's why it's so hard to understand what has happened. I guess I should be thankful that not much of the invective was aimed directly at me. And thank you to those whose comments focused on the picture itself.

If Only.....What If

If only.... What if....

Have you ever had thoughts like these? What if I had gone to  college? Or moved to a different city? If only I had followed up on that one business opportunity, or joined that one group. What might my life have been like then? Would I have been happier? Wealthier? Healthier? I think all of us have a tendency to look back and wonder what might have been, if only I had done _________ (fill in the blank).

However, I like to think I have been fairly successful in looking to the future instead of the past. When it comes time to make a decision, any decision, I tell myself to make the best choice (or what I think is the best choice) at that moment in my life, and move on. Do not look back. This reasoning has kept me fairly sane throughout my life. (Please don't ask my sisters if I am reasonably sane; they could give you a different answer.)

Anyway, I think that this kind of logic is what makes it hard for me to read a book like

Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine, and the Murder of a President, by Candice Millard. Because this book is about a local man—Garfield's home was, and still is, in Mentor—I had to read it. is a very well-written and compelling book about the assassination of President James A. Garfield.  It intertwines the life and death of Garfield with inventions by Alexander Graham Bell and discoveries by the French scientist Joseph Lister. Although the book was very good, I had a hard time reading it because it concentrated a lot on What If... and If Only, making me a bit depressed about what might have been. But if you like history and/ or biography, you will want to read this book. It gives us a picture of a man who would have made a great difference in this country, if only he had lived to serve out his term, or terms, as President.

Chaos in the Home

Chaos reigned at my house yesterday, and I loved it!

My granddaughter, Heather, and her two sons came over in the morning to make nisu. Nisu is the old name for the Finnish sweet biscuit now called pulla; and I have been making it once or twice a year, using my Mumma's recipe, since I was a teenager. While Heather and I were working, Den was hauling boxes of Christmas decorations down from the attic, and trying to keep an eye on Peyton, who had to make sure everything in the house was in exactly the same place as the last time he visited, which was about a week earlier.

Heather put on Christmas music while we worked; we needed to get in the Christmas spirit. Just as we finished kneading the dough and putting it to rise for the first time, my daughter-in-law Beth came in. She and Heather, with Peyton's sporadic help, decorated the tree and managed to make the house a bit more festive.

Heather and I then added the eggs to the nisu dough, more flour, and kneaded well; and put it to rise, once more, behind the wood burner. Next, Peyton, Landon, and I decided there was just time for a quick swim before the nisu needed to be braided and put in the pans. Actually, Peyton decided and I just went along to hold Landon. Soon Landon and I were done in the pool, so we dried off and got dressed. Peyton stayed in the pool a while longer, with Paappa on guard. 

Unfortunately, Peyton didn't stay in the pool long enough; he had to help with the nisu dough braiding, which took no time at all. After rising for the third time, the nisu was ready to bake. By now, son Adam had shown up, bearing takeout salad and sandwiches. Assorted drinks - coffee, milk, and water - were gotten, and butter taken out of the refrigerator. 

With Heather baking pan after pan of nisu, and the rest of us trying to find room in our small house for drinks, toys, dogs, plates, babies, and napkins, we were ready for fresh, hot biscuit. The girls had done a great job; it was delicious!

Somehow, we had managed to get everything done. The dogs were fed, Landon had a nice long nap, Peyton played and worked as hard as only a three-year-old can, the tree and house got decorated, everyone got fed, and there was nisu for everyone for Christmas. What a wonderful day! Thank you all.

TIME

Time. Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Tenth Edition defines "time" as "the measured or measurable period during which an action, process, or condition exists or continues: Duration." It does not say that time is a variable. An hour is an hour is an hour.

Why then does time seem to change so much? Time moves so much faster these days than ever before. The time it used to take me to wrap a present just a few years ago was measured in minutes. Now it could be an hour. Cleaning the house takes a lot longer than it used to, and I may not even do as good a job (don't tell, please). It even takes me longer to get moving in the morning - longer to get out of bed, get dressed, have that first cup of coffee, etc. Sometimes it is close to noon before Den and I have finished breakfast. And those of you who know me, please don't say it's because I like to stay up into the wee hours so can't get out of bed at a decent hour. Even if I'm up by 8:30 or 9:00 AM, it's still noon before I'm really moving. And I do a lot of things after you have probably gone to sleep. Ironing, baking, shopping, knitting, reading are all late night activities. Of course, they take more time than they used to.

Conversely, time doesn't seem as important as it once did. If I don't get something done this morning, or this afternoon, or even today, what does it matter? There's always tomorrow. I like to think this is not because I have gotten a bit lazier, but that I am more flexible, that I don't need to be as regimented or as rigidly organized as before. But then, I don't get as much done as I used to. I hate to think this is all a part of getting older. It is hard to think that I am now old; I still expect to see the 35-or 40-year-old career woman when I look in the mirror, not the old lady that looks back at me. Sometimes it even takes a while to remember how lucky I am to have had all this time.

I'm not sure where I am going with this, or what the purpose of this musing about time serves. All I know is that the more time passes, the fewer are the hours in a day. I never seem to get everything done in one day that I have planned. But never mind; it doesn't matter.