Two Important Moments

1. I walked into the bedroom, and found Johnny Depp there in repose, waiting for me. As he IS an action-figure, I was expecting a little more...action. Geeze. He's not even fully posable.




2. And I got my new sewing machine out of the box and set it up in my "sewing room", actually a card table stuck into the spare-room closet. Now what? I looked at the instructions, and I can't make hide nor hair.... Seagrape, the weather in Florida being what it is this week, maybe you should come up here and spend a few days. You could show me how to use this thing. Tomorrow's goal? Plug it in. Wednesday? Buy thread. After that, I think I have to wind the bobbin, whatever that means. More postings about sewing coming soon, I'm sure.

One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

I must, as with all my book reviews, preface this one with my standard caveat. This is not a real book review. This is just Kate's pedestrian and provincial view . If you're looking for a real book review, please exit now.

(Sigh!)

Let me start by saying that I was an English major. I have read some weighty tomes. I have waded though some complex prose. And enjoyed it, even.

I also want to say that I love a lot of Latin American writers, and magical realism is a device that works for me.

So WHY, WHY, WHY did I dislike this book so much?? It's not fair. It's not right. We're talking about a Nobel laureate, here. Lots of people GOT IT, obviously. I tried, but could not finish the book.

On my "Damn Good Read" scale, this rates a 5 out of 10.

One Hundred Years of Solitude is a sweeping epic of one family through love, through war, through flood, imperialism and insomnia epidemics. Does that make you think you'll care? I thought I would, too, at first. But the epic is so sweeping that minor details like... follow-though, rationale or character development are simply swept away. Generation after generation of characters is named the the same: Arcadio and Aureliano. Jose Arcadio, Aureliano Jose, Jose Aureliano Segundo, Arcadio Jose. It's true that in many cultures, names are used and reused; but here it's merely confusing, because Marquez doesn't give you enough insight into any one character's nature to actually differentiate between them. I needed to check the family tree at the front of the book over and over, until I stopped caring.


Quality writing: Well, for heaven's sake! It's Gabriel Garcia Marquez! How can I fault the quality of the writing? It's beautiful. I had a good translation, and read bits aloud to myself in order to really experience the language. Rating: 9

Interesting characters: Yeah, sure. And just as I started to get to know one, s/he would suddenly ascend to heaven on a freshly washed basket of laundry or be sent to a convent in Brussels, never to return. WTF?! Rating: 5

Plot structure: If only I hadn't cared about such a minor matter as a coherent story... Unfortunately though, I did. Silly me. Rating: 4

Addictiveness: I always try to finish books. For me not to finish means it was a real drag. Rating: 2

Now, maybe someone out there has some insight into this book. If you have the key, and would like to enlighten me, please do so. I feel guilty for not loving this book. Save me from myself.

Top Ten

I'm home!

I guess I am hypnotized and soothed by anything rhythmic and repetitive: crashing waves, tranquil seahorses, pulsing jellyfish. On the flight home, I thought, "OK. I will find my new center. Within myself, I will find...the waves! The jellyfish! The seahorse." Oh, yeah, and from now on, I'm going to get to bed before midnight every night.

I was back in Utah for about half an hour when I realized that I was right back to my usual bad habits. Lost my goddamn inner seahorse. Whatever.

My Oregon Coast Vacation Top Ten

1. Having Nathan call Sara an ignoramus, but pronounce it, "in your anus". I had been blocking them out, as moms do when kids squabble, but that got my attention. "What! What! OK, who put what in whose anus!? What have I told you guys about putting stuff in body cavities, huh? Huh?"

2. Seeing the ocean for the first time, after a long day of travel. We like to be dorks, so we (the kids and I, while Simon lags behind and pretends not to know us) run to the water as fast as we can, yelling, "Ocean in view, oh joy!" (That's what Meriweather Lewis wrote in his journal when the Lewis and Clark expedition made it to the Pacific.) Lewis had problems with is inner seahorse, too.

3. The look on Nathan's face when he heard that the scene at the end of "Return of the Jedi", with the high speed chase on the forest moon of Endor, was filmed in the very same grove of California Redwoods where we were hiking. ohmygawd! There was a little confusion, though, over why the Ewoks were no longer there.

4. I slept until I woke up every morning. No alarm. The customary dark circles under my eyes are temporarily gone.

5. Arriving at a view point to find that the rocks below were crowded with California Sea Lions, Harbor Seals and Elephant Seals. And there was a volunteer there to show me the Elephant Seals. They are so enormous that I thought they were boulders.

6. Watching the Olympics on TV. It's cute, the way NBC thinks Micheal Phelps poops lemon drops.

7. Finding a beach with incredible seashells. And a dead starfish. Which I brought home in my suitcase. Which stinks.

8. Sitting as far out on Cape Perpetua as we could go without actually being killed by the crashing waves.

9. The pirate gift shop in Depoe Bay had a pair of boxers that read, "Prepare to be Boarded!" Aye aye, matey.

10. Reading Oprah's magazine, which I found in one of the houses where we stayed. I am WAY out of the girl-loop, I see. She reviews products I didn't know existed. For example, "Brown Betty". That's pubic hair dye. I asked Si what he thought of that. He wanted to know what colors were available. Uhh...well...brown....? He said he would be more interested if they offered shocking pink or something. I could just hear my mother, asking what if I got in a car accident and had to go to the hospital?

Get Me Out of Here

This is where I'm headed. We leave for the airport in just half an hour.

No phone, no computer for ten days. We've rented a beach house. I have a new book. We've packed two kites; big binoculars for whale watching; the whale caller, of course. At some point, we will probably go out for breakfast, and I will order huevos rancheros.

My hands are shaking with fatigue while I write this, physical and emotional. It has been a very difficult couple of weeks. My dear colleague of many years is retiring next month, and two other experienced teachers have given notice. I thought the new teachers I had hired were all set, but one of them told me yesterday afternoon that she "needs to think". She's expecting other offers. I pointed out that, after she formally accepted the job, I contacted the other candidates and told them that we would not be needing them. No matter how hard I try to square everything away so I can relax on vacation...

At the same time we were having this conversation, I discovered that the State Office of Education had made a huge error in the data I had been sending them, and were saying that there was nothing they could do to fix it. "Our analysis of this error shows that the test scores are no longer valid, because you dropped the students from your rolls on 6/30/08 at 10:39 PM, then entered their test scored at midnight on 6/30/08." I DID WHAT??? Why would I do that?? I sent an absolutely livid e-mail to them last night, telling them (among a lot of other things) that I was at home cleaning out closets at 10:39 PM on 6/30. I had entered that data well before that date. By this time it was way after midnight. I just cried. There's nothing I can do to fix anything at this point. I need to go away and get some rest. See? I've been ranting. It's a sure sign on impending madness.

The kids are calling. Time to go! Back in 10 days.

That Ain't No Burglar

Just the burglar alarm.

At 4:00 AM.

We don't use the damn thing. It came with the house, and the account was deactivated because we aren't interested in security systems and never renewed it. But we left the equipment in place in case we ever sell the house to someone who thinks they are a plus. And we didn't want to patch all the holes we would have made in the drywall.

Now we know that, when the battery is low, the alarm bleeps...alarmingly, while the indicator reads "BATTERY LOW!" Great. Thanks for the info. A-ha! I have a code. I got it from the previous owners and wrote it in my planner in 2005. I don't really mean to save planners, but it just kind of happens, and now I'm glad. I rummaged blindly in my nightstand and put the code in, which made the alarm stop.

Yes. Back to bed.

For 5 minutes.

I called the alarm company. They were very nice, but seemed unsure how to proceed. They put me on hold for a long time while they consulted about it. While waiting, I amused myself by alternately punching the code in when the alarm blew every five minutes and trying to rip the keypad off the wall. I did get some pieces to come off, but not enough to make it shut up.

Finally Mr. Nice Guy came on and told me that he'd like to help me, but I wasn't an account holder, so his hands were tied. I explained to him that any guidance he might offer as to how to most effectively destroy the thing would be good enough.

He guided me to the basement, where I found the (Holy Grail!) secret box he was describing, with the guilty battery inside. I was to unplug the alarm box and disconnect the battery. I told him that I loved him and hung up. I had unplugged it when Si showed up and told me that I had in fact unplugged the water softener. We couldn't find where the alarm plugged in, so we turned off all the power in the house, disconnected the battery, pulled out some other random important-looking wires and went to bed. That was it. Now we're good, except the phones don't work.

Short Circuit II

I got a grant from Salt Lake County for my program, and it's time to negotiate the contract. This is when we discuss how many people will be enrolled this year, how many of them will show advances in their English, and other fascinating facts that will need to be tracked in the (enthralling) Quarterly Statistical Report.

We have been tossing drafts of the contract around, e-mailing about this or that detail.

Today, I replied to two messages from Dorothy, my grant administrator at the County offices. She phoned me shortly after.

We talked about the contract for a while; then she said, "So, what ARE you going to wear to the Quinceanera?"

Huh?

(A Qinceanera is a celebration of a girl's fifteenth birthday. Think debutante ball meets first communion meets wedding. These celebrations are huge in the Latino community. I have been invited to a Quinceanera on Saturday, but how the hell does Dorothy...]

"How did you-"

"It's right here in the e-mail you sent me:

Hey, Robin!
I am SO SORRY that I still haven't called you. The last few weeks have been f***ing insane at work! I still want to hear ALL about the hot guy you met in Puerta Vallarta. I'm going to a Quinceanera on Saturday. Just the mass, not the dance - what do you think I should wear?

Luckily,
1. Dorothy has a sense of humor.
2. I really did use the asterisks that you see above.

Anyway, Dorothy has had her share of moments. I watched her give a PowerPoint presentation once, oblivious to the fact that the projector cord was wrapped around her ankle. She could not seem to figure out why, every time she moved, the images slid across the wall. All was revealed by a sudden movement, which sent the projector sliding forcefully across the table, at which point, several people in the group threw themselves on top of it before it crashed to the floor.

And Robin? Honey, if you're out there, I think we could commit to serving 300 students again this year, for a total of 16,500 instructional hours. Could you just sign off on that and fax it back to me?

Short Circuit

I have been so bad about reading and posting blogs lately. There has just been a lot going on and I'm going 90 MPH.

At this pace, I'm easily disconcerted. I arrived at the office today to a list of phone calls I needed to return; some in English, some in Spanish. One Spanish message requested a return call with information about registering for classes.

I placed the call, making a little mental note: Spanish, this is a Spanish call.

Someone answered the phone with, "Bon jour?"

I froze.

"Bon jour?"

Bwoop! Bwoop! Does not compute.

"Uh...Bon jour!" I said. Then of course, I remembered that I don't speak French.

[Ridiculously long pause while my brain attempts to send a message to my mouth. The message is, "Say something you dork." ]

I found myself asking NOT, "Do you speak English?", but (in Spanish) "Do you speak Spanish?" The person switched to Spanish. Halfway through the conversation, the person realized I was not a native speaker of Spanish, and switched to native-like English.

I froze.

Does not compute.

It's like a faulty automatic transmission, which allows the car to rev! rev! rev! Before finally moving to the next gear. Be nice to me. Let's pick a language and stick with it, OK?