The Tiger’s Wife by Tea Obreht
The Tiger’s Wife was the perfect book to get me from Pensacola to Seattle, and through the Atlanta airport, full of bustle on a Sunday, packed flights, no quiet, no privacy. Thank God for a good, engrossing book, that takes you totally out of where you are to a world where things are not always what they seem.
The book is set in an unnamed country in East Europe which has just come out of a war, and the main character and her best friend are en route across a border which did not exist before the war, on an aid mission to immunize children who were once neighbors, and are now in a different country.
The primary relationship in the book is the bond between a young girl and her grandfather, and the stories he tells her as they walk up to the zoo, the Jungle Book he reads to her as they visit the animals, and the stories she finds for herself as she participates in the post-war rebuilding. It is a fascinating book because what she is writing about is not always what she is really writing about; the stories and legends and experiences are metaphors for another reality and a life lesson.
I don’t want you to think that this is one of the mindless airport books I sometimes tell you about. If it were, I would tell you “this is not great literature; this is an airport read.” Not this book. This book is literature. This book has meaning, and events you will think about and talk over with other readers long after you have finished the book.
In the back of The Tiger’s Wife is an interview in which one of my favorite new authors, Jennifer Egan (A Visit From the Good Squad) interviews Tea Obreht about her writing process, her life, her vision, etc. Fascinating reading, too, and also reader’s guide questions help you see things you might need to see and might otherwise miss.
. . . Hurray for the Pumpkin Pie . . .
“You’ve worked HARD!” our water aerobics instructor told us. “You get a free pass tomorrow; you can eat anything!”
I wish she hadn’t said that. We did work hard, but it wasn’t just one day of feasting, it was pretty much four days, and we enjoyed ourselves too much. No matter how hard we had worked Wednesday morning, it wasn’t enough to cover four days.
Arriving at Papa’s and Grammy’s we were welcomed with a bubbling gumbo, a combined effort of Papa and Grammy; Grammy did all the shopping and chopping, and PaPa worked the roux, which is the butter and flour combination that makes that smoky flavored base for the gumbo. They had just finished cleaning and deveining about 40 pounds of shrimp for Thanksgiving, and threw a few in the gumbo. Oh YUM. The next morning was full of preparations, and then, mid-morning, the feasting began, with all the guys shucking oysters and eating boiled shrimp. As you drive up, you can smell smoke from an outdoor fire, and chairs and tables are out everywhere, but the shucking goes on down near the creek:
The house is beautiful, spacious and welcoming for so many people. The happy baby, who is now a happy toddler, was in heaven – he was surrounded by boy toys – tractors and golf carts and a Model A and all sorts of age appropriate toys, as well as cousins, aunts, uncles and a lot of hilarious rough housing. Why is it kids just love the terror of being turned upside-down?
For me, this was the best Thanksgiving with the family; finally I am beginning to figure out who is who from year to year. I still have to ask questions, but they seem more comfortable with me, and I had some really good conversations, sort of beyond the polite-passing-the-time conversations. I’m not that great in big crowds, but now I am beginning to have some good one-on-ones, and for me, that’s a great Thanksgiving.
And on, man, the food. Tables and tables of food. I don’t know how they do it, but I saw the list of cakes, and there must have been twenty cakes on THE LIST. They each have responsibilities, and somehow, it all works.
Three turkeys, all carved, and so much dressing (which I grew up calling stuffing, it all depends on where you grew up):
That green container is AdventureMan’s first foray into cranberry chutney. This one was a little tart, but tasty. As are darling daughter in law so diplomatically put it, “I would probably like it more if my taste buds were accustomed to having cranberries without sugar.”
About half of the sides were sweet potato casseroles; you can’t believe how good these are. This year this front dish was one of the favorites, squash cassarole:
This photo doesn’t begin to do justice to the desserts – holy smokes:
So the biggest brother blessed the food and we ate around one, then we visited for a few hours, people going back and grazing a little. Then the next generation cleaned everything up and got all the food packaged up and put away. About an hour later, that broccoli salad started calling me, and I went out to try a little more and discovered it was all put away, but a partner in crime knew where it was, and we pulled it out and had some, which started a whole landslide of second-platers, just when everything had been all put away, LLOOLLL!
It was a great day, a day full of thanks for all the things in life that really matter.
I Wish I’d Hugged Her
The phone rang, late for most of my friends. We rarely talk after nine. It was one of my quilting sisters, calling to tell me one of our members had collapsed and died.
I sat down. Why would my friend say such a thing? On the other hand, when I saw her – just three days ago – she wasn’t looking too good, had one of those allergies or things we all get during this time when the temperatures may be in the 40’s or in the high 70’s. But she did make it to the meeting, and we all have bad days, don’t we?
My friend said she would let me know as soon as she knew the arrangements. I think I was a little dazed, a little in shock. I remember when I got the call my Dad had died, it’s like I can’t integrate things all at once, it takes me a while for things to sink in.
I wish I’d hugged her. She’s a lady I really like, talented, wry, funny. We talked, briefly at the meeting, but then the meeting went into full swing and I didn’t really talk with her again. I wish I’d hugged her.
The Hemingway Safari: Chobe Part 4
At six the next morning, we hear the sound of zipping and then “good morning!” as our hot water is delivered into the bath and dressing room. We hurry our cleaning up, as it is COLD! We gather around the campfire for coffee, and have either hot or cold cereal and fruit before heading out on our morning game drive.
First, we watch the lions for about 45 minutes – they are a hoot. They are about 200 yards away, and rolling around, feeling well fed and guarding their carcass from the hyenas and jackals. Other trucks full of viewers start arriving. At sunrise, we are down by the river, watching hippos and crocodiles, and Namibean fishermen from across the river. Godfrey tells us there is a huge problem with poaching, as Botswana has made a decision to protect the game and encourage eco-tourism, but Namibia hasn’t. As the game has been hunted out in Namibia, hunters cross the river to hunt in the game reserves.
At 9:30 we stop for coffee/tea, all packed beautifully in a wicker picnic basket, with small sandwiches. AH and I start laughing – we had no idea we would be fed five times a day on this trip. At 11, we arrive back in camp. The deck chairs are in front of our tents, and lunch is ready. Dorcas meets us – every time – with the hot washcloths. And yes, there is HOT water in the shower!
Lunch is macaroni and cheese, cold cuts and cheeses and fresh baked bread, cucumber and green pepper salad with joghurt dressing, and oh, it is delicious. And now, thanks be to God, we have siesta time, time to snooze a little, time to look at the guide books in the library and check out what we have seen, time to review maps of where we have been. Ah, we need siesta time.
AH has just drifted off to sleep when I spot a HUGE baboon walking by our tent, right into the center of the camp. I shake AH awake and point. The baboon turns around, looks, then continues on his way. What a thrill. Tea is served at three, and Simaseku has baked an apple cake. My friends, this is a problem for me. I am on a weight loss program, and I don’t want to hurt Simaseku’s feelings, but I just can’t eat all this food!
On our afternoon game viewing we spend a lot of time watching the elephants wallowing along the river. It is so much fun, they are rolling, splashing, blowing water over their backs, having a great time. Some of the adolescent males are flghting a little, but not seriously. Later, we spend another 45 minutes watching the lions, and then . . . one of the most magical moments of the trip happens.
As we leave the lions feasting on what is by now a very smelly carcass, it is almost dark. Too dark to take any photos. And my guess is that the stink of the carrion was carried with us, as we had sat watching for a lenghty period of time. We run into a huge herd of impala. Impala are like the skinniest, most graceful little deer you have ever seen. They have large liquid eyes and thin little legs. And for whatever reason, as we drove into the midst of them, they went crazy. When impalas are anxious, they pronk.
If you were a ballet dancer, and you did a leap, and at the top of the leap you gave it a little extra kick, you would be pronking. And to confuse the predator, the impala pronk in all different directions. I am guessing we smelled like a predator, because for a good five minutes, the impala did what I can only describe as an incredible ballet around our vehicle. Groups would dash from one side to another, in front of us, behind us, beside us, leaping and extending that leap, like crazy ballerinas. It was the craziest, most graceful, wildest ballet I have ever experienced. I wish you were sitting next to me as it happened, I wish you could see them, barely visible in the diminishing light, as they did their manic leaps and bounds. We couldn’t photograph, we could just sit and experience it. It is a sight I will never forget.
Tomorrow morning we will depart for Savute Elephant camp, and stop to see Godfrey’s parents and village en route. I am getting used to the noises in the night, I even LIKE them! I love sleeping in our tent, and although I am in the midst of wild animals, I feel strangely safe.
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