Burke and Tin Roof Blowdown
“So what are you reading?”
Sparkle’s question didn’t surprise me. It’s one of the things we share, a love of reading, anything really but especially mystery books.
“I just started James Lee Burke’s new book, The Tin Roof Blowdown,” I responded.
Her eyes brightened and she threw back her head and laughed! “I knew it! I saw he had a new book out and I hoped you had already bought it!”
What she’s not saying is “bought it, read it and will pass it along to me!”
It’s what we do. I am in the middle of a series she recommended and loaned to my son, he is 3/4 way through (the Hyperion series) and has passed along the first two volumes to me, which, when finished, I will return to my sis.
James Lee Burke’s newest book, The Tin Roof Blowdown, is Burke at his best. His last book ended with the ominous storm rolling in that has changed the face of New Orleans and this book starts with Hurricane Katrina. The stories are heartbreaking, and all the more so because they are true. New Orleans is one of the most corrupt cities in the United States, about one third of the police force LEFT the city they were hired to protect in the evacuation, and the poorest of the poor were left behind, to suffer, to struggle to live, or to die. Many did all three.
Detective Dave Robicheaux is called into the “Big Sleazy” with the rest of the New Iberia police force to help with rescue operations, and to try to bring some order into the chaos. He gets involved with a missing priest, two looters being shot, a robbery that includes cocaine, counterfeit cash and blood diamonds, and the usual cast of psycopaths and organized crime goombahs.
The book builds inexorably to a nail-biting climax.
This author can WRITE. He is head and shoulders above the average churn-em-out detective writer. Here is one of his less poetic, but more insightful entries:
” . . . the honest to God truth is that law enforcement is not even law “enforcement.” We deal with problems after the fact. We catch criminals by chance and accident, either during the commission of the crimes or through snitches. Because of forensic and evidentiary problems, most of the crimes recidivists commit are not even prosecutable. Most inmates currently in the slams spend lifetimes figuring out ways to come to the attention of the system. Ultimately, jail is the only place they feel safe from their own failures.
Unfortunately, the last people on our minds are the victims of crime. They become an addendum to both the investigation and the prosecution of the case, adverbs instead of nouns. Ask rape victims, or people who have been beaten with gun butts or metal pipes or tied to chairs and tortured how they felt toward the system after they learned that their assailants were released on bond without the victims being notified.
I don’t believe in capital punishment, but I don’t argue with the prosecutors who support it. The mouths of the people they represent are stopped with dust. What kind of advocate would not try to give them voice?
Obesity Contagious
Obesity ‘contagious’, experts say
This report is from BBC Health News.
The study looked at data collected over 32 years
Having a friend, sibling or spouse who is overweight raises a person’s risk of being obese too, US researchers say.
They said data on more than 12,000 people suggested the risk was increased by 57% if a friend was obese, by 40% if a sibling was and 37% if a spouse was.
They argued this showed social factors, such as the body sizes of other people, were important in developing obesity. . . .
“Rather, there is a direct, causal relationship. What appears to be happening is that a person becoming obese most likely causes a change of norms about what counts as an appropriate body size.
“People come to think that it is OK to be bigger since those around them are bigger, and this sensibility spreads.”
The study was actually about heart disease, and this result was a by-product of the study.
Missing You, Adventure Man
I’m eating here, all alone, in a booth for one, surrounded by a million other customers. Son and his wife are at work, and Sonny’s isn’t their favorite place. It’s low brow, it’s folksy, and oh, how I miss southern barbecue when I am back in Kuwait.
The waitress, Tammy, is country and sweet and cares about all her customers, I have the fried catfish with Sonny’s baked beans and a side of cole claw . . .I have my non-sweet iced tea, I have my Sudoku . . . missing you too much, Adventure Man:
What’s in Your Toolbox?
What do you give a young adult, graduating high school, who has just about everything he wants? What do you give him that he doesn’t even know he wants?
It was Christmas, and we were trying to figure out what to give our son. We eventually decided on a tool box, and we had a lot of fun filling it – hammers, fasteners, screw drivers and Phillips screw drivers in various sizes, nails, putty, screws, a level, a measuring tape . . . he like it, but he was a little underwhelmed.
Until he got to college. At the end of the first week, when he called us, we could hear the joyful confidence in his voice.
“Guess what!” he said. It wasn’t really a question, he was going to tell us.
“No-one else has a tool-box here! All the other kids need help putting their bunks together (there was some smart entrepreneur who was marketing loft-like bunk beds and room-customizing kits to all the incoming students, making, I am willing to bet, a fortune) and I’m the one with the tool box!”
We could hear the smile on his face.
And isn’t that life? The more tools you have in your toolbox, the better equipped you are to handle what life throws at you? Even the unexpected – if you have the right tools.
For me, those tools have been varied.
• Reading books has introduced me to new ways of thinking.
• Learning foreign languages gives me different perspectives.
• Living in foreign countries helps conquer ignorant ideas about people of other cultures.
• I can eat a wide variety of cuisines without fear
• I can swim, use a rifle, cook, and speak in public without my voice quavering
• I can laugh. Thanks be to God.
All these tools have been acquired, some, like patience and kindness, at great price.
So what are your tools? What has helped you deal with what life throws your way? What tools have you grown to deal with life’s challenges?
A Day at Home Depot
Those of you who read this blog regularly know I have a thing about hardware stores . . . Lowe’s, Home Depot, Ace . . .I can spend hours.
Right now, however, we are doing some renovations on a Florida house, and oh! I am learning so much. I am learning that the very best contractor can’t guarantee that a project will be brought in during the time he promised, that supply lines get kinked, that when you think you have made a very complicated decision (like what kind of counter top you want) it branches into a whole lot more decisions (electrical outlets, wall treatment, edge treatment, sink choice, faucet choices, hauling away and tearing out of original fixtures, plumbing fixtures. . . ) and oh, my head was swimming. It took two hours just to arrange something I smugly thought I had thought through.
Thank God there are people who know a lot more than I do, and who can make me face the tough questions.
As I was leaving the Home Depot, the skies broke loose and water poured down. I waited at the entrance about half an hour, thinking it would lighten up. When it lightened – a little – I ran to the car, but was totally soaked, shoes, clothing, hair – there wasn’t a try spot on me. And the rain continued to pour down. I thought of how badly Pensacola needs this rain, and how welcome rain is in Kuwait, and Doha, when it comes. I sat in the car another half hour, as the rain was flooding through the parking lot, and you couldn’t see very far.
As I was working with the counter-guy, he asked me how I liked living in Kuwait.
I told him I liked it.
“What are the people like?” he asked.
They are good neighbors,” I replied, “A lot like the people in Pensacola. They are believers. They are kind, and generous in spirit. And Kuwait has it’s own beauty, you just have to open your eyes to seeing things in a different way.”
I didn’t tell him about you, my blogging friends, because I’m not sure he is familiar with blogging. And because even here, I treasure my privacy.
Finally, the rain lightened enough for me to drive, very slowly, home, trying to avoid places in the roads where the drains were stopped up or clogged, and water was a foot deep or so. Made it home safely, al hamdallah!
News from Florida
In Kuwait, the free press is still very cautious. They might hint at a story, they might give a few details, but they are still cautious about crimes which in other countries would be a matter of public record.
Here is a very sad story from the Florida news scene today:
State Representative Arrested for Prostitution Charge
State Representative Bob Allen was arrested Wednesday after offering to perform oral sex for $20 on an undercover male police officer, authorities said.
Veteran’s Memorial Park was under surveillance when Allen, Republican – Merritt Island, was seen coming in and out of a restroom three times. . . Allen, 48, then approached an undercover officer and was arrested.
He has been charged with solicition for prostitution, which has a maximum penalty of one year in jail. Brevard County officials said Allen posted a $500 bond.
For my Kuwait readers, a state representative is an elected official who helps make the laws. The Republican party is considers itself the guardian of public morals. So there is some irony in this story, as well as infinite sadness.
John from Cincinnati
One of the things we love the most about time with our son and his wife is that they open our horizons. I am waking up these mornings around 3:30, can’t get back to sleep. But my son helps me towards the end of the day, to stay up one more hour, by hooking me on John from Cincinnati, a new series on HBO.
The series is bizarre. I have only seen four episodes; and now I am going to have to wait until Sunday nights for the next one to view.
It centers around a California surfing family, the Yosts. The eldest was a surf champion until his knee gave out, his son wowed the surfing world until he got lost in a haze of dope and booze, and the youngest Yost, Shawn, is just beginning to show his supurb stuff.
But that isn’t all. There is the main character, John, who seems to be a transpositon of John the Baptist into modern times and lacking all kinds of clues as to how we humans behave. He doesn’t excrete, he doesn’t sleep, and he doesn’t understand sex. One of the funniest scenes is a surf-savvy supporting character named Kai explaining how sex is accomplished. It sounds pretty absurd as she explains it.
It’s about the surfing culture. It’s about family interactions. It’s about a small town and how they deal with conflict. And about how they support one another in tough times. It’s HBO, so it can be crude, it can be violent, and it can be very adult. It’s also thought provoking and intriguing.
Very strange things have begun to happen in this small town. Grandpa Yost ended up levitating as he washed off after surfing. Shawn had a fatal surfing accident, from which he recovers. John from Cincinnati can pull whatever money he needs out of his pocket. Butchie has been without drugs the two days John has been staying with him, and is amazed that he isn’t going through withdrawal.
Five segments in, we still don’t really know what we are seeing. We are beginning to understand how the community works, the interfamily struggles. I can’t wait to see what’s coming next.
Qatteri Cat Loves His Dad
We start our day together as a family – Adventure Man, me, Qatteri Cat – and all of Qatteri Cat’s babies, who end up on the bed by morning . . .He brought two babies in last night while I was still reading, and the other two appeared sometime as we were sleeping.
As we gathered in the living room to watch the sun over the Gulf, to see if we could spot any dolphins, Adventure Man sat with Qatteri Cat and began to play with him. Adventure Man almost lost a finger!
We got the Qatteri Cat when he was still a very young cat. He was found, sick and with an eye infection, on the Corniche in Doha, too young to be away from his mother, but with no mother in sight. A family adopted him, but the females in the family didn’t like him, and he spent much of his time alone, on a too hot or too cold balcony.
When we adopted him, he LOVED Adventure Man at first sight, but he was very wary of me. His back would arch if my hand raised. He watched my feet like a hawk. If my voice raised, his ears went back. And he was terrified of plastic bags, totally freaked out.
After a month or so, he would sit next to me, but not for long. He usually ended up biting me or scratching me in a panic to get away. It took months to calm him down, to calm his terrors, to gain his trust.
He is a very odd cat. He doesn’t eat meat, won’t touch it. He loves shrimp and sardines, and we special order salmon flavored cat food for him. He never begs for food. If I forget to feed him, he will nip at my feet – that’s his only signal, and he has to be very hungry to even do that. He never begs for food. He drinks very little water, so little that we have to encourage him to drink often.
Most of all, he wants to go out. He wants to roam free, he wants to be the CAT that God created him to be. But now, we have trained him too well – he is too trusting, and has no understanding about cars at all. He wouldn’t last long on the mean streets of Kuwait.
We also have to be careful, because underneath this contented cat, not too far from the surface, is that street-born cat. Most mornings I have a tough time typing, because he is snuggled up between my left arm and the computer. Occasionally, all of a sudden, in his imagination, my left hand becomes something else as it types along, and he attacks. His attacks, with teeth and claws, come as a surprise. It is a great trick NOT to try to remove my hand immediately, which only makes him bite and claw harder, but to stay totally still and say his name in reproving tones. It reminds him who he is and who I am, and he will let go. It happens less and less often, but we never forget there is still a wild cat not far below the thin veneer of civilization.
Most of all, he loves Adventure Man. He cries when he leaves, and he starts getting restless when it is time for him to come home. He waits by the door. When Adventure Man travels, he gets depressed, and Adventure Man talks to him on the phone when he calls. Sometimes I will ask “can you say hello to Qatteri Cat?” and he’ll say “not now, there are people around!” and he will leave the office and call back to talk with Qatteri Cat where no-one can hear him. Adventure Man gets most of his exercise these days chasing Qatteri Cat from room to room, throwing his ball, playing hide and seek.
OK, Skunk, this one was for you. 🙂
Backbiting
Our New Testament reading for today included this passage:
Galatians 5: 13-15
13 You, my brothers, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the sinful nature; rather, serve one another in love. 14The entire law is summed up in a single command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” 15 If you keep on biting and devouring each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other.
I love the way this passage describes the truly awful way the things we can say about one another can destroy. “Devour” is a very strong word, and fits perfectly with backbiting, doesn’t it?
I remember one of my first Ramadans, and my friends who were explaining Ramadan to me explained how one of the most important things during Ramadan was absolutely NO BACKBITING.
Answers.com says this:
Back·bit·ing
n.
Secret slander; detraction.
Backbiting, and bearing of false witness.
so I wonder if this is exactly the same in Arabic as in English. The impression I got is that backbiting in Arabic is more like gossip. Backbiting seems to imply that it is not true, but gossip can hurt even if it has a thread of truth. My impression from what my friends were telling me was that saying anything negative or unkind about another during Ramadan was severely discouraged, true or not.
Can you clarify this for me?
Jimmie Rodgers on your Prayer List
This is an e-mail from the son of Jimmie Rodgers, who a thousand years ago sang a song called Honeycomb:
Jimmie Rodgers was a TCK – Third Culture Kid – a military brat who went to high school in Germany. He is facing a medical crisis, and major surgery tomorrow, June 28, and his family asks for your prayers:
Hello Everyone!
Perhaps we have not spoken for a while. Perhaps we have never even met but somehow we have been connected through this wonderful world of email. That being said if you are considering this to be SPAM consider it the best kind because there is an opportunity here to be kind if for just a moment and truly bless someone. My name is Michael Rodgers. My fathers name is Jimmie Rodgers. Some of you might remember him from his musical career that has now spanned fifty years.
In 1957 he recorded a song called “Honeycomb” and followed it up with a string of hit records totaling 25 top ten singles,eighty million records sold worldwide and concert appearances throughout the world. Through all of that he carried himself with grace, charm and an incredible sense of humor and style.
In 1967 when he was 33 years old my father was injured in what is now known as a road rage incident with an off duty Los Angeles Police Officer. He suffered severe head injuries and underwent three brain surgeries.
During one of those surgeries he lost 28 square inches of his skull on the right side of his head.
Since 1968 he has carried what is considered to be the largest steel plate ever implanted in someone’s head. For 39 years the entire right side of his head has been entirely made of steel.
It took Dad nearly 15 years to recover from the last surgery in 1968 as he had to learn to walk,speak and regain his motor skills. He was not suppose to live more than 10 years with this steel plate in his body as the body continually tries to reject these kind of implants. Over the years as he has gotten older the skin on his scalp has gotten thinner (as it does with everyone) and the steel has began to try to regain it’s original shape and the edges of the plate that overlap the remaining bone have become sharp and they continually cut his scalp open making the plate stick through the top of his head. When this happens his brain is exposed to air and possible infection, he has terrible mood swings and if left this way this situation will eventually lead to his death.
Over the last 15 years he has had the plate filed, snipped, cut, and reshaped, he has had over 60 different skin graphs and other surgeries to try and keep his head from opening up. The last such surgery was 18 months ago and it nearly killed him. He now has a hole in his head the size of a half dollar and it has been this way since February. There is not enough healthy skin left on his scalp to cover it over.
My dad is tough. He is the definition of the word. He has avoided what is about to take place and tried everything imaginable to live with the constant pain and discomfort and he has now made a decision that will define what will be the rest of his life.
On Thursday June 28, 2007 a team of Brain Surgeons in Hot Springs Arkansas will remove the steel plate that he has carried with him for 39 years. They plan to remove the outer layer of skin and lift the plate away from the position it has held covering the outer layer of his brain. If successful they will replace the plate with a new material that has been developed that will recreate the skull bone and will not be rejected by the body. They also plan to recreate new skin on his head using his own stem cells in a paste form so that no more skin graphs will be needed.
If this surgery works he will no longer have the worry that his head will open up and his brain will become exposed anymore. If this surgery works he will have the chance to live what is left of his life without pain and the ever present knowledge that at anytime his head will open up again.
If this surgery works there is also a very real chance that he might never recover from the intense trauma that he is about to go through. At 33 years of age it took him 15 years to recover. At 73 years of age who knows what the outcome might be. What we do know is that he cannot live with this in his body anymore and it needs to come out if he is going to have any chance to live whatsoever.
Dad has made the decision. The Doctors feel confident that all will be fine and we are stepping out on faith that this is the right course of action.
As someone who some of you know to be a fairly private person I am opening up to you about a very serious family issue. This is not an easy time and I need your help. I kindly ask of you to give of yourselves and help me and my family and most importantly my father through the next few days.
From now until the end of next week and beyond if possible I kindly ask you all to please do the following.
* Please pray for my father that his surgery and recovery will be successful and that his health will be completely restored.
* Please pray for the team of Doctors and Nurses that will be performing the surgery so that they might have guidance and wisdom during this time.
* Please pray for our family that we might have strength and courage to face the days ahead in helping Dad with his recovery.
* Please Pray whatever your heart tells you to pray to whatever higher power you feel guides your life.
* Please put my father Jimmie Rodgers on your prayer lists at church or through an email request such as this one. (Feel free to copy and send).
All of us are connected in this life in some way. I believe there is power in prayer and power in positive thought.
I believe and claim that my father will completely recover from this surgery and that his body will be restored.
I believe that together all of us through prayer and positive energy and thinking can help that to happen.
Thank you all for being a part of and playing a part (large or small) in my life.
Thank you for giving my request consideration.
Name: Jimmie Rodgers
Date of Surgery: June 28, 2007 Steel Plate Removal / Skull Replacement.
My family and I thank you.
And my father thanks you and will be most appreciative to you for your thoughts and prayers. Please click on this link to see my father so that you can see him vital and healthy in your prayers.
God Bless,
Michael Rodgers
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