We Need to Talk About Kevin
This morning on BBC, as part of the coverage on the horrorific murders in the peaceful Amish country of Pennsylvania, they interviewed Lionel Shriver, author of the award winning book “We Need to Talk About Kevin.”
This is not a recommendation. Shriver’s book, which has won several awards for literary excellence, is not for the faint-hearted. It is a tough, muscular, bleak examination of a similar, fictional incident, written after the Columbine High School massacres.
My best friend and I read this book at the same time – it was a book club selection, paired with another book on a similar theme, “Early Leaving.” We ended up exchanging horrified e-mails every morning, discussing events in the book as if they were a part of our daily life, and speculating on where this was all going.
It is from a mother’s point of view, written to her husband, from whom she is separated after . . . .something . . . We don’t know what that something is. The book unfolds steadily and relentlessly. You want to stop. Truly you do, I am not exaggerating. The book rolls on, so dark, so ominous, you know it is leading up to something truly horrible. You don’t want to look. And you can’t stop reading.
“Why are we reading this???” we asked each other in agony. And we didn’t stop.
“Why did you want me to read this?” your friends will say, as you pass this book along, and then, shell shocked, they will come to you to discuss it. Most often, I didn’t even recommend the book, but friends would overhear other friends talking about it in hushed, horrified voices, and would insist.
The book is the scariest, most real book I have ever read. It hits at the heart of every mother’s secret fears – what if we have done something wrong while raising our child? What if our child turns into a monster? Do we ever really know anyone – our children? Our husbands? Ourselves? We are all so vulnerable in our mothering skills, so quick to blame ourselves for our children’s failings, and this book bravely explores that fear, that vulnerability, without taking the easy way out and giving easy answers.
If you read this book you will find yourselves talking about it months – even years – after you read it. It is a terrifying book.
And after you read it you will understand why my heart is breaking for everyone involved in this unthinkable killing in Pennsylvania. Were I some superstitious person, it would be so easy – it is clearly the devil’s work. I can’t imagine what this man could have been thinking, but he chose his victims – young, innocent girls – with purpose. My heart aches for his wife and children, who will bear this shame for the rest of their lives, and for his parents, who will wonder where they went wrong. My heart breaks especially for the peaceable Amish, revered throughout America for their simplicity and commitment in living their faith, who must try to find a way to forgive the man who took their innocent daughters’ lives.
Oklahoma Speed Trap
I was driving near sunset along the major east-west interstate highway in Oklahoma, with my son, sound alseep beside me. It was a gorgeous evening, and I had driven all day but wasn’t tired. Driving conditions were excellent all day, and I was so thankful. Perfect time for prayer. So I was praying all kinds of thanks when I hear a siren and see the lights in my rear view mirror.
I pulled over, not without reluctance. I had just made it past a whole line of big trucks.
“Lady, didn’t you see me??” the State Patrolman asked.
“No, I didn’t, where were you?” I asked.
“I was between those trucks you whizzed by! I can’t believe you didn’t see me! What were you thinking?”
I felt really sheepish. “I was praying,” I said, hoping the cop was feeling kind-hearted.
He wasn’t.
For the only time in my life, I had to leave my car and go sit in the highway patrol car while he ran my license and my son’s car license plates. As we waited for the results, he kept asking me questions.
“Where are you going?”
“We’re driving back home from my son’s college.”
“Where’d he go to school?”
“Florida”
“And where are you going?”
“Home” (A Western state)
(How long can it take to run plates and a driver’s license???)
“What year is he?”
“He just graduated.”
“What did he graduate in?”
I felt so humiliated. Tears started running down my face. I could see my son watching me in the rearview mirror.
“Criminology” I sobbed.
True story. Our plates and license came back clean, but it didn’t make any difference. It was the most expensive speeding ticket I have ever had to pay.
Dolphins in the Gulf
For the years that we have been living in the Gulf, we have heard people talk about seeing dolphins, but we have never seen any. Most people say “we used to see dolphins.”
My husband and I pray together every morning before he leaves for work. This morning, as we were discussing my father and my upcoming trip home, before praying, he said “are there dolphins in Kuwait?”
“What a weird question in the middle of all the serious things we are talking about, ” I thought to myself, and asked him why he asked that.
“It must be a log,” he responded, “but I am watching something appear and re-appear, and it reminds me of a dolphin.”
We got the binos, and to our unimaginable delight, it was a pair of dolphins, lazily swimming along, grazing on the fish who have been jumping the last few days.
In the midst of sadness and daily responsibilities, God smiles. It felt like such a blessing, seeing these graceful creatures going about their dolphin business. Our scripture readings for today remind us that there are miracles happening all around us, if we have the eyes to see them. We had a little miracle this morning. Thanks be to God!
“Only Trashy Girls Get their Ears Pierced”
“Only trashy girls get their ears pierced!” my Dad roared as the nightly battle at the dinner table commenced. Every night, I presented facts and evidence supporting my need for pierced ears, only to engage his fierce and fiery disapproval.
“No daughter of MINE will ever have pierced ears!” rang in my ears, but I wasn’t giving up. The battle raged on.
Meanwhile, my next youngest sister went out and got her ears pierced, and showed up at dinner with bright, shiny gold earrings. I was dumbfounded. Flabbargasted – and aghast. What would my Father do?
I expected rage. He looked at her is shock. I think he went a little pale. He was angry, but . . . so mild! She really looked cute in those new gold earrings.
“You’re grounded for a week.” he told her coldly. The rest of the meal passed in silence, my sister grinning and preening quietly.
I went out the next day and had my ears pierced, too, so we could “serve our time” on restriction together. The next week, my Mom and youngest sister went downtown and had their ears pierced too. They didn’t get grounded.
Now he lies in a hospital bed, weak, old, and subdued, sliding between hallucinations and lucidity. What I wouldn’t give to see his fiery spirit back again.
Kuwait Skyline
I used to use Nikon. I had ones with big lenses, and a small one. Then, one day, my sister put a Panasonic Lumix in my hands and said “just try this. Don’t even read the instruction book, just see if you can figure it out.”
She was ordering one for her daughter and wanted to know if I wanted one, too. Five minutes later, I said “yes” and I never looked back.
The first year, I shot both film and digital, but this little Lumix (Leica lens, Panasonic body) just knocks my socks off. It fits in my purse, it is light as a feather, and has the equivalent of a 420mm lens. It shoots in low light, and it shoots fast. It is quiet, just a little tiny “tink” when you shoot.
My only regret is that I didn’t go digital sooner.
I hate concrete box apartments. I love it when people add a little interest. It may not always be my taste, but it brings a grin to my face. Here’s an apartment building in Salwa that we watched going up – underneath this fabulous Yemani-style facade is – a plain, dark, concrete block! But you would never know it from the outside:
And the next is just down the road from it – I think the two are related, and I believe both are facades. They brighten my day.
The photos are weird because I shot them through the window driving along 30/Fehaheel Expressway – not the camera’s fault. And no, I wasn’t driving. 😉
Date Night in Kuwait
Because my husband’s weekend is Friday, Thursday night is our date night in Kuwait. We have a tradition of going out for a nice dinner together.
We used to drive our son crazy. We would say “Hey, want to go to Rio Bravo (Mexican) with us?” and about a third of the way there, my husband would say “You know, I just have this yen for sushi!” and I would go “Oh! Me too!” and our son would pipe up “No! No! No! That’s ‘bait and switch!’ No! That’s not fair!”
(Now he laughs and tells us that it runs in the family; that he and his wife do the same thing – and, he now also eats sushi. My sisters’ families tell me they do it too – it must be a family culture thing.)
So last night we were on our way to Biella’s at the Marina Crescent. But oh, the traffic on the Corniche! Maybe we should just eat Chinese in the neighborhood? What about the seafood buffet at the Crown Plaza? Or . . . finally we decided on Paul’s down at Fehaheel, and hoped there was a parking space.
They have a new mall opening just across the main street from the Al Kout Mall, Al Manshar, with a great big apartment building and a great big new hotel, a Chili’s, a Johnny Rocket’s and a food court – a few of the merchants and restaurants are already open – but only like 40 parking spaces???? Go figure! Even worse, it is right next to a beautiful mosque, so at prayer time, there is NOWHERE for anyone to park. And the driving in Fehaheel at night is crazy . . . minimally better than Gulf Road. Take another look at the photo – those two outcroppings are perfect for a bridge, a la Marina Mall – connecting one mall to the other, and sharing parking spaces.
At Paul’s in Fehaheel it was comfortable enough, with their fans, to eat outside, by the big shallow water-fountain pavillion. Great food – we had the Camembert – noisette salad, onion soup and the smoked salmon pasta, most of which we brought home because the soup and salad had been so good. Best of all was just being together, sharing our week and having a relaxed, delicious meal together.
And it was there I told him about my blog. I don’t like keeping secrets from my husband. I wanted to see if blogging was something I really wanted to do before I told anyone. Last weekend, when he was asking me to explain blogging to him, I was afraid he was on to me. He wasn’t; it was a co-incidence, but I knew someone was bound to figure it out sooner or later, and I really wanted to tell him. I was ready.
Last night when we got home I showed him the blog and he was amazed. It is so cool to have such a great evening together, great meal, great conversation, and, after all these years being married, to be able to surprise him now and then – in a good way. It was one of our best dates.
Breaking Out the Sweaters
This morning, checking the weather forecasts, I exclaimed to my husband “Wow! 100 degree (38 C) maximums for the next five days!”
“Break out the winter sweaters!” he exclaimed.
It’s a family joke. We’re from the same country, but different cultures. I was raised in a very cold climate, he was raised in a very hot climate. I need it to be cold enough to sleep; he sleeps in a nightshirt with an extra blanket.
When we were first married, he looked at me one night and said “Don’t you ever fry anything?”
I looked at him in horror. “No! – and you’ll live a lot longer! We only grill and occasionally saute!”
When I first met his family, they fixed all their best dishes for me.The food was wonderful, but used a lot of cream and lard and butter. Not used to eating such rich foods, I got really sick. Later, I did learn to cook several of the dishes that he grew up with, and he learned to like grilled fish and shrimp.
Although I do not think 100 degrees is “cool,” I am seeing changes in the weather – it is lovely at night, sweet for sitting outside. The color of the sea changed yesterday, from it’s normal jade color to a more blue color. There are huge flocks of birds, landing, resting and taking off – migratory birds? Two days ago, I could see silvery fish jumping in the waters, and last night, late late into the night, there were fishing boats just yards off the shore, with their lights gaily dancing up and down. I grew up on fishing boats – a part of me yearns to be out there with a line in the water.
Think I’d better go pull out the winter boxes.;-)
The World is Not Enough
Whew! I just got back from a week in 12th century France, courtesy of my friend Zoe Olderbourg. (slaps a flea biting her arm) I bought this book, The World is Not Enough, a while back, and have tried to read it several times, but couldn’t get into it. This time, man, I got into it and couldn’t put it down!
We enter at the wedding of Alis to Ansiau, she (slapping the flea on my neck) the 14 year old daughter of Joceran of Puiseaux, Ansiau the son of Ansiau the Elder, castellan of Linnieres, who knows he is dying and wants to see his line continue before he goes.
“The two of them, standing there, were moved, as two children must be who have just been washed, dressed, lectured and left at teh altar by their parents in front of all the guests, their brothers, their sisters, their uncles, their playmates. They were so little alike. He was a boy and she a girl.”
Alis and Ansiau marry and fall quickly in love. (checking the bedding for fleas) They hunt, they go to tournements, Ansiau goes off on Crusade to the Holy Land – twice. Alis runs the daily life of the castle, has twenty pregnancies, 12 children who live. Ansiau has a mid-life crisis. In their late 50’s, we leave them, scratching one another’s flea bites and looking off into the sunset.
Reading this book, you are totally immersed in the daily life of the nobility. The nobility, as it turns out, are the original credit-crazy spenders – they borrowed against their inheiritance, they borrowed against their lands, they borrowed against their doweries. They were constantly short funds, and constantly mortgaging their future for a few baubles today.
The “castle” had a great hall downstairs, where most of the men slept and where cows and horses and chickens and sheep were brought if it got too cold in the stables in the winter, and up a laddar, one great room where there was one big bed for the king and queen and whoever else they invited to sleep there, and a couple other beds, mostly shared by four or five people. This was where ladies slept, and hung out, and embroidered, and (scratching at a fleabite on the ankle) exchanged gossip.
It was a fascinating visit into a world with no running water, no heat, no air conditioning, where babies died at birth as often as not. It was a world where people caught smallpox, and the lucky ones, those who survived, lived the rest of their lives with pock marks like craters on their faces. It was a world where the nobility didn’t read, and there were no books except in the monasteries. Only priests were authorized to read and explain scripture. It was a world where wolves and bear still roamed the forests of France.
The book is set near Troyes and Langres, in the Champagne area of France. Zoe Oldenburg captures the poverty and brutality suffered by the majority of people, rich and poor alike, without sacrificing the human joys and kindnesses which brightened the world, and made life worth living. The book is so realistic and richly detailed that you will be looking for flea bites when you finish!
Heritage Market
I couldn’t resist this photo. I love the art work in the Heritage Souk. Cat looks pretty content, too. I bet he gets the leftovers.
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