Picoult and My Sister’s Keeper
I don’t know where I got the idea that Jodi Picoult wrote girly books, maybe because when you go to a bookstore there are so many of them? I just assumed they were romance and passed right by until several months ago, in a small used book store, I found one that was in the book club section, and those are usually pretty good reads. I bought it, but put off reading it, assuming it was an easy read, maybe I would read it on an airplane one day.
For some reason I moved it up, maybe I had heard a review or something. It moved to the bedside group, the “in line for immediate reading” group. At a time when we were particularly busy, I finished my other book and this was next, and I thought “Oh well, yes we are busy, but this will be light reading.”
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
This book, My Sister’s Keeper, is not light reading. It is a book a lot like We Need To Talk About Kevin one of the most terrifying and unforgettable books I have ever read. It is a book about motherhood, and parenting and tough choices. It is a book about how sometimes your entire life is yanked, and all the focus is on one area, to the detriment of others. It is a particularly tough book if you are a mother.
The main character, Anna, was conceived so that her stem cells, from the umbilical cord, will be used to help her sister, Kate, who has leukemia. Family life is chaotic, to say the least, as the vigilant parents’ attention is constantly on Kate, who suffers frequent relapses.
Picoult uses the voices of Anna, Kate, Jessie – the brother, a pyromaniac, Brian (the father), Sara (the mother), Campbell (Anna’s lawyer) and Jesse (Anna’s guardian ad litem) to tell the story.
Anna has approached Campbell, a lawyer, to achieve medical emancipation. She loves her sister, she has shared a room and her entire life with her sister, she has given stem cells, she has given bone marrow, she has been through several medical procedures to keep her sister’s cancer in remission, but at 13, she balks when expected to give one of her kidneys is a last ditch attempt that even the doctors have little expectation will succeed. She hires a lawyer.
Sara is a mother you would love to hate. You would love to grab her by the shoulders and say “Pay attention! You have THREE children, and two of them need your attention, too!” but something holds you back, and that something is the serious doubt you have about how you would handle the same situation. In extreme circumstances, people make the best choices they can, and when you are in extreme circumstances day after day, things start to fray, and then they start to fall apart. This family is past the fraying part, and we hold our breaths hoping they won’t fall apart.
It’s not a hard read because of the technical terms; this is a book where a 13 year old knows all the vocabulary of cancer, and we learn it, too. It flows naturally in the book.
Kate has acute promyelocytic leukemia. Actually, that’s not quite true – right now she doesn’t have it, but it’s hibernating under her skin like a bear, until it decides to roar again. She was diagnosed when she was two; she’s sixteen now. Molecular relapse and granulocyte and portacath – these words are part of my vocabulary, even though I’ll never find them on any SAT. I’m an allogeneic donor – a perfect sibling match. When Kate needs leukocytes or stem cells or bone marrow to fool her body into thinking it’s healthy, I’m the one who provides them. Nearly every time Kate’s been hospitalized, I wind up there, too.
None of which means anything except that you shouldn’t believe what you hear about me, least of all that which I tell you about myself.
Aha! We are reading a book with an unreliable main character!
It is a hard read because we all have families, and we all face tough decisions. There is a part of us that says “thank God we are not in this situation” and another part that says “there but for the grace of God . . . ” It is a tough book because we don’t know who we will become when life-changing circumstances hit us, we don’t know what choices we would make, because we are afraid, and because we don’t want to find out.
There are some surprises, though, and you will want to keep reading. There is a lot of love here, in the cracks between the tragedies. My Sister’s Keeper has three sets of sisters, and a lot of focus on that very special relationship. The men, too, come off well at the end.
Not an easy read, but a book that will stay in your heart for a long time.
Saudis to Overhaul Legal System
Found this today on BBC Middle East News.
Saudi Arabia has announced an overhaul of its judicial system, including the allocation of $2bn (£981m) for training judges and building new courts.
The reforms, by royal decree, will lead to the creation of a supreme court, an appeals court and new general courts to replace the Supreme Judicial Council.
Reformers have welcomed the measures, which they say will improve human rights and help modernise the country.
They complain that the current judicial system is often opaque and arbitrary.
Until now, Saudi judges have had wide discretion to issue rulings according to their own interpretation of Islamic Sharia law.
The judiciary has also long resisted the codification of laws or the reliance on precedent when making a ruling.
Defendants also do not have recourse to appeal and often have no right to proper legal representation.
Unchecked powers
The new reforms announced by King Abdullah are aimed at addressing some of these perceived failings and at introducing safeguards such as appeal courts that can overturn decisions by lower courts, the BBC’s Heba Saleh says.
You can read the rest HERE.
Business Bad Surprise
A young executive was leaving the office late one evening when he found the CEO standing in front of a shredder with a piece of paper in his hand.
“Listen,” said the CEO, “this is a very sensitive and important document here, and my secretary has gone for the night. Can you make this thing work?”
“Certainly,” said the young executive. He turned the machine on, inserted the paper, and pressed the start button.
“Excellent, excellent!” said the CEO as his paper disappeared inside the machine.
“I just need one copy.”
Spaghetti Sauce
In our family, one of the first things you learn to make when you start cooking is spaghetti sauce. It couldn’t be easier, and you can make a double batch and freeze half and have it again in a couple weeks (thawed, of course.)
Chop one large onion, saute over low heat in olive oil. While the onion is sauteeing, peel and chop four or five cloves of garlic. Toss them is just before the onion is all soft and glistening. (Garlic needs less cooking than onion.)
Empty the saute pan into a bowl, and brown about 1 lb (1/2 kilo) of ground beef. If you want to take an extra step, also add in some ground Italian sausage (you can find it at the Sultan Center.) Brown it until there is no pink left, but the meat is still soft.
Pour the hot browned meat into a large pot. Add the sauteed onions. Chop up some tomatoes, real tomatoes that don’t look good enough for the salad. Having some real tomato in the sauce makes all the difference.
Add three or more small packets of tomato paste (small cans in the US) and four cups of water. It will look kind of soupy. Don’t worry! (In the US or countries where you can drink alcohol, use some red wine in place of some of the water, maybe a cup, for taste.)
Over low heat, cook the spaghetti meat sauce for hours – maybe three – until it has become less soupy and more sauc-y.
Fifteen minutes before serving, add 1 Tablespoon sugar.
The above is a very plain, very basic, but delicious spaghetti sauce. If you like flavors a little more complex, you can add in fifteen fresh chopped basil leaves when you add the sugar and stir them in well.
You can add a chopped green pepper to the onion when sauteeing.
You can add other meats, chopped finely.
Once you have mastered the basic sauce, you can customize it to your own tastes.
How easy is that?
Blog Header
My friend and frequent commenter, Abdulaziz, created a new blog header for me. I don’t have a customizable header with this format, and while I have looked at the customizable ones, I don’t understand enough to make the leap. But I want to share with you what he created, using the photo Adventure Man and I took last week.
Isn’t it beautiful?
Ignoble Awards 2007
Pioneering research into a “gay bomb” that makes enemy troops “sexually irresistible” to each other has scooped one of this year’s Ig Nobel Prizes.
Other winners included work on treating hamster jetlag with impotency drugs, extracting vanilla from cow dung, and the side-effects of sword swallowing.
The awards, founded in 1991, mark achievements that “first make people laugh, and then make them think”.
The prize ceremony took place at Harvard University, US.
Genuine Nobel Laureates handed out the much-coveted awards to the winners, who took away no cash, but instead received a handmade prize, a certificate, and, of course, the glory of such an illustrious win.
You can read the entire article, with all the awards at BBC News.
Manly Cosmetics
I vacated my bathroom for houseguests recently, and as I was moving my toiletries back in, with wry amusement I noticed how many face creams I have. Creams for eyes, creams for lips, creams for night, creams for going out into the sun, creams for after having gone out into the sun, creams for day, creams for “noticable reductions in wrinkles in 7 days or less.”
(The problem is, seven days later when I am looking for a noticable reduction, I can’t really tell if it is working or not. I look, but I am wondering what I might have looked like if I HADN’T used the cream? I don’t know!)
And I was thinking about men, who have skin, too. Particularly I was thinking about Adventure Man, and what would it take for him to feel comfortable using a skin cream?
First – it would have to have a very manly name. None of this Homme stuff, it would have to imply that this is a product a RUGGED man would use. Like Manly Lather. “Lather” is a word that goes with men, like barbers lather up your face before they shave you. Women use foam, men use LATHER.
Another name I thought might work would be Extreme Unction because manly men like flying near that edge of the envelope, it’s a testosterone thing, and unction means anointing, like with an oil. If you are Catholic, you receive extreme unction just before dying, or before people think you are about to die, so even unction has an extreme connotation.
Maybe Braveheart? Maybe Rock?
Help me out here.
If you are a guy, (please, keep it clean) what kind of names would allow you to use a face cream with dignity?
If you are a gal (and rolling on the floor laughing) what names can you think of that would encourage a guy to actually USE a face cream?
Have fun with this!
Feast of St. Francis of Assisi
This morning, I was reminded, in the most wonderful way, that today is the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi. A friend who is a priest blessed the Qatteri Cat. It is a tradition on the Feast of St. Francis in some churches to have a blessing of the animals. It delighted my heart to have the Qatteri Cat blessed today!
St. Francis of Assisi was a controversial person. As a young man, upon hearing the voice of God, he sold off a bolt of silk from his father’s family warehouse to repair a church that had fallen into disrepair. His father was very angry and disowned him publicly. When he did, Francis took off all his clothes, left them for his father and walked away naked, or so the legend goes. He considered himself “wed to Lady Poverty” and preached simplicity in life and worship. This was not always popular with the Catholic Church.
This is called “The Prayer of St. Francis:”
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
You can read more on the official church legend of St. Francis here, although it does not go into detail about the simple way he lived his life, preached poverty, and loved all animals.
Reading through the above, I learned something. Here is an excerpt:
In 1219, Francis went to the Holy Land to preach to the moslems. He was given a pass through the enemy lines, and spoke to the Sultan, Melek-al-Kamil. Francis proclaimed the Gospel to the Sultan, who replied that he had his own beliefs, and that moslems were as firmly convinced of the truth of Islam as Francis was of the truth of Christianity. Francis proposed that a fire be built, and that he and a moslem volunteer would walk side by side into the fire to show whose faith was stronger. The Sultan said he was not sure that a moslem volunteer could be found. Francis then offered to walk into the fire alone. The Sultan who was deeply impressed but remained unconverted. Francis proposed an armistice between the two warring sides, and drew up terms for one; the Sultan agreed, but, to Francis’s deep disappointment, the Christian leaders would not. Francis returned to Italy, but a permanent result was that the Franciscans were given custody of the Christian shrines then in moslem hands.
The wonderful Giotto painting of St. Francis and the birds shown above I found at St. Francis Feeds the Birds. If you like art, you will love this link, which takes separate elements of the painting and helps you see what the artist may be saying. Even the way fingers are arranged has meanting.
On the Sunday in the United States when the priest blesses the animals, people bring dogs on leashes, cats in cages, bunnies, iguanas, even guinea pigs and parakeets. Every pet is welcome. It’s one of the sweetest Sundays of the year.
Iznik Tiles, God whispers . . .
OK, OK, now you are going to see my ditzy side. I remember my mother visiting, and I was telling her what my cat was saying. She gave me one of those long, considering looks, and then said “I hope you don’t talk this way in front of other people. They might think you are a little crazy.”
I guess we all have crazy thoughts, fantasies. I kind of think cats have a very simple kind of telepathy; they can, I think, pull images out of your head. They are simple creatures, but ones we don’t fully understand. Am I crazy for thinking that?
And that has nothing at all with this blog entry, except to warn you that sometimes I am not entirely rational, I can be fanciful.
Two books in a row I have most recently read referred to Iznik tiles. The first was a Donna Leon book Death in a Strange Country where a woman who lives very frugally, even on the edge of poverty, sits in her run-down Venetian apartment surrounded by masterpieces of world art, including Iznik tiles.
The second book, which I just finished, is The Janissary Tree by Jason Godwin, in which his detective Yashim Togalu, a eunuch in the early post-Janissary Ottoman Empire, notes the Iznik tiles in the great receiving room of the Sultan.
To me, when two books in a row refer to the same tiles I have never heard of, it is like a little whisper from God saying “look this up.” It may be that I don’t even need this information, maybe I am just supposed to pass it along to YOU! I don’t know.
I DO know I am glad I looked it up. I love blue and white. I love intricate, curved design. And oh WOW, I love Iznik tiles and pottery.
“In the late 16th century the tiles of Iznik incorporated new designs and new colors and Iznik immerged as the preeminent city for tile production in the Ottoman empire. A major part of the transformation had to do with the introduction of Persian designs rendered in a distinctly Ottoman style.” From Guide to Iznik Tile and Plates.
In case you want to know more, this is an excerpt from Nurhan Atasoy’s Article on Iznik Tiles:
The finest Iznik pottery was produced during the reign of Suleyman the Magnificent and up to the end of the 17th century.The tiles and other pieces were exuberantly decorated with hyacinths, tulips, carnations, roses, and stylised floral scrollwork known as hatayi, Chinese clouds, imbrication, cintemani (a design consisting of three spots and pairs of flickering stripes), and geometric patterns.
The Turkish Ministry of Culture proclaimed 1989 as Iznik Year, and numerous events and activities relating to Iznik pottery were held. Iznik has a special place in the history of Turkish art, and thanks to the efforts of Turkish Airlines and Turk Ekonomi Bankasi Iznik Year became Iznik Years. Researchers are continually discovering more about e beautiful type of ceramics, whose designs are enjoying a new wave of popularity.
And here is a source from which you can order your own Iznik tiles: Yurdan.com.
There is no socially redeeming value to this post. Only that I learned something, and discovered something which is, to me, breathtakingly beautiful. One source says Iznik tiles were made of quartz, which gave them a great elasticity when exposed to varying degrees of heat and cold, which I find fascinating in that today the hottest new countertops are done in quartz. I think Adventure Man and I need to visit Iznik, the ancient Nicea, and take a look, don’t you think? I would love to see more of these tiles, in person, maybe somewhere I could touch them. 🙂
Degrading Gulf Character
In the October 2nd Kuwait Times the lead article on the front page has to do with Bahrain considering a 6 year ceiling on ex-pats living in Gulf Countries. Evidently they want the GCC countries to consider implementing it across the board.
How do you think that might work out? It seems to me there is a huge middle class here made up of mid-level managers who really keep things going. Who manages your stores? Who waits on customers? Who drives the buses and the taxis?
When you put that ceiling on, is it across the board? Does the ceiling apply to Palestinians who have never lived in Palestine, to Lebanese, to Syrians, to Yemenis? Does it apply to Europeans? To Canadians and Americans? Does it apply to Chinese? Indians? Nepalis? Or is it like some of the other laws, yes, it is the law, but you can get an exception?
I ask because it seems to me there are a lot of people who have lived here for 30 – 40 years, contributing to your economy, educating their children, teaching in your schools, designing your buildings, selling your hardware . . .
So how does this work?
Diversity or time?
The complaint, according to the paper, is that the expat population is eroding the national character of the states in the region. Is it the diversity of the population which degrades the local culture, or is this perhaps a function of time? We hear the same complaint in France, we hear it in Britain, we hear it in Germany, we hear it in the United States – things aren’t the same as they used to be. I have a feeling they said the same thing 50 years ago, after World War II. I have the feeling they said it 100 years ago, just after the turn of the last century.
Times change, culture changes. It’s slow, but unless you are walled off from the rest of the world, I believe it is inevitable. I suspect changing times have more to do with any change in Gulf character and customs than the expat population, who lives side by side with the Gulf natives.
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