Monthly Archives: April 2012

Building A Mystery (or Resume as the Case May Be)

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As a fan of all things pop-rock, I can’t help but think of Sarah McLachlan’s 1997 hit “Building a Mystery” as I pour over my resume this evening. (Yes, I’m a sucker for pop music. I don’t need quality music, just fun music. If the song has a good beat and a catchy chorus, it wins a not-so-coveted spot on my MP3 player. In fact, the music collection on my player is so horrible, it is embarrassing. This winter, I was having a baby shower at the mo-partment and couldn’t get our internet-TV’s Pandora application to work. Thad had run away, hoping to avoid all things baby, so I had to call him for advice. When he couldn’t fix it via our phone conversation- probably because I had no idea what he was talking about with his technical cord names- he suggested I just plug my Walkman into the TV and play that as background music. Uh, no! I don’t need everyone to know that my shuffle mode goes from Britney Spears to Shaggy to The Black-Eyed Peas, with a little Ricky Martin and Beyonce thrown in there. Needless to say, that baby shower was music-less and my horrible taste in music remained between me and my player.)

But back to Sarah McLachlan and my resume. In what way could music from the mid-nineties and a curriculum vitae turn into a viable Venn Diagram? It isn’t as far-fetched as you might think, because the last time I had to make a resume and prepare for a job interview was in 2000. That’s right. I haven’t had to go through the job-search process in twelve years. Needless to say, making my resume feels like building a mystery.

I taught in Marsing for nine years, covering everything from normal English and reading classes, to electives in poetry and creative writing. Basically, if it was English-y, I was there! But, the jobs I am applying for are not traditional teaching positions. While both have education-related elements to them, they are not ones that will require me to stand in front of thirty eighth graders and get them to love “Annabel Lee” as much as I do, or care that “a lot” is ALWAYS two words! (Seriously, people! You would never write “alittle” or “abit,” so why “alot”??? ) This has meant taking stock of my skills and finding ways that those abilities can translate to new positions.  Again, Sarah MaLachlan puts it well when she sings, “Building a mystery/And choosing so carefully.”  I know I have the skills for these positions; it is just a matter of selling myself on paper (and interviews) so that I am given the chance to show my awesomeness!

My year of self-selected retirement has been great. I’ve gotten to do things that I wouldn’t necessarily have done in Idaho, like motorcycle classes and a field trip to the morgue, but it is time to get back in the saddle again and have a real job.  I am hoping that by the time we board the plane for the oh-so-long flight to China, that carefully crafted resume will have landed me a job, just waiting there for my plane to touch down.

(PS- While I may not live in a church and sleep with voodoo dolls, I do wear sandals in the snow, so maybe the song applies to my life in more ways than one!)

Jasper Jones by Craig Silvey

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Jasper Jones by Craig Silvey

Jasper Jones, Craig Silvey’s latest young adult novel, charts the journey of a teenage boy losing the naivety of his youth as he discovers the world around him, and especially the people, don’t fall into the neat frames he has created for each one. This is a definitely a book about growing up, but Charlie, the protagonist, is forced into maturity when confronted with the death (murder? suicide?) of Laura, the teenage daughter of a leading town politician.

This book is a bit of an enigma to me. The book is beautifully written and tells a captivating, if devastating story, but it seems to build on its own foundation in weird ways and at odd intervals. There were times where I thought I had a feel for the setting and characters, only to have the world I created in my head shattered by a new piece of background information. For example, I was probably a third of the way into the book before I realized that it was set in the 1960’s, while the Vietnam War was raging in Southeast Asia.  The fact that it is set in Australia also probably should have been apparent to me soon, but a name like Corrigan just drew to mind an English town, rather than one on the other side of the world. These two facts combined, once they were clear to me, fashioned an entirely different landscape than I had previously imagined. (It’s the difference between rainy, overcast days versus sunshine and heat or trails made by rabbits and rodents versus those created by kangaroos and wallabies.)

Once I had the setting straight I my mind, it was the plot that took a bit of mind-warping reconciliation. When Charlie is asked to help bury a dead girl at the bottom of a lake, he does so without hesitation, but then must keep the events of the evening a secret, as he continues on with his summer holiday. This foundation is horrifying, and yet it leads to a story even more devastating. The deceased is already gone, so while the actions are awful, they don’t change her fate. Instead, other fates are revealed as Charlie and Jasper go in search of her murderer.  The weeks following Laura’s death reveal new relationships, as well as see the destruction of existing ones.

But what are the characters doing when they are not deeply involved in the mystery of Laura’s death? Cricket. Lots and lots of cricket. This game of Down Under is one that baffles me. There are wickets and bats and runs and bowls and all sorts of doodads that are foreign to any sports understanding I may hold. While this made a great addition to the Australian setting, it was an aspect of the book I found hard to follow. (This is especially true when it came to the climactic game where Charlie’s best friend finally gets his shot and cricket stardom, which is narrated, in detail, along the course of several pages.)

For a tale based upon death and the subsequent destruction that plays out in the tragedy’s aftermath, I have to say that this is a really good book. It feels strange to like something so much, when the basis of it is so dark, but as the characters come alive throughout the story, I can’t help but feel  their pain as the rose colored glasses of childhood are removed and they discover that the world isn’t quite as kind as they had once believed. Craig Silvey’s Jasper Jones , a powerful young adult novel aimed at mature teens, that takes a powerful look at growing up, tough choices and the inevitable consequences of those decisions, earns:

Brave Dragons: A Chinese Basketball Team, an American Coach, and Two Cultures Clashing by Jim Yardley

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Brave Dragons: A Chinese Basketball Team, an American Coach, and Two Cultures Clashing by Jim Yardley

Professional basketball and Chinese history and culture are not topics commonly lumped together, but Jim Yardley takes on the challenge in Brave Dragons. I originally picked this book looking for a new take on China, which I got, but I do have to say that I wasn’t expected to be quite so overwhelmed with basketball. (Okay, to be fair, the cover sporting a basketball jersey should have given me a clue that the book would be heavy on the sports, but I looked right past that to the awesome font that also adorns the cover.)

Right off the bat, I must admit that this was not the book for me, but I definitely would have bought it and put it on the shelf of my classroom. There is a strong market for this book. I am not that market. I had some hoop-obsessed students who would have devoured this book, which is filled with the jargon of the game, court-side wheelings and dealings and an insider’s look at what a budding professional basketball league looks like.

Yardley, after a handful of setbacks in is NBA coaching career in the US, is offered the position of head coach of the Shangxi Dragons, a bottom of the barrel Chinese professional team based in Taiyuan, part of the northern coal country in China. He goes there, having no previous experience living abroad, expecting to take full-coaching responsibilities (with the help of a translator) and with a hope of improving the team’s horrible record. Yardley quickly learns that not only is China physically on the other side of the world from his home in Washington state, but that the mental shift needed for this new lifestyle and job is nearly as large.

I love that Yardley took his story off the hardwood, trying to dig into the culture of China to understand what factors might be playing into the decisions being made by his players and his front office. He includes tidbits about the country’s history, about their sports training programs and a view into where the nation might be headed. Like with many things in China, the Chinese Basketball Association (CBA) is built on layers of bureaucracy and an ever-present need to “save face.” I had to laugh to myself as Yardley learned to navigate the world of appearances versus reality that becomes so confusing when the concept of “face saving” rears its sometimes befuddling head.

Having read extensively about Chinese history and lived the culture on a daily basis, at times I felt like the book took too cursory of a glance at some of these aspects, maybe playing up the ones Westerners would find odd in an attempt to draw readers into the story. For those unfamiliar with the Middle Kingdom, the book is a great starting place. As a teacher, I would have proffered it to the students who I knew had a love of the game and then hoped it would spark a wider interest in the world. This book is perfectly suited to do that- start with a topic that is familiar and of interest to a wide population and through the medium, introduce an entire new area of exploration to the reader.

Basketball isn’t my thing. China is (kinda’) my thing. Combine them and I end up on the fence about ranking this book. Would I recommend it to others? Yes! There are definitely some of my students who will be getting emails about it. Would I read it again? No. I like the idea, but it was just too detailed when it came to that large orange ball with the black stripes that tall guys (and gals) bounce up and down a hardwood floor and attempt to get in that woven basket hanging from a round, metal hoop. With that said, Jim Yardley’s Brave Dragons: A Chinese Basketball Team, an American Coach, and Two Cultures Clashing earns:

 

From Adios to Zbogom

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You may not know this about me, but I am a bit of a book nerd.  I will read nearly anything. While I was a fairly early adopter of the e-book format, owning both an original Nook and a Nook Color, print books will always hold a dear spot in my heart. Even as I am snuggled up under the covers of my king-sized bed, reading page after digital page by the glow of the Nook Color, a tug of nostalgia the yesteryear of print rests on my soul. Not so many years ago (okay, probably more years than I would like to admit) I was also snuggled up under the covers, this time of my white, frilly daybed, with a flashlight and whichever book was on the top of my library loan pile.

There is something about the smell of a new print book, the weight of it, the way the pages are cut, whether the cover is shiny or matte, how the pages sounds as I flip through them that can’t be replicated on an e-reader. It is for this reason, I was a bit sadden to read an article last week about how Encyclopaedia Britannica will no longer create print version of their series, but rather all copies with be digital. (http://www.latimes.com/business/technology/la-fi-tn-encyclopaedia-britannica-goes-digital-only-20120313,0,2517276.story)

Again, I have nothing against e-books, as a matter of fact, the majority of what I read now is in that format. It isn’t the technological progression that makes me stop in my tracks, but rather the memories of being a child with a set of encyclopedias that I could skim through, searching topics by whatever whim crossed my mind. The idea that generations of kids won’t be able to pick a random letter of the alphabet and spend an hour learning about platypuses, Peru and pentagons rather than taking their required afternoon nap is disheartening. Logically, I know that they will be able to do the same thing online, maybe even hitting more diverse topics though the help of a “random” button or digging deeper into a single subject through hyperlinks and multi-media offerings.

But, it just isn’t the same.

Those reddish-brown books with their gilded gold letters lined up on the second from bottom shelf were my first glimpse into the world of vultures, Venezuela and viruses. (The bottom shelf was reserved for stacks of the innumerable copies of the National Geographic, which also provided hours of entertainment, more through the photography from all over the world than the technical articles that were too difficult for a 4th grader to understand.) Our encyclopedia set literally contained the world from A-Z and provided the basis of many an elementary school report.

The positive outcomes of the digitalization of encyclopedias far outweigh the longings of my nostalgia. Hopefully this new format will make the reference’s sources more readily available to families of a variety of incomes (I actually have no idea how my family came to own the set we did), make searching for specific topics easier and allow the companies to expand not only the number of articles, but the lengths as well. (It used to drive me nuts when I found a super interesting topic, like jaguar or Jamaica or Jackson, Stonewall, only to find a mere three or four paragraphs about it. In the pre-internet era, I was stuck with those few columns of sparse information until the next trip to the library, where I could find a more suitable supply of facts to fill-in the gaps of ol’ Britannica.)

So, it is with not with a crocodile tear, but a more gecko-sized one, that I bid adieu to the hardbound copies of Encyclopaedia Britannica and embrace the next generation of factual summarization.  You served me well during those sanity-saving (for my parents) afternoon naps.  From anteater to zebra, Antarctica to Zimbabwe and Adams, John to Zorro, I’ll miss you Encyclopaedia Britannica.

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Mr g: A Novel About the Creation by Alan Lightman

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Mr g: A Novel About the Creation by Alan Lightman

Science and religion have differing views on how our world came to be what it is today. Some argue that a giant explosion, long, long ago created the basis for the life that is now sustained by our planet, while others believe our existence is due to an omniscient, omnipotent power larger than we can imagine. Alan Lightman’s latest creation, Mr. g follows the creation of a universe and planet from their inception to their final destruction.

The title character, Mr. g, has been living in the Void with his aunt and uncle for time unlimited. There was nothing before him and nothing without him. Before deciding to create order in a small corner of the Void, time didn’t even exist, but he dwelt indefinitely in the nothingness.

Mr. g undertakes the creation of a galaxy by laying out some basic laws and then allowing those laws to dictate what happens with the matter within the realm. After a time, he decides to focus his attention and energies on a single planet- one he names Aalam- 104729. Over time, this world becomes inhabited by every more complex and complicated forms of life. Mr. g, at the request of Belhor, another roving being of the Void, stands back and doesn’t interfere with the burgeoning world. (Belhor, on the other hand, feels no such compunction on his own account, and meddles from time to time.)

Lightman’s background as a theoretical physicist and his adept writing skills allows him to create an intriguing novel based on a strong factual foundation. As the science of the creation of a universe unfolds, Lightman isn’t pushing for a choice between the Big Bang and Creation theories. Mr. g builds a galaxy in which both schools of thought sit neatly, side by side.

Beyond the science though, the writing is what really stood out to me. It is beautiful. Through his words, Lightman creates a spectacular scene of stars coming into being and burning out over millennia. I never imagined atoms and particles and bits and pieces that create life to be so astoundingly poetic. At one point, Mr. g’s aunt decides she wants a gift, something not from within the Void. Mr. g and his uncle create a dress for her out of the stars of another galaxy. I am not sure how Lightman pictured this dress in his mind, but in mine it is a spectacular frothy frock backlit by twinkling stars. The dress is Paris couture at its finest!

The premise of the novel is a unique one and as a reader, you must find a way to put yourself in the Void with Mr. g. Once that suspension of disbelief is allowed to take place, this book is like falling through space. There are wonders to be found on each page as Mr. g creates, watches over and eventually mourns the loss of his first universe. Alan Lightman’s novel Mr g: A Novel About the Creation is a masterful work of art, blending science and literature in a way that few fictional books are able to, thereby earning it:

 

 

Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed

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Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed

Think of Sporty Spice. Now, think of something that is her exact opposite, maybe Klutzy Spice. That is me. I have no athletic ability at all. I may actually suck athletic ability away people standing near me. I’m like a sportiness black hole. And yet, I found Cheryl Strayed’s new book Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail captivating and entrancing.

Strayed, as a young lady in her early 20’s, fell into an emotional abyss when her mother (a non-smoker) was diagnosed with lung cancer and given less than a year to live. That year-long prognosis was soon destroyed, when the disease took its toll faster than anyone could have imagined, killing her mom in a mere forty-nine days. Without their mother to hold the family together, she and her sibling and their step-father fell out of touch, and Strayed fell off the edge of a psychological canyon. Giving in to her every whim, she cheated on her husband, began a not-so-casual relationship with heroin and spent four years wandering without a purpose.

When a book about the Pacific Crest Trail nearly fell into her lap, she decided that a solo hike of one hundred days, from California to the border of Oregon and Washington, was what she needed to get her life back in order. After just a few short months of planning and preparation, she embarked upon a journey that would shatter her physically, but one in which she would reclaim her emotional stability.

As a non-athlete, non-hiker, I was worried that I would find little to relate to when I first picked up this book. (By picked up, I, of course, mean downloaded.) My lack of outdoorsy-ness took little away from the story. I may not know how to pitch a tent or build a fire, but I definitely understand how losing a treasured family member could make one unravel.  I love that Strayed was hiking on the west coast, through parks and towns that I’ve driven through on various occasions. Picturing the west coast and its mountains brought a little bit of home here to me on the east coast.

Strayed is witty and amusing as she tells of her triumphs and failures along the trail. Whether it is a discussion of how her hiking boot went tumbling off the side of a mountain or waking up covered in tiny frogs, I couldn’t help but laugh a little and continue to root for her in this gargantuan undertaking. The instant connections she had with her fellow hikers, each walking the trail for their own varied reasons, was enduring. I can imagine it would be pretty natural for one to feel a quick companionship with others who embarked on a similar colossal journey. These made-from-the-trail relationships go a long way in helping Strayed pull herself back together, piecing back not who she was before her mother’s death, but who she will be and can be as she goes forward after her time on the trail ends.

I may never attempt to walk the physical journey that Strayed did and heaven forbid I ever have to endure the emotional one she traversed, but this memoir made both overwhelming situations seem within the realm of possibility and both seem overcome-able. Cheryl Strayed’s newest publication Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail is both entertaining and heart-wrenching, and is definitely a must-read for this year. This book earns:

 

From Teacher to Tour Guide

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The end is coming! The end is coming!  No, it is not the end of the world, although there always seems to be a wacko or two pushing that theory to make a buck off of unsuspecting believers. Rather, the end of my temporary retirement is (hopefully) within sight. I’ve got applications and resumes submitted for two job opportunities in Chengdu, China, and with that move looming in the not too distant future, I am eager to see what I’ll be doing next.

While my background is in education, my year in Washington DC has helped me discover a different calling- tourism! Over the last year (yup, it has almost been a year now!) we’ve had a variety of guests come stay with us in the mo-partment. After investing in the fanciest air mattress Target had to offer (okay, that is not entirely true- I think we went with the middle of the line, store brand option), our place has been a revolving door of friends and family. With the last set of visitors arriving this week, I feel like going from volunteer tour guide back to a regular 40-hour a week job is going to be a rough transition.

The only thing I am lacking to make me a true tour guide is either an umbrella or a brightly colored flag so that my travel buddies can fall into line like ducklings as we wander (or waddle!) from site to site.

I’ve been to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum more times than Americans have been to the moon. Air and Space seems to be on the top of everyone’s list, which is fine by me, as I can sit and watch the video screen showing air traffic over the US for hours on end. (There is something hypnotizing about those little yellow planes filling the skies in more and more abundance from the east coast to the west coast as the day goes on. If education or tour guiding doesn’t work out for me, maybe I should look into a career in air traffic control!)  After touring the building numerous times, I have my favorite displays, first and foremost being the sets of stewardess uniforms on the first floor. I love to see the progression of the fashion over time. These glass cases make me nostalgic for a time I never knew- the time when flying was as much as part of the vacation experience as the destination itself. Airports used to be places to wear your finest clothes, pearls and heels where a must when flying to a far-off destination. Now, with airlines becoming more concerned with cash than class, it apparently has become appropriate to go to the airport decked out in one’s finest pajamas!

My feet have made the monumental walk around the Tidal Basin with various visitors many times. I’ve gotten the pathway from the Smithsonian Metro station through all of the major memorials and back forever imprinted on my mind. It’s an invisible tattoo for my brain. Plus, after a few death marches with the early guests, I’ve learned to pack snacks! It is pretty amazing how excited full-grown adults are when I suddenly pull a Ziploc bag full of Twizzlers or cookies out of my bag. Nothing says “I’m in my nation’s capital” quite like wandering the expanse of land from the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial, all while nibbling on red licorice vines.

I always thought I would teach middle school until I retired, or at least until I no longer found myself stifling giggles at the randomness of 8th graders. Instead, I have found myself exploring new cities and hauling friends and family along with me. We’ve gotten lost a few times, but those off-track excursions have often been just as awesome as whatever was on the original plan. If my current job prospects don’t work out the way I am hoping, maybe it will be time to invest in that cute little flag and start my own guiding business!

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