Summertime

Amanda is walking to Spain right now. She left on June 10th (at least I think she did...it was the Tuesday of finals week, anyhow) and is now on her way to Santiago. She passed through Pamplona recently - luckily the Running of the Bulls won't be for a while, so she didn't get gored. That would have been unacceptable behavior on her part.

Meanwhile I am at my grandparents' house, biding my time until the rest of my family converges on Eugene for our annual week-long family get-together. They'll be here the second week of July. My little brother Josh is already out here (he abandons Arizona as soon as school lets out down south). He spends most of his time putting off his summer reading project. He has said several times that making a thirteen-year-old read To Kill A Mockingbird and complete a related project over their sacred summer vacation time is a heinous act, wrong on numerous levels. We just nod our heads - "Yes, Josh, pretty horrible indeed" - and wait for him to bite the bullet and start reading.

Without any required reading to do, I was finally able to start in on the pile of books I wanted to read over the summer. In honor of Amanda's pilgrimage (sort of...the only similarity is the name) I began with The Road. Bad, bad choice. The first night (it took two nights of reading) I went to bed thoroughly depressed - and when I say thoroughly depressed, I mean thoroughly depressed - and afraid of the dark for the first time in my life. The second night, after I finished, I went to bed even more thoroughly depressed. That book has redefined depression. Not to mention it made me very, very frightened of any unusual sounds…I suppose that happens when you read postapocalyptic novels at two in the morning. So when Josh woke me up at three in the morning (hives, allergic reaction to God-knows-what, and he needed my help), and when he didn't do so gently, it took a full half hour for my heart to settle back down.

The Road is now back on the shelf. Unfortunately, I didn't pick out any happy books to read over the summer - mostly Conrad and Dostoevsky and a few books about the Sobibor revolt. I think I'll take a day of recuperation before I try delving into someone else’s world of madness and despair.

That said, I'd recommend The Road. A very interesting look at humanity after the world ends. Plenty of formally interesting qualities as well. But, if you value your sanity, don't read it at night, and if possible have some sort of fuzzy creature - a cat or a dog, or a younger brother - nearby to remind you that you are, in fact, not the last living thing on the planet, that it's just a story, and that you are going to be okay. The decapitated baby on a spit probably won’t be, but it’s just a story.

Midway through my reading of The Road I heard a horrible thump against the window. Because it was during the day it didn't scare me; when I looked over to see what had happened, I saw a bird falling to the deck and a puff of feathers getting blown away by the wind. I went out to find the little thing, and there she was, a little finch, dazed and with what looked like a broken wing. (I was mostly thankful that she didn't have a broken neck.) I scooped her up and held her in my hands, waiting for her to catch her breath and for her little heart to slow down. Typically it's advisable to just leave them to do whatever they're going to do, but with the many, many crows, jays, cats, hawks, and turkeys around, not to mention the bright sun, I thought it best to give her a little protection...so I just held her in my hands and sent up a few prayers to Saint Francis and tried to keep her in the shade. After a while she seemed to be okay; she even tucked that sagging wing up, and when I went to get her some water she even spread both of her wings out to steady herself. So no debilitating or fatal injury. Poor little gal just had a massive headache and needed to rest a spell. At that point Oma, Opa and Josh came out to see how she was doing. Opa saw that I was petting her and reached out to do the same - and after a few strokes of Opa's great big fingers, the little bird opened both wings and took off towards the valley. After that shining happy triumphant moment, back to The Road. Gah.

Don’t really know what’s coming up over the next few weeks – I know there’s a trip to the beach planned, and one to Medford to see my great-grandmother and catch the Shakespeare Festival (Josh said he’d come with us if he saw a comedy, I think Opa is still going to want to be left at an ice cream store)…and beyond that, I don’t know. Then, after the week at the lake with the entire family, back to Arizona to see Josh through Band Camp and the first few weeks of high school.

So that is my terribly interesting life so far this summer. Reading books, treating hives and waiting for updates from my little pilgrim out in Spain. Oh...and we saw Indiana Jones. Nothing like British actresses in jumpsuits butchering Russian accents to start the summer off right. In Arizona it will probably be about the same (minus the "Russian" Cate Blanchett), plus a little cooking and cleaning here and there.

Okay. Gonna go pet the cat and maybe start Under Western Eyes. Or maybe reread the seventh Harry Potter to mix up the despair with a little bit of idealistic triumph. Yeah…that’s what I’ll do.

Happy summer, everyone. Don’t get gored by bulls, don’t read The Road at night and alone, and may all your window-collisions end happily.

~ Mary