tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23731536296804600132024-03-19T00:53:33.093-07:00Writing North IdahoThe Craft of Writing, the Business of Writing, and the Literary LifeNancy Owens Barneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12638177736684182579noreply@blogger.comBlogger701125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-63808834990043290802019-01-29T09:51:00.003-08:002019-01-31T09:29:58.026-08:00Beyond the Pale<br />
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In the fifties, we had our milk delivered daily. It came in quart-size glass bottles with a pint of cream on the side. There was a little cabinet on our back porch with two doors. Our delivery man opened the small cupboard, gathered the empties which had been washed by my mother, looked for instructions which may have requested either more or less, depending on the time of year, and then placed our milk in its little home and went on to the next house. It was often my job to open the other side, housed as it was in the laundry room, and put the bottles in the fridge. Gifted with a crazy imagination, I went through the small opening, trying to prove that a skinny milkman could rob us blind if that were his intention. Everyone would scoff at my fears because a milkman was always in a position of trust.<br />
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/Anna-Burns.jpg"><img alt="" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-598" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/Anna-Burns.jpg" height="174" width="290" /></a><br />
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We learn in the opening pages of Anna Burn’s <a href="https://themanbookerprize.com/">Man Booker Prize</a>-winning book, named <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Milkman">Milkman</a>, that this is not a cozy tale redolent of all things shiny and secure as we now tend to think about the fifties. This book is set in Northern Ireland in the seventies at the height of what is usually referred to as the troubles, and the milkman was probably not a milkman at all, but a para-military, sinister figure, stalking the narrator.<br />
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“The day Somebody McSomebody put a gun to my breast and called me a cat and threatened to shoot me was the same day the milkman died. He had been shot by one of the state hit squads, and I did not care about the shooting of this man.” Page 1.<br />
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Kwame Anthony Appiah, chair of the Booker Prize judging panel, put it this way: “From the opening page her words pull us into the daily violence of her world- threats of murder, people killed by state hit squads- while responding to the everyday realities of her life as a young woman.”<br />
The protagonist, recipient of not only the threat, from Somebody McSomebody but judgments and warnings from the rest of the community went mysteriously, unnamed. Her family is as well, and we distinguish them, one from another, through their place in the grand scheme of things. She is known as “middle sister.” To the best of my knowledge, this is a first. What fills me with enormous curiosity are these two questions: why did she choose to tell the story this way, and how was she not talked out of it?<br />
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The book is not given to explanations. The troubles, the author assumes are well-known to everyone and need no history lesson. The same goes for geography, and the nature of the conflict, the violence and mistrust everywhere in the community. People from “over the water,” or “over the border” or “over the road” are the anchors we understand. She never writes of England, or Great Britain, or Ireland or the west. Instead, she chose to write of the state, of the resisters to the state, to organizers and suspected para-military. It gives the setting a surreal, other-worldly aspect. There is something fantastical in the tale that I clumsily struggle to define. By using these devices, leaving names, and place names vague and untethered, we are forced to work a bit harder to find our own place for them. The heart of the matter becomes more prevalent because denied our judgments and bigotry; we must begin anew. The conflict starts to feel everlasting. If you consider that the Anglo-Norman claim to the Pale, the strip of land under their rule, goes back to 1169, one can only imagine what a tangled web, woven over hundreds and hundreds of years can succeed at all. How does one distinguish the occupiers from the occupied when they all look the same?<br />
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“Every resident was supposed to know what was permitted based on what was not permitted.” page 24.<br />
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“There was the fact that you created a political statement everywhere you went, and with everything you did, even if you didn’t want to.” Page 25<br />
One can imagine the tension facing mothers in the midst of the era where it all started coming to a head. Sons disappeared and took up arms: daughters must be married, safely and quickly and into the right religion. Occupiers must prove they are superior, which has come down as the ultimate justification for the plantations of the seventeenth century. The occupied fight this concept at every turn, and therein lies the trouble. Stubborn determination, bred in the bone, allows citizens to maintain who they are, no matter what happens. That is the crux of the issue and the territory the protagonist must negotiate. Wearily, putting the book down late at night, I would think, what are her chances?<br />
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I know I am a rare bird regarding my love of stream of consciousness writing. When done well, it takes my breath away. I also understand why professors, editors, and publishers may be less fond, but the very best of it is astonishing.<br />
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Depression would seem endemic, but the mother speaking of her husband said, “I never understood your father. When all was said and done, daughter, what had he got to be psychological about?” Page 81<br />
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Burns answers the question in very characteristic and mind-boggling style.<br />
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“She meant depressions, for da had had then: big, massive, scudding, whopping, black-cloud, infectious, crow, raven, jackdaw, coffin-upon-coffin, catacomb-upon-catacomb, skeletons-upon-skulls-upon-bones crawling along to the grave type of depression.” Page 85<br />
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That is a far cry from Winston Churchill’s black dog. The habit of heaping description- upon-description remained consistent throughout. As always, it is up to the reader to decide if this sits well with them or not. With so many books coming out every year, with so many favorite authors from whom to choose, with endless topics and settings, we owe a debt to the judges and the publishers and the editors who find strokes of genius in a great unfolding succession. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Milkman"><i>Milkman</i></a> was the first choice of 2019 for The Best Food Ever Book Club which has plumbed the depths of the long-list and the short-list lo these three decades we have been reading together. We never even scratch the surface of all the great literature waiting for us to ingest. Where will we go from here?<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Milkman"><i>Milkman</i></a> was quite beyond the pale.</div>
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<footer class="entry-meta"> This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=belfast" rel="tag">Belfast</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=conflict" rel="tag">conflict</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=ireland-the-troubles" rel="tag">Ireland the Troubles</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=man-booker-prize-2018" rel="tag">Man Booker Prize 2018</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=northern-ireland" rel="tag">Northern Ireland</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=594" rel="bookmark" title="11:18 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2019-01-28T23:18:06+00:00">January 28, 2019</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=594&action=edit">Edit</a></span></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><span class="edit-link"> </span></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><span class="edit-link"> </span></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><span class="edit-link"> </span></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><span class="edit-link"> </span></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><span class="edit-link"> </span></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><span class="edit-link"> </span></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><span class="edit-link"> </span> </footer> <article class="post-589 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-non-fiction category-uncategorized tag-american-history tag-history tag-michelle-obama tag-president-obama" id="post-589"> <header class="entry-header"> <h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=589" rel="bookmark">A Memoir For Our Times</a> </h1>
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<b>A Memoir for our Times</b><br />
In the midst of my Christmas to-do list, I fell, face first, into Michelle Obama’s<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Michelle-Obama/dp/1524763136/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1546984044&sr=1-1&keywords=Becoming"><i> Becoming</i>.</a> Page after page fell away as I found myself transfixed. I could not stop reading, and I did not want the book to end. It puzzled me at first, how deeply ensconced I had become, and I wondered how Mrs. Obama had achieved this remarkable feat. After all, I knew the story. We all know her noteworthy climb from the south side of Chicago to the First Lady of the United States. We know the big events of the Obama years, yet the pace of her book felt akin to the most gripping of tales.<br />
For one thing, I realized that I simply loved being in the presence of her thoughts. I loved her strength; it felt like one of those weighted blankets advertised for anxiety-something I would like to try but have yet to experience. By about the third day of reading in every spare moment and into the wee hours of the night, I began to understand that she truly represents the hopes and dreams of all of us. Her story is not one of a girl filled to the brim with stardust; she is more like the friend’s mother or the teacher or the camp counselor or the person somewhere along the line, who tells you how to set about getting where you want to go. She is practical and not afraid nor does she ever seem overwhelmed by the task at hand. To the contrary, she embraces every challenge with the belief that she can get over any hurdle. Her words inspired me and left me feeling very uplifted and optimistic.<br />
Fighting discrimination at every turn makes her heroic in my eyes, but she doesn’t seem to see herself that way. She wrote that she is jokingly referred to as “Joe Public,” by her husband. She likes to stay abreast of popular culture more than she would rather follow the outrageous swings and dips of political fortune. These are the grounding attributes of her character to which we all relate. I, too, have to justify my magazine purchases sometimes, being somewhat of a “Joe Public,” myself. I guess it is worse in my case as I am Joe Public Idaho Housewife- a rarer bird than most these days. She writes of talking about her shoes with the Queen. I ate up every detail. Living in the White House cannot be easy, but she made it sound like fun.<br />
As the pendulum is wont to do, we swung wildly in that dichotomy and living through it has been challenging. Hope springs eternal. That is the message of this beautiful book, but I would be selling it short if I gave readers the impression that this should be shelved in the self-help section. It belongs in the history section, but right up there with those who can articulate it best. She is quite simply, a remarkable writer and with each lively turn of phrase, I see her culture, her life, and her zest for living. I would not hesitate to give this as a gift to anyone: new friends, old friends, young people, older people, lost people, found people, in short everyone. The universal appeal is the book’s greatest strength. President Obama put it at the top of his reading list for 2018, and though I have trouble quantifying the books that I love, it would certainly put it in the top tier.</div>
<footer class="entry-meta"> This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=14" rel="category">Memoir</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-history" rel="tag">American History</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=history" rel="tag">history</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=michelle-obama" rel="tag">Michelle Obama</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=president-obama" rel="tag">President Obama</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=589" rel="bookmark" title="9:58 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2019-01-08T21:58:56+00:00">January 8, 2019</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=589&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer> </article> <article class="post-584 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-canada category-christmas category-memoir category-motivation category-narrative-non-fiction tag-aging tag-canada tag-ontario tag-ottawa tag-parents" id="post-584"> <header class="entry-header"> <h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=584" rel="bookmark">A Noun and a Verb</a> </h1>
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/allthingsconsoled.jpg"><img alt="" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-585" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/allthingsconsoled.jpg" height="293" width="189" /></a></div>
To examine Elizabeth Hay’s wonderful book called<a href="https://www.amazon.com/All-Things-Consoled-daughters-memoir/dp/0771039735/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1544731299&sr=1-1&keywords=All+Things+Consoled"><i> All Things Consoled</i></a> is to gaze at the nature of the word itself. Anyone facing grief, or dealing with the difficulties of aging parents, or struggling with the reconciliation of old beefs, and the nature of letting go, will understand that grief is massively challenging. Caring friends may ask us how we are progressing. We will always come up blank. We can try to find peace, to achieve closure, to move on in our lives, but just when we feel we are making some headway, the past circles back, and there we are crying in the car when a sad song comes on the radio. We don’t get over things. At least, that is my experience. As I learned on the long canoe trips of my youth, the pack you portage gets a little lighter every day. That best describes my progress or lack thereof.<br />
<i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/All-Things-Consoled-daughters-memoir/dp/0771039735/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1544731299&sr=1-1&keywords=All+Things+Consoled">All Things Consoled</a>, </i> reads like a diary of the journey. It felt as if I was in her family with her, and I could see it all as clear as a bell. It is the great joy of my life to have so many experiences, so many connections, and so many travels all taking place within the bounds of my quite elastic imagination. A recent class with Margaret Atwood asked me to consider how to evoke emotions in the reader. Her statement landed like a direct hit. That is the trick of it.<br />
Elizabeth Hay managed to evoke memories of all the irritating moments where you want to scream, but know that would be very unwise. By using her considerable skill to put me in her mother’s kitchen, I was transported back to the fifties when as a young girl, I experienced first hand, the holdover of the depression years, and the need not to waste food. Two characters, named willful and woeful were given little dishes covered in wax paper and then saran wrap before it found its cling, two measly bites that must be saved, less “Willful waste brings woeful want.” In my mother’s case, the sensibility only applied to food, a contradiction we often pointed out. Hay’s mother’s endearing obsession had me thinking back with great affection to my mother’s old pink fridge at our summer cottage on Lake Joseph in Ontario.<br />
As for the father, although they were vastly different kinds of men, there were similarities there too. Punishment, as meted out to children in our time, could be harsh. Micheal Ondaatje in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Warlight-novel-Michael-Ondaatje/dp/0525521194/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1544731452&sr=1-1&keywords=warlight+by+michael+ondaatje"><i>Warlight</i> </a>wrote that to write a memoir is to be an orphan. Surely there are great hurdles. One wants to get close to the truth, but one loathes to tell it. Idealize the whole family and write a rosy tale where all skeletons are swept dutifully under the carpet, does not come off as believable. To reveal all is sometimes too painful for anyone to read. How to get it just right must be the greatest challenge ever. It is not uncommon for some to write more than one memoir, because side stories and different issues keep popping up.<br />
They will keep on coming too because the heart of the story, the telling of it, is a journey. In the case of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/All-Things-Consoled-daughters-memoir/dp/0771039735/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1544731299&sr=1-1&keywords=All+Things+Consoled"><i>All Things Consoled</i>,</a> the reader comes away with great respect for the author. She found the right note, and she managed to achieve a balance with her parent’s foibles and her own. We, too, can relate to their struggles and feel compassion for them as the frailty of old age crept in. Memorable characters, evocatively brought to light, makes this a great read.<br />
From Page 233:<br />
“The instinct to make art had abandoned her, but not the instinct to save food. She could not pass the communal fruit bowl in the lobby without her hand reaching out like a raccoon’s for apples and oranges, which she slipped into the basket of her walker and wheeled to her room. We took to calling her the fruit tree, self-grafting, everbearing. Her little fridge groaned with what she salted away. Every few days I emptied it into a canvas bag, assuring her that nothing would go to waste. Then I would stop by the kitchen on my way out of the building and put the food in the garbage and the napkins into the laundry bag and the plates on the counter. I stopped at the famous fruit bowl and returned apples and oranges.”<br />
How this passage makes me anxious! I think of my parents with great affection at Christmas time. We were so lucky to not know real want, a fact my Mom pointed out constantly. Elizabeth Hay helped to console me, for I will always miss them. As we always gave books as gifts, and Boxing Day meant cracking open a great new read, with a personal inscription on the title page, I still have bits of them with me in my library. As for the living room, I have their console tables too.</div>
<footer class="entry-meta"> This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=143" rel="category">Canada</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=60" rel="category">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=14" rel="category">Memoir</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=25" rel="category">Narrative Non-Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=aging" rel="tag">Aging</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=canada" rel="tag">Canada</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=ontario" rel="tag">Ontario</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=ottawa" rel="tag">Ottawa</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=parents" rel="tag">Parents</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=584" rel="bookmark" title="8:12 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2018-12-13T20:12:09+00:00">December 13, 2018</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=584&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer> </article> <article class="post-576 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-narrative-non-fiction tag-canada tag-love-story tag-romantic tag-toronto" id="post-576"> <header class="entry-header"> <h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=576" rel="bookmark">Still Dreaming</a> </h1>
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When was the last time you liked a book so much that you read it twice? <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dreaming-Sally-Story-Sudden-Shadows/dp/0345814533/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1542327217&sr=1-1&keywords=Dreaming+Sally"><i>Dreaming Sally</i></a> by James Fitzgerald has captivated my imagination. A true story, it outlines the tale of a life cut short, and of the two men who loved and lost, and struggled in the aftermath. By his heavenly powers of description, it is as if the author peeled back the veil, and re-created a lively young woman who seemed beautifully natural and full of fun. Seeing her through the eyes of a teenage male in love with her, but not able to win her heart, gives the story an extra portion of poignancy. Coupling the tale with Sally’s betrothed who also lost her, made me feel for both of them in this love story cut short by death.<br />
The power of the author’s skill made me feel like a mad teenager again, searching the mean streets of the city for the next thrill. I could hear the music, taste the wine, feel the pressures upon us, and fail to understand my parent’s generation all over again. It takes amazing courage to penetrate to the heart of the story, and give over to honest self- examination. The settings, the dialogue, and the story remain vivid and are still creeping into my thoughts by the hour. It is a litmus test of sorts, to see how long the words linger. This book is one I will never forget. How impossible is it to bring the dead back to life? Yet it is Sally’s vitality that leaps from the page. That she was right on the cusp of change, the time when human history made a huge leap, the era where birth control set women free to explore their sexuality, and the time when collectively, the female of the species declared that the old norms of the patriarchy would never do. Many of us can identify with Sally and can imagine how her life would have unfolded. I see all the makings of a matriarch who would have created a fine family. She was about to begin nursing school and would have emerged with an even stronger sense of herself. Romantic, nostalgic and all too real, the book has left me in greater awe of master story-teller<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_FitzGerald_(writer)"> James Fitzgerald.</a></div>
<footer class="entry-meta"> This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=25" rel="category">Narrative Non-Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=canada" rel="tag">Canada</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=love-story" rel="tag">love story</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=romantic" rel="tag">Romantic</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=toronto" rel="tag">Toronto</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=576" rel="bookmark" title="12:29 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2018-11-16T00:29:35+00:00">November 16, 2018</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=576&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer> </article> <article class="post-567 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-non-fiction tag-boarding-school tag-canada tag-education tag-toronto tag-upper-canada-college" id="post-567"> <header class="entry-header"> <h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=567" rel="bookmark">Something Old, Something New</a> </h1>
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James Fitzgerald has given us a fantastic gift. In compiling stories spanning decades, he has created a national treasure of personal accounts and anecdotes of the men who attended <a href="https://www.ucc.on.ca/">Upper Canada College</a> in <a href="https://www.ucc.on.ca/">Toronto</a>. For those of us, who, like me, had a boyfriend, a father, a grandfather, uncles, cousins and a brother at the school, I gained much insight into a culture that played a significant role in shaping the history of our family. The book describes what a same-sex education has to offer privileged males who run on pure competition. Win or lose, sink or swim: it is a game of Darwin’s social contract brought to the playing fields. What Fitzgerald brought to the project is an almost impossible feat: asking males to describe what they felt about things. Spoken as one who spent years asking the same questions, and for the most part, only ending up with precious few answers, I am in awe of this work.<br />
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An all-male academy, complete with cadet training and church parades, how they dazzled us in their uniforms. We delighted us to see the Old Boys come out, fathers and grandfathers, all headed to St. Paul’s Cathedral in the springtime. Church was a part of the curriculum, but it seems after reading this book, that something was lost in the translation. Ceaseless, relentless, ruthless bullying went on from faculty to student, to the weakest and most vulnerable among them, the little boys in the prep. It was a gut-wrenching read at times, but I could not put the book down. I barely slept; it was as if I was handcuffed to it. I appreciated the honesty with which these former students described the joys and sorrows of being enrolled at U.C.C. Obviously, a contributor might fear to speak out against a system that favored corporal punishment and lots of it. It would be considered a sign of weakness to many; I can imagine the collective bird this book caused among the old guard, but that is all well and good. Violence foisted from the strong to the weak, from those in authority to those in their charge, should and ought to be discussed because the repercussions can go down through the generations. The stranglehold on one’s psyche can be crushing. I have witnessed casualties. Tribalism can be without mercy; the consequences of which can be hideous. Parts of the book read like a horror story. Since I lived it and saw it close at hand, I know the toll all too well.<br />
No institution, no matter how revered, can afford to be seen only through the prism of nostalgia. I applaud James Fitzgerald, whose family goes all the way back to the beginning of the school, for speaking truth to power. Are we as a society so steeped in materialism, social connections, and avenues of success, that we stand back in silence and watch the warping of men’s souls? If training warriors is the intended goal, then they must be lead by the strongest and wisest of men, true heroes that boys look up to in worship. The sadness I felt on page after page, had to do with opportunities lost. Jesuit education, for instance, seeks to enrich body, soul, and mind. It is a mistake for any colony to be ruled by hanging on to traditions of peoples who have long since assimilated and adapted.<br />
It is my great hope that this book will help many who still feel the sting. My fondest wish is that in the future, the school ponies up, finds great teachers and leaders, pays them well beyond the going rate and develops an accurate model of leadership. To do any less short-changes the future.<br />
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/four-generations.jpg"><img alt="four generations" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-572 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/four-generations-300x168.jpg" height="168" width="300" /></a> Four generations of old boys from Upper Canada College in the Smythe family.</div>
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<footer class="entry-meta"> This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=boarding-school" rel="tag">boarding school</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=canada" rel="tag">Canada</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=education" rel="tag">Education</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=toronto" rel="tag">Toronto</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=upper-canada-college" rel="tag">Upper Canada College</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=567" rel="bookmark" title="3:29 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2018-06-01T15:29:17+00:00">June 1, 2018</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=567&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer> </article> <article class="post-558 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-motivation category-uncategorized tag-goalie tag-hero-worship tag-hockey tag-sports tag-toronto-maple-leafs" id="post-558"> <header class="entry-header"> <h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=558" rel="bookmark">Remembering Johnny Bower</a> </h1>
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<b>Remembering Johnny Bower</b></div>
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/johnny-with-statue.jpg"><img alt="johnny with statue" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-561 alignleft" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/johnny-with-statue.jpg" height="183" width="275" /></a><br />
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Johnny and Nancy Bower</div>
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He was a fixture of my childhood and the recipient of my evening prayers. Kneeling beside the bed, after reciting, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” I was tasked with asking for God’s help with two teams: The Toronto Maple Leafs and The Toronto Marlboroughs. I used to ask God for an extra wish, to watch over our beloved goalie, Johnny Bower.<br />
When children are exposed to their first games, they feel the burden of wins and losses falls exclusively on the shoulders of the goalie. My family was quick to disabuse me of this notion saying a loss was everyone’s fault just as victory belonged to all, even the lowliest of fans like me. I never did stop fearing that it was too much for him to bear. It seemed to me to be the hardest job in the whole wide world. To know the man was to see him deflect my concerns with a humility I never could fathom.<br />
We were in the thick of things in the sixties as hockey was our family business. We were a fiercely competitive bunch who hated losing. We were lucky enough to bear witness to victory, not once but four times over. We were fortunate beyond reason, beyond all measure, to have the best goalie probably of all time. Shots bounced off him right and left. At the games in Maple Leaf Gardens, I kept my eyes fixed on him year after year, suffering when I saw a puck hit him on his bare face. He was tough; he was magnificent, and he was unfailingly kind. Athletes have a duty to children to be a role model and to be worthy of their worship. No one ever exemplified this better than Johnny. He did it with such joy, with such modesty, and with a flair for deflecting flattery.<br />
We held victory parties for those Stanley Cups. We would line up by the front door to receive our beloved Leafs. Friends would admonish my father, and fear for my mother’s carpets, saying, “Why not do this at a hotel?” We packed our house to the rafters. As President of the Toronto Maple Leafs, my father insisted that only our home would do. As the youngest daughter, my place was at the end of the line. We couldn’t wait to shake the hands of our Leafs and tell them how grateful we were. The lion’s share of praise belonged to Johnny. He would shrug when I gushed away. He would pretend he had nothing to do with anything or no idea how it happened. It just did, that’s all.<br />
Over the years, when our paths crossed, he was the same. After my mother died, in 2004, I was out walking one day and saw a sign in front of a sporting goods store saying the 1967 Leafs would be present on Saturday morning. My brother, the late Tom Smythe came with me, and as we stood outside in the line, I was worried about him as he was ill with cancer at the time. One of the employees came out to fetch us saying that the Leafs had requested we be brought inside with them. They were in a small basement signing posters. Johnny came up to say hi to us, as did Red Kelly, Bobby Baun, and Ron Ellis. We sat on the stairs, and as I examined them all, I noticed something about Johnny.<br />
“You don’t have a single scar on your face,” I said.<br />
“That’s because I ducked,” he joked.<br />
“I remember plenty of times when you didn’t. How is it that you have no scars? What is your beauty secret?”<br />
“Cocoa butter. Always after shaving. A coach told me that in Juniors.”<br />
You couldn’t make the man take any credit for anything. I remember him going out of his way to keep engaging my brother in the conversation. I didn’t know a lot of the Leafs that came before the sixties, I didn’t know them personally, but I can’t imagine anyone was a better ambassador for the team than our Johnny. He was the most steadfast, honest, and humble man I have ever had the privilege to know. He will be revered, not just for his full-tilt splits, for all those glove saves, for facing Gordie Howe and all the others greats, night after night, but for who he was most of all. It simply is unfathomable how he could achieve so much without ever becoming proud. Courage paired with sweetness, and the kindest heart the city has known. Oh, how he will be missed.<br />
Johnny, we hardly knew ye.<br />
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/Johnny-with-the-cup.jpg"><img alt="Johnny with the cup" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-563" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/Johnny-with-the-cup.jpg" height="187" width="270" /></a></div>
<footer class="entry-meta"> This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=goalie" rel="tag">goalie</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=hero-worship" rel="tag">hero worship.</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=hockey" rel="tag">hockey</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=sports" rel="tag">sports</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=toronto-maple-leafs" rel="tag">Toronto Maple Leafs</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=558" rel="bookmark" title="10:23 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2018-01-02T22:23:02+00:00">January 2, 2018</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=558&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer> </article> <article class="post-551 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-fiction tag-national-book-award" id="post-551"> <header class="entry-header"> <h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=551" rel="bookmark">“Go South to the River.”</a> </h1>
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/sing-unburied-sing.jpg"><img alt="sing unburied sing" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-554" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/sing-unburied-sing-196x300.jpg" height="300" width="196" /></a><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Two-time-winning-ward.jpg"><img alt="Two time winning ward" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-555" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Two-time-winning-ward-203x300.jpg" height="300" width="203" /></a></div>
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Can we write about characters who are broken? Can we write about mothers who cannot seem to feed or care for their children? How does such a narrative hold the reader’s attention? After being in The Best Food Ever Book Club for the past three decades, I have heard many dissenting opinions about characters who fill the pages of our selections. There have been passionate arguments about the merits of books, and some have been quick to weigh in on the likeability of those whose thoughts will fill our heads as we read. The protagonist must capture our hearts; if everyone around them leaves little to admire, we will pull for the hero to break free. This is how I would describe JoJo, the thirteen-year-old boy on the cusp of manhood in Jesamyn Ward’s,<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=sing+unburied+sing+jesmyn+ward&sprefix=sing%2C+un%2Cstripbooks%2C996&crid=BBP26D0BWPQR"> <i>Sing, Unburied, Sing.</i></a></div>
As the author won the National Book Award for <i>Salvage the Bones</i> and has now gone on to win another, she brings a hefty amount of literary chops to the challenge. In her recent novel, she describes the difficulties before JoJo which seem nearly insurmountable. If anyone reading this is of the age-old belief that we are all born with the same chance in this great country, I would advise reading Jesmyn Ward. Isn’t it the greatest trick, or achievement, to actually change a reader’s philosophy, or understanding of life, by describing a family in the midst of their world and struggles? Will this allow the reader to see how much smooth sailing they may have had in life compared to someone born deep in the swamps of Mississippi whose ancestors were slaves? Through every page of this book, the reader is forced to accept that some families do not need to pull themselves up by the bootstraps because there have not been any boots for generations. How will this end? That is what kept me up at night caught in the grips of this magical tale.<br />
The road-trip story has had a place in my heart since reading Jack Kerouac in my teens. If everyone seems to be rolling along, just barely coping, as soon as they get in the car and attempt to go on a journey, our anxiety begins to increase. In the case of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=sing+unburied+sing+jesmyn+ward&sprefix=sing%2C+un%2Cstripbooks%2C996&crid=BBP26D0BWPQR">Sing, Unburied, Sing, </a>the destination is a prison. JoJo’s white father is about to be released. His white grandfather will not have anything to do with him, but they plan a visit nevertheless. This knowledge increased his fragile identity, and I wished he was able to stay home with his black grandfather who cared for him.<br />
With all of the families’ frailties, his dysfunctional mother, Leonie stands out above all others. JoJo’s baby sister clings to him by instinct, and it is our hero who looks out for her. Sometimes, as when in the hands of a skilled author, we yearn for the protagonist to turn out to be a fine upstanding man, but feel the deck is stacked against him. What are the odds? What will have to change in his life for this to happen? Of all the suspenseful situations an author can put her characters in, nothing keeps this reader clutching a book more than a baby who needs to be fed. There is no better way to describe a marginalized society than through the eyes of a hungry child.<br />
This book lingered in my mind for weeks. Bits and pieces would come back to me while on walks, or working, or making dinner. It was the mood that would return. There is such a dreamy quality to this work. Ghosts inhabit the characters, as surely as they must remain in those swamps down south. There can never be enough stories of what happened after the slaves were free. Never. When an author can describe the merest remnants of African culture, passed down by the merest of threads, the story begins to inhabit my imagination and dreams.<br />
From Page 174:<br />
“The inside of the store is so cool and the outside air so hot and wet that the windows are fogged up. I can’t see Leonie’s car from inside, only the smeared gray on the glass. The man at the counter got a big brown bushy beard, every hair going every which way on his face, but the rest of him is thin and yellow, even his hair which he’s combed over his head to hide the baldness underneath. It works, too, because his scalp is as yellow as the rest of him, so it’s hard for me to tell where his skin ends and his hair sprouts.”<br />
This is the voice of JoJo relating his impression of the roadside stop.<br />
Ward is at her lyrical best when she writes in the voice of a ghost.<br />
From Page 191:<br />
“Today when Jojo came to Parchman, I woke to the whispering of the white snake, which had dug a nest down into the earth with me so he could speak to me in my ear. So he would curl about my head in the dark and whisper, If you would rise, I can take you across the waters of this world to another. This place binds you. Keep the scale, even if you cannot fly. Go south, to River, to the face of the waters. He will show you. Go south.”<br />
Every family has a story, and every one of them is worth telling. The greatness of the endeavor would have to lie in the chosen word, and in the author’s skill. Jesmyn Ward has achieved all of this by winning the National Book Award for the second time.</div>
<footer class="entry-meta"> This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=fiction" rel="tag">Fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=national-book-award" rel="tag">National Book Award</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=551" rel="bookmark" title="12:05 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-11-17T00:05:37+00:00">November 17, 2017</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=551&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer> </article> <article class="post-543 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-historical-fiction" id="post-543"> <header class="entry-header"> <h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=543" rel="bookmark">A Book to Read Again and Again</a> </h1>
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Days-Without-End.jpg"><img alt="Days Without End" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-546" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Days-Without-End-196x300.jpg" height="300" width="196" /></a></div>
Sebastian Barry’s <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Days-Without-End-Sebastian-Barry-ebook/dp/B01FEY5E66/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1506805657&sr=1-3&keywords=sebastian+barry">Days Without End</a></i>, short-listed for the <a href="http://themanbookerprize.com/fiction">Man Booker Prize</a>, is a rare treasure. According to the book jacket, Barry has won the <a href="https://www.costa.co.uk/costa-book-awards/welcome/">Costa Book Award</a>, the <a href="https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irish_Book_Awards">Hughes and Hughes </a><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irish_Book_Awards">Irish Novel of the Year Award,</a> and the <a href="http://www.walterscottprize.co.uk/">Walter Scott Prize.</a><br />
Because I adored his previous novel, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Secret-Scripture-Sebastian-Barry/dp/0670019402/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1506806182&sr=1-1"><i>The Secret Scripture</i></a>, I knew I would be in the hands of a master storyteller when I picked up this book. Yet I was surprised and delighted from the first page to realize I was in the hands, not only of a great writer but in one of those rare instances where you know as soon as the character’s voice begins to ring in your ear, that he spoke to the author the same way. Thomas McNulty, an escapee of the great famine, signs up in the 1850’s for the U.S. Army. History will always bear out that Ireland was the greatest national nursery for soldiers, according to the British at least, and then the United States. Right off the boat they were given their marching orders, went off where they were told and made friends with their comrades in arms along the way. It is the friendship between Thomas and the handsome John Cole that moves the story from Wyoming to Tennessee. They face the horrors of war in many different phases and guises, yet they manage to form a bond, an unconventional family unit, but a family nevertheless. It gives the story its anchor and the touching desire to be true to that family, their adopted Sioux daughter that makes the reader feel as if they are crisscrossing time and distance. Lyrical is the term most used to describe this beautiful writing. I would add magical with a slight cringe because I never use that word to describe writing, but in this case, I am forced to make an exception. There is a story that exists that needs to be found, there are characters that sometimes show up and start talking, but if between those two elements another chimerical world emerges, even in all the gore of war, then you have created something that stands apart from everything. It is a book that you do not want to end and must do something to overcome the accompanying sadness at having to put it down. It is a book you may not read too quickly because you know you will feel this way at the end. It is a book you keep on your coffee table or nightstand because you cannot even bear to add it to your groaning shelves, just yet. Barry may even inspire you to look him up so you may learn more about him. If he had a fan club, I would join it. I’ve listened to him read from <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/?ie=UTF8&keywords=sebastian+barry+days+without+end&tag=googhydr-20&index=aps&hvadid=186525639735&hvpos=1t1&hvnetw=g&hvrand=8058598012151532260&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=e&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9029625&hvtargid=kwd-178838478742&ref=pd_sl_8gi3iekqgd_e"><i>Days Without End</i> </a>more than once. It is a book for your Christmas list, and one already purchased and sent on to a friend.<br />
From Page 232<br />
“Big train blowing steam and smoke at the depot. It’s like a creature. Something in perpetual explosion. Huge long muscle body on her and four big men punching coal into her boiler. It’s a sight. It’s going to be dragging four carriages east and the say they’ll do good. The light pall of snow hisses on the boiler sheets. Wish I could report well of the third-class wagon but it’s evil cold and damp and me and Winona got to sit in close as cats. Not an inch to move because our fellow passengers thought to bring their whole possessions with them. We even got goats and the mark of goats is stink.”<br />
This is the voice of Thomas who would be on a list if I had ever comprised such a thing, as an all time great character, one I will never forget and one whom I think I know.<br />
Life is very quiet these days at Windy Bay. September on <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lake_Coeur_d%27Alene">Lake Coeur d’ Alene</a> is often a busy time with boats being pulled from the water, docks going out, and getting the garden ready for winter. The summer people are mostly gone now, and I suppose some would fear a lonely winter ahead. As long as I have a list of books to read, I embrace the season. Although there are more choices to read, as far as the challenge of the short-listed books for the<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/?ie=UTF8&keywords=man+booker+prize+shortlist+2017&tag=googhydr-20&index=stripbooks&hvadid=198218370638&hvpos=1t1&hvnetw=g&hvrand=16471888029205788438&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=b&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9029625&hvtargid=kwd-314714520456&ref=pd_sl_8r684snp24_b"> Man Booker Prize</a> is concerned, my vote is cast. The quality and variety of available works is staggering and my hat goes off to everyone who has had the temerity and talent to get this far. Some are in a world apart though, and that is where I would put this master Irish story-teller.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Sebastian-Barry.jpg"><img alt="Sebastian Barry" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-548" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Sebastian-Barry-300x181.jpg" height="181" width="300" /></a><br />
You may listen to him read here: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/?ie=UTF8&keywords=man+booker+prize+shortlist+2017&tag=googhydr-20&index=stripbooks&hvadid=198218370638&hvpos=1t1&hvnetw=g&hvrand=16471888029205788438&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=b&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9029625&hvtargid=kwd-314714520456&ref=pd_sl_8r684snp24_b"> https://www.theguardian.com/books/audio/2017/feb/03/sebastian-barry-on-his-costa-winning-novel-days-without-end-books-podcast</a></div>
<footer class="entry-meta"> This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=543" rel="bookmark" title="9:46 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-09-30T21:46:27+00:00">September 30, 2017</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=543&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer> </article> <article class="post-533 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-motivation category-uncategorized tag-chance tag-history tag-shipwreck tag-theosophy" id="post-533"> <header class="entry-header"> <h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=533" rel="bookmark">The Zen of Chance</a> </h1>
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/17266220_1914347492178554_7956206291959939072_n.jpg"><img alt="17266220_1914347492178554_7956206291959939072_n" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-537" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/17266220_1914347492178554_7956206291959939072_n-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a></div>
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Spring is arriving on Windy Bay and not without drama. The water is high, and docks are floating every which way, untethered and adrift. I have been thinking about the role of chance in our lives and our stories. When do we feel the gentle hand of fate touching our shoulder? What do we do when that happens? Run and hide, or take a few gingerly steps into the unknown?<br />
This train of thought began on <a href="http://www.history.com/topics/st-patricks-day">St. Patrick’s Day</a> when I glanced at an<a href="https://www.instagram.com/?hl=en"> Instagram</a> post from my nephew, Tommy Smythe. He captured the title page of a Bible belonging to his great-great-grandfather who braved the seas and sailed for the new world. His first attempt was foiled. In his own hand, Albert Ernest Stafford Smythe, my great-grandfather wrote these words:<br />
“This Bible is the only possession saved from the shipwreck of E.J.Harland on the 19th of November 1861.”<br />
Hit by a two-ton steamer named Lake Champlain, Captain Smylie went down with his ship; the rest were transferred to the offending vessel and ended up back in Liverpool. This voyage took place when my great-grandfather was a young man of eighteen years of age. He lost his cherished mother the year before. In spite of ending up with nothing to his name, save a Bible, he was not deterred.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/william-q.-judge.jpg"><img alt="william q. judge" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-538 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/william-q.-judge-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a>William Q. Judge<br />
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On his second voyage, he met a man who was to change his life. On his way back to America from India, William Q. Judge, co-founder of the early Theosophist movement along with H.P. Blavatsky and Henry S. Olcott, had plenty of words of wisdom for his fellow ship-mates. Born in Ireland, April 13, 1851, Judge was now in full understanding of humanity’s great need for a new perspective on both itself and the universe.<br />
Here is Albert E.S. Smythe’s shipboard assessment of the man:<br />
“Judge was the master of ordinary conditions and could get honey out of the merest weed. He walked the decks with those in need of a companion, he played cards, except on Sunday when he drew the line, he played quoits, and he chatted.” The Canadian Theosophist, April 1939.<br />
In our modern viewpoint, the word karma is part of our lives. We often joke about it, misuse the term, or think of it either lightly, or having to do with a sense of just desserts. In the later part of the 1800’s, when the concept was still in need of illuminating, Judge told the story of an Eastern King who had spawned but one son.<br />
“And this son committed a deed, the penalty of which was that he should be killed by a great stone thrown upon him. But it was seen that this would not repair the wrong, nor give the offender the chance to become a better man. The counselors of the king advised that the stone should be broken into smaller pieces and thrown at the son and at his children and grandchildren as they were able to bear it. It was so done, and all were in some sense sufferers, yet none were destroyed.”<br />
The Path 1892. From Sunrise Magazine, December 1996/ January 1997, copyright Theosophical University Press.<br />
Chance. A chance encounter aboard a ship carrying my great grandfather to the new world changed the trajectory of our lives. What if the first ship, the fully rigged E.J. Harland, had not foundered? What if Albert E.S. Smythe had landed in New York, with his Bible and other possessions intact. While I do not recall hearing the tale of the Eastern King, I do know that it was made very clear to all of us that we were to understand one simple teaching: “Yea as you sew, surely do you reap.”<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/Albert-E.S.-Smythe.jpg"><img alt="Albert E.S. Smythe" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-540" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/Albert-E.S.-Smythe-208x300.jpg" height="300" width="208" /></a><br />
My fate changed for good when I chanced to find a ski lodge in Aspen where I met my future husband. Had I not stopped in to see if there was a vacancy, I certainly would not be where I am today, here on Windy Bay, with docks knocking on the edge of the shore. I’ll always be glad that when chance came knocking, I knew what to do.</div>
<footer class="entry-meta"> This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=chance" rel="tag">Chance</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=history" rel="tag">history</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shipwreck" rel="tag">shipwreck</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=theosophy" rel="tag">Theosophy</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=533" rel="bookmark" title="11:04 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-03-24T23:04:38+00:00">March 24, 2017</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=533&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer> </article> <article class="post-522 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-british-colombia tag-china tag-cultural-revolution tag-fiction tag-giller-prize tag-history tag-man-booker-prize tag-shortlisted tag-vancouver" id="post-522"> <header class="entry-header"> <h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=522" rel="bookmark">The Opposite of Nothing is Something</a> </h1>
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The very best writing reads like music. It has rhythm. It has style. Madeline Thien’s<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> <i>Do Not</i> <i>Say We Have Nothing</i> </a>is a symphony. The author weaves a tale of her native <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/China">China, </a>the tragic and tumultuous history with the stories of interlaced characters pulled through generations. We see history not only as it unfolds, but in the impact, it has on its people. The book is an extraordinary achievement winning the <a href="http://www.scotiabankgillerprize.ca/">Scotiabank Giller Prize </a>and being short-listed for the <a href="http://themanbookerprize.com/">Man Booker Prize of 2016. </a>While the competition for both prizes was intense,<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=do+not+say+we+have+nothing+by+madeleine+thien&sprefix=do+not+s%2Cstripbooks%2C552&crid=25AGHYUGOK4QP"><i> Do Not Say We</i> <i>Have Nothing</i> </a>is a standout.<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&">Thien</a>‘s style is intricate and beautiful. She is deft at moving through settings, characters and time. It is a book that can be described, as <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=annie+lamont+word+by+word">Annie Lamont</a> put it, written <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=annie+lamont+word+by+word">‘word by word.</a>‘ From the very start, I found myself inwardly gasping at the beauty of her writing.<br />
The book opens with a profound and engaging beginning. “In a single year, my father left us twice. The first time, to end his marriage, and the second, when he took his own life.” Page 3.<br />
From this start, we follow<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Thien’s</a> journey to understand the events that led to this pass. She is living in<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vancouver"> Vancouver</a>, in an apartment shared with her mother when we first encounter this thoughtful, cerebral girl. Before long a third person arrives without a coat and carrying a light suitcase. She is a family friend whose history is connected to theirs. What links them together is the fact that both of the fathers were musicians forbidden to practice their craft in the dark years of the Cultural Revolution. If music sustained her father, Marie finds a home in mathematics.<br />
From Page 191:<br />
“In the spring of 2000, after my mother passed away, I gave myself entirely to my studies. The logic of mathematics-its methods of induction and deduction, its power to describe abstract shapes that have no counterpart in the real world- sustained me. I moved out of the apartment that my mother had been renting ever since she and Ba first came to Canada, and in which I had grown up. Desperate to leave it behind, I cobbled together every penny I had and bought a dilapidated apartment on Alexander Street. The windows looked straight out into the port of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vancouver">Vancouver</a> and, at night, the endless arrivals and departures of multi-coloured shipping containers, what they held, what they divulged, comforted me.<br />
I kept my parents’ papers in the bedroom closet and a Cantor taped to the wall: ‘The essence of mathematics lies in its freedom.’”<br />
This picture finds an easy grace in my imagination. The link between Shanghai and the western ports of North America, where we now receive goods too staggering in size to even contemplate from a nation that was once brought to its knees is both beautiful and sad. That is the tone of the work; it hit the right note for winter reading. Every once in a great while, we pick up a book that deserves to be read twice. Some sentences are so profound that the reader needs to stop and puzzle through them. Sometimes it means putting the book down and returning to awaiting tasks with the thoughts presented rattling around begging for more time.<br />
From Page 419:<br />
“I know that throughout my life I have struggled to forgive my father. Now, as I get older, I wish most of all that he had been able to find a way to forgive himself. In the end, I believe these pages and the Book of Records return to the persistence of this desire: to know the times in which we are alive. To keep the record that must be kept, and also, finally, to let it go. That’s what I would tell my father. To have faith that, one day, someone else will keep the record.”<br />
Ideally, a great novel gives us a new understanding, either of times and events or, in the best possible scenario, of the pages of our own story.<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Madeline Thien’s </a>work carries the power to do this. Could it be possible that I feel as if I am a better person for having read <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&">Do Not Say</a></i> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"><i>We Have</i> Not<i>hing</i></a>? I hope so. For God knows, there is much work to be done.<br />
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/winning-thien.jpg"><img alt="winning thien" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-526" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/winning-thien-300x196.jpg" height="196" width="300" /></a> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Madeleine Thien </a></div>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-17654955307514418612019-01-08T14:06:00.000-08:002019-01-08T14:06:06.909-08:00A Memoir for our Times<br />
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<article class="post-589 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-non-fiction category-uncategorized tag-american-history tag-history tag-michelle-obama tag-president-obama" id="post-589"><div class="entry-content">
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In the midst of my Christmas to-do list, I fell, face first, into Michelle Obama’s<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Michelle-Obama/dp/1524763136/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1546984044&sr=1-1&keywords=Becoming"><em> Becoming</em>.</a> Page after page fell away as I found myself transfixed. I could not stop reading, and I did not want the book to end. It puzzled me at first, how deeply ensconced I had become, and I wondered how Mrs. Obama had achieved this remarkable feat. After all, I knew the story. We all know her noteworthy climb from the south side of Chicago to the First Lady of the United States. We know the big events of the Obama years, yet the pace of her book felt akin to the most gripping of tales.<br />
For one thing, I realized that I simply loved being in the presence of her thoughts. I loved her strength; it felt like one of those weighted blankets advertised for anxiety-something I would like to try but have yet to experience. By about the third day of reading in every spare moment and into the wee hours of the night, I began to understand that she truly represents the hopes and dreams of all of us. Her story is not one of a girl filled to the brim with stardust; she is more like the friend’s mother or the teacher or the camp counselor or the person somewhere along the line, who tells you how to set about getting where you want to go. She is practical and not afraid nor does she ever seem overwhelmed by the task at hand. To the contrary, she embraces every challenge with the belief that she can get over any hurdle. Her words inspired me and left me feeling very uplifted and optimistic.<br />
Fighting discrimination at every turn makes her heroic in my eyes, but she doesn’t seem to see herself that way. She wrote that she is jokingly referred to as “Joe Public,” by her husband. She likes to stay abreast of popular culture more than she would rather follow the outrageous swings and dips of political fortune. These are the grounding attributes of her character to which we all relate. I, too, have to justify my magazine purchases sometimes, being somewhat of a “Joe Public,” myself. I guess it is worse in my case as I am Joe Public Idaho Housewife- a rarer bird than most these days. She writes of talking about her shoes with the Queen. I ate up every detail. Living in the White House cannot be easy, but she made it sound like fun.<br />
As the pendulum is wont to do, we swung wildly in that dichotomy and living through it has been challenging. Hope springs eternal. That is the message of this beautiful book, but I would be selling it short if I gave readers the impression that this should be shelved in the self-help section. It belongs in the history section, but right up there with those who can articulate it best. She is quite simply, a remarkable writer and with each lively turn of phrase, I see her culture, her life, and her zest for living. I would not hesitate to give this as a gift to anyone: new friends, old friends, young people, older people, lost people, found people, in short everyone. The universal appeal is the book’s greatest strength. President Obama put it at the top of his reading list for 2018, and though I have trouble quantifying the books that I love, it would certainly put it in the top tier.<br />
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-46084005257719357642018-12-13T14:40:00.000-08:002018-12-13T14:40:53.143-08:00A Noun and a Verb<br />
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To examine Elizabeth Hay's wonderful book called<a href="https://www.amazon.com/All-Things-Consoled-daughters-memoir/dp/0771039735/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1544731299&sr=1-1&keywords=All+Things+Consoled"><em> All Things Consoled</em></a> is to gaze at the nature of the word itself. Anyone facing grief, or dealing with the difficulties of aging parents, or struggling with the reconciliation of old beefs, and the nature of letting go, will understand that grief is massively challenging. Caring friends may ask us how we are progressing. We will always come up blank. We can try to find peace, to achieve closure, to move on in our lives, but just when we feel we are making some headway, the past circles back, and there we are crying in the car when a sad song comes on the radio. We don't get over things. At least, that is my experience. As I learned on the long canoe trips of my youth, the pack you portage gets a little lighter every day. That best describes my progress or lack thereof.<br />
<em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/All-Things-Consoled-daughters-memoir/dp/0771039735/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1544731299&sr=1-1&keywords=All+Things+Consoled">All Things Consoled</a>, </em> reads like a diary of the journey. It felt as if I was in her family with her, and I could see it all as clear as a bell. It is the great joy of my life to have so many experiences, so many connections, and so many travels all taking place within the bounds of my quite elastic imagination. A recent class with Margaret Atwood asked me to consider how to evoke emotions in the reader. Her statement landed like a direct hit. That is the trick of it.<br />
<br />
<br />
Elizabeth Hay managed to evoke memories of all the irritating moments where you want to scream, but know that would be very unwise. By using her considerable skill to put me in her mother's kitchen, I was transported back to the fifties when as a young girl, I experienced first hand, the holdover of the depression years, and the need not to waste food. Two characters, named willful and woeful were given little dishes covered in wax paper and then saran wrap before it found its cling, two measly bites that must be saved, less “Willful waste brings woeful want.” In my mother's case, the sensibility only applied to food, a contradiction we often pointed out. Hay's mother's endearing obsession had me thinking back with great affection to my mother's old pink fridge at our summer cottage on Lake Joseph in Ontario.<br />
<br />
<br />
As for the father, although they were vastly different kinds of men, there were similarities there too. Punishment, as meted out to children in our time, could be harsh. Micheal Ondaatje in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Warlight-novel-Michael-Ondaatje/dp/0525521194/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1544731452&sr=1-1&keywords=warlight+by+michael+ondaatje"><em>Warlight</em> </a>wrote that to write a memoir is to be an orphan. Surely there are great hurdles. One wants to get close to the truth, but one loathes to tell it. Idealize the whole family and write a rosy tale where all skeletons are swept dutifully under the carpet, does not come off as believable. To reveal all is sometimes too painful for anyone to read. How to get it just right must be the greatest challenge ever. It is not uncommon for some to write more than one memoir, because side stories and different issues keep popping up.<br />
<br />
<br />They will keep on coming too because the heart of the story, the telling of it, is a journey. In the case of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/All-Things-Consoled-daughters-memoir/dp/0771039735/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1544731299&sr=1-1&keywords=All+Things+Consoled"><em>All Things Consoled</em>,</a> the reader comes away with great respect for the author. She found the right note, and she managed to achieve a balance with her parent's foibles and her own. We, too, can relate to their struggles and feel compassion for them as the frailty of old age crept in. Memorable characters, evocatively brought to light, makes this a great read.<br />
<br />
<br />
From Page 233:<br />
“The instinct to make art had abandoned her, but not the instinct to save food. She could not pass the communal fruit bowl in the lobby without her hand reaching out like a raccoon's for apples and oranges, which she slipped into the basket of her walker and wheeled to her room. We took to calling her the fruit tree, self-grafting, everbearing. Her little fridge groaned with what she salted away. Every few days I emptied it into a canvas bag, assuring her that nothing would go to waste. Then I would stop by the kitchen on my way out of the building and put the food in the garbage and the napkins into the laundry bag and the plates on the counter. I stopped at the famous fruit bowl and returned apples and oranges.”<br />
<br />
<br />
How this passage makes me anxious! I think of my parents with great affection at Christmas time. We were so lucky to not know real want, a fact my Mom pointed out constantly. Elizabeth Hay helped to console me, for I will always miss them. As we always gave books as gifts, and Boxing Day meant cracking open a great new read, with a personal inscription on the title page, I still have bits of them with me in my library. As for the living room, I have their console tables too.Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-67242588666159340722018-11-15T16:35:00.000-08:002018-11-15T16:35:54.981-08:00Still Dreaming<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/dreamingsallycover.jpg"><img alt="" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-580" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/dreamingsallycover-205x300.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
<br />
When was the last time you liked a book so much that you read it twice? <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dreaming-Sally-Story-Sudden-Shadows/dp/0345814533/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1542327217&sr=1-1&keywords=Dreaming+Sally"><em>Dreaming Sally</em></a>
by James Fitzgerald has captivated my imagination. A true story, it
outlines the tale of a life cut short, and of the two men who loved and
lost, and struggled in the aftermath. By his heavenly powers of
description, it is as if the author peeled back the veil, and re-created
a lively young woman who seemed beautifully natural and full of fun.
Seeing her through the eyes of a teenage male in love with her, but not
able to win her heart, gives the story an extra portion of poignancy.
Coupling the tale with Sally’s betrothed who also lost her, made me feel
for both of them in this love story cut short by death.<br />
The power of the author’s skill made me feel like a mad teenager
again, searching the mean streets of the city for the next thrill. I
could hear the music, taste the wine, feel the pressures upon us, and
fail to understand my parent’s generation all over again. It takes
amazing courage to penetrate to the heart of the story, and give over to
honest self- examination. The settings, the dialogue, and the story
remain vivid and are still creeping into my thoughts by the hour. It is a
litmus test of sorts, to see how long the words linger. This book is
one I will never forget. How impossible is it to bring the dead back to
life? Yet it is Sally’s vitality that leaps from the page. That she was
right on the cusp of change, the time when human history made a huge
leap, the era where birth control set women free to explore their
sexuality, and the time when collectively, the female of the species
declared that the old norms of the patriarchy would never do. Many of us
can identify with Sally and can imagine how her life would have
unfolded. I see all the makings of a matriarch who would have created a
fine family. She was about to begin nursing school and would have
emerged with an even stronger sense of herself. Romantic, nostalgic and
all too real, the book has left me in greater awe of master story-teller<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_FitzGerald_(writer)"> James Fitzgerald.</a><br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=25" rel="category">Narrative Non-Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=canada" rel="tag">Canada</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=love-story" rel="tag">love story</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=romantic" rel="tag">Romantic</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=toronto" rel="tag">Toronto</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=576" rel="bookmark" title="12:29 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2018-11-16T00:29:35+00:00">November 16, 2018</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=576&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-52146495468309724532018-01-02T14:29:00.002-08:002018-01-10T11:04:15.537-08:00Remembering Johnny Bower<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/johnny-with-statue.jpg"><img alt="johnny with statue" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-561 alignleft" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/johnny-with-statue.jpg" height="183" width="275" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Johnny and Nancy Bower</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He was a fixture of my childhood and the recipient of my evening
prayers. Kneeling beside the bed, after reciting, “Now I lay me down to
sleep,” I was tasked with asking for God’s help with two teams: The
Toronto Maple Leafs and The Toronto Marlboroughs. I used to ask God for
an extra wish, to watch over our beloved goalie, Johnny Bower.<br />
When children are exposed to their first games, they feel the burden
of wins and losses falls exclusively on the shoulders of the goalie. My
family was quick to disabuse me of this notion saying a loss was
everyone’s fault just as victory belonged to all, even the lowliest of
fans like me. I never did stop fearing that it was too much for him to
bear. It seemed to me to be the hardest job in the whole wide world. To
know the man was to see him deflect my concerns with a humility I never
could fathom.<br />
We were in the thick of things in the sixties as hockey was our
family business. We were a fiercely competitive bunch who hated losing.
We were lucky enough to bear witness to victory, not once but four times
over. We were fortunate beyond reason, beyond all measure, to have the
best goalie probably of all time. Shots bounced off him right and left.
At the games in Maple Leaf Gardens, I kept my eyes fixed on him year
after year, suffering when I saw a puck hit him on his bare face. He was
tough; he was magnificent, and he was unfailingly kind. Athletes have a
duty to children to be a role model and to be worthy of their worship.
No one ever exemplified this better than Johnny. He did it with such
joy, with such modesty, and with a flair for deflecting flattery.<br />
We held victory parties for those Stanley Cups. We would line up by
the front door to receive our beloved Leafs. Friends would admonish my
father, and fear for my mother’s carpets, saying, “Why not do this at a
hotel?” We packed our house to the rafters. As President of the Toronto
Maple Leafs, my father insisted that only our home would do. As the
youngest daughter, my place was at the end of the line. We couldn’t wait
to shake the hands of our Leafs and tell them how grateful we were. The
lion’s share of praise belonged to Johnny. He would shrug when I gushed
away. He would pretend he had nothing to do with anything or no idea
how it happened. It just did, that’s all.<br />
Over the years, when our paths crossed, he was the same. After my
mother died, in 2004, I was out walking one day and saw a sign in front
of a sporting goods store saying the 1967 Leafs would be present on
Saturday morning. My brother, the late Tom Smythe came with me, and as
we stood outside in the line, I was worried about him as he was ill with
cancer at the time. One of the employees came out to fetch us saying
that the Leafs had requested we be brought inside with them. They were
in a small basement signing posters. Johnny came up to say hi to us, as
did Red Kelly, Bobby Baun, and Ron Ellis. We sat on the stairs, and as I
examined them all, I noticed something about Johnny.<br />
“You don’t have a single scar on your face,” I said.<br />
“That’s because I ducked,” he joked.<br />
“I remember plenty of times when you didn’t. How is it that you have no scars? What is your beauty secret?”<br />
“Cocoa butter. Always after shaving. A coach told me that in Juniors.”<br />
You couldn’t make the man take any credit for anything. I remember him
going out of his way to keep engaging my brother in the conversation. I
didn’t know a lot of the Leafs that came before the sixties, I didn’t
know them personally, but I can’t imagine anyone was a better ambassador
for the team than our Johnny. He was the most steadfast, honest, and
humble man I have ever had the privilege to know. He will be revered,
not just for his full-tilt splits, for all those glove saves, for facing
Gordie Howe and all the others greats, night after night, but for who
he was most of all. It simply is unfathomable how he could achieve so
much without ever becoming proud. Courage paired with sweetness, and the
kindest heart the city has known. Oh, how he will be missed.<br />
Johnny, we hardly knew ye.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/Johnny-with-the-cup.jpg"><img alt="Johnny with the cup" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-563" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/Johnny-with-the-cup.jpg" height="187" width="270" /></a>Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-75753956792310930382017-11-16T16:10:00.002-08:002017-11-16T16:10:23.257-08:00"Go South to the River"
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/sing-unburied-sing.jpg"><img alt="sing unburied sing" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-554" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/sing-unburied-sing-196x300.jpg" width="196" /></a><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Two-time-winning-ward.jpg"><img alt="Two time winning ward" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-555" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Two-time-winning-ward-203x300.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Can we write about characters who are
broken? Can we write about mothers who cannot seem to feed or care for
their children? How does such a narrative hold the reader’s attention?
After being in The Best Food Ever Book Club for the past three decades, I
have heard many dissenting opinions about characters who fill the pages
of our selections. There have been passionate arguments about the
merits of books, and some have been quick to weigh in on the likeability
of those whose thoughts will fill our heads as we read. The protagonist
must capture our hearts; if everyone around them leaves little to
admire, we will pull for the hero to break free. This is how I would
describe JoJo, the thirteen-year-old boy on the cusp of manhood in
Jesamyn Ward’s,<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=sing+unburied+sing+jesmyn+ward&sprefix=sing%2C+un%2Cstripbooks%2C996&crid=BBP26D0BWPQR"> <em>Sing, Unburied, Sing.</em></a></div>
As the author won the National Book Award for <em>Salvage the Bones</em>
and has now gone on to win another, she brings a hefty amount of
literary chops to the challenge. In her recent novel, she describes the
difficulties before JoJo which seem nearly insurmountable. If anyone
reading this is of the age-old belief that we are all born with the same
chance in this great country, I would advise reading Jesmyn Ward. Isn’t
it the greatest trick, or achievement, to actually change a reader’s
philosophy, or understanding of life, by describing a family in the
midst of their world and struggles? Will this allow the reader to see
how much smooth sailing they may have had in life compared to someone
born deep in the swamps of Mississippi whose ancestors were slaves?
Through every page of this book, the reader is forced to accept that
some families do not need to pull themselves up by the bootstraps
because there have not been any boots for generations. How will this
end? That is what kept me up at night caught in the grips of this
magical tale.<br />
<br />
<br />
The road-trip story has had a place in my heart since reading Jack
Kerouac in my teens. If everyone seems to be rolling along, just barely
coping, as soon as they get in the car and attempt to go on a journey,
our anxiety begins to increase. In the case of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=sing+unburied+sing+jesmyn+ward&sprefix=sing%2C+un%2Cstripbooks%2C996&crid=BBP26D0BWPQR">Sing, Unburied, Sing, </a>the
destination is a prison. JoJo’s white father is about to be released.
His white grandfather will not have anything to do with him, but they
plan a visit nevertheless. This knowledge increased his fragile
identity, and I wished he was able to stay home with his black
grandfather who cared for him.<br />
With all of the families’ frailties, his dysfunctional mother, Leonie
stands out above all others. JoJo’s baby sister clings to him by
instinct, and it is our hero who looks out for her. Sometimes, as when
in the hands of a skilled author, we yearn for the protagonist to turn
out to be a fine upstanding man, but feel the deck is stacked against
him. What are the odds? What will have to change in his life for this to
happen? Of all the suspenseful situations an author can put her
characters in, nothing keeps this reader clutching a book more than a
baby who needs to be fed. There is no better way to describe a
marginalized society than through the eyes of a hungry child.<br />
This book lingered in my mind for weeks. Bits and pieces would come
back to me while on walks, or working, or making dinner. It was the mood
that would return. There is such a dreamy quality to this work. Ghosts
inhabit the characters, as surely as they must remain in those swamps
down south. There can never be enough stories of what happened after the
slaves were free. Never. When an author can describe the merest
remnants of African culture, passed down by the merest of threads, the
story begins to inhabit my imagination and dreams.<br />
<br />
<br />
From Page 174:<br />
“The inside of the store is so cool and the outside air so hot and
wet that the windows are fogged up. I can’t see Leonie’s car from
inside, only the smeared gray on the glass. The man at the counter got a
big brown bushy beard, every hair going every which way on his face,
but the rest of him is thin and yellow, even his hair which he’s combed
over his head to hide the baldness underneath. It works, too, because
his scalp is as yellow as the rest of him, so it’s hard for me to tell
where his skin ends and his hair sprouts.”<br />
<br />
<br />
This is the voice of JoJo relating his impression of the roadside stop.<br />
Ward is at her lyrical best when she writes in the voice of a ghost.<br />
<br />
<br />
From Page 191:<br />
“Today when Jojo came to Parchman, I woke to the whispering of the
white snake, which had dug a nest down into the earth with me so he
could speak to me in my ear. So he would curl about my head in the dark
and whisper, If you would rise, I can take you across the waters of this
world to another. This place binds you. Keep the scale, even if you
cannot fly. Go south, to River, to the face of the waters. He will show
you. Go south.”<br />
<br />
<br />
Every family has a story, and every one of them is worth telling. The
greatness of the endeavor would have to lie in the chosen word, and in
the author’s skill. Jesmyn Ward has achieved all of this by winning the
National Book Award for the second time.<br />
<br />
<br />
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=fiction" rel="tag">Fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=national-book-award" rel="tag">National Book Award</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=551" rel="bookmark" title="12:05 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-11-17T00:05:37+00:00">November 17, 2017</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=551&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-60922659822601690002017-10-01T10:01:00.000-07:002017-10-01T14:33:03.548-07:00A Book to Read Again and Again<div class="site-content" id="primary">
<div id="content" role="main">
<br />
<article class="post-543 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-historical-fiction" id="post-543">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<br />
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Days-Without-End.jpg"><img alt="Days Without End" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-546" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Days-Without-End-196x300.jpg" height="300" width="196" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Sebastian Barry’s <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Days-Without-End-Sebastian-Barry-ebook/dp/B01FEY5E66/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1506805657&sr=1-3&keywords=sebastian+barry">Days Without End</a></i>, short-listed for the <a href="http://themanbookerprize.com/fiction">Man Booker Prize</a>, is a rare treasure. According to the book jacket, Barry has won the <a href="https://www.costa.co.uk/costa-book-awards/welcome/">Costa Book Award</a>, the <a href="https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irish_Book_Awards">Hughes and Hughes </a><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irish_Book_Awards">Irish Novel of the Year Award,</a> and the <a href="http://www.walterscottprize.co.uk/">Walter Scott Prize.</a><br />
Because I adored his previous novel, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Secret-Scripture-Sebastian-Barry/dp/0670019402/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1506806182&sr=1-1"><i>The Secret Scripture</i></a>,
I knew I would be in the hands of a master storyteller when I picked up
this book. Yet I was surprised and delighted from the first page to
realize I was in the hands, not only of a great writer but in one of
those rare instances where you know as soon as the character’s voice
begins to ring in your ear, that he spoke to the author the same way.
Thomas McNulty, an escapee of the great famine, signs up in the 1850’s
for the U.S. Army. History will always bear out that Ireland was the
greatest national nursery for soldiers, according to the British at
least, and then the United States. Right off the boat they were given
their marching orders, went off where they were told and made friends
with their comrades in arms along the way. It is the friendship between
Thomas and the handsome John Cole that moves the story from Wyoming to
Tennessee. They face the horrors of war in many different phases and
guises, yet they manage to form a bond, an unconventional family unit,
but a family nevertheless. It gives the story its anchor and the
touching desire to be true to that family, their adopted Sioux daughter
that makes the reader feel as if they are crisscrossing time and
distance. Lyrical is the term most used to describe this beautiful
writing. I would add magical with a slight cringe because I never use
that word to describe writing, but in this case, I am forced to make an
exception. There is a story that exists that needs to be found, there
are characters that sometimes show up and start talking, but if between
those two elements another chimerical world emerges, even in all the
gore of war, then you have created something that stands apart from
everything. It is a book that you do not want to end and must do
something to overcome the accompanying sadness at having to put it down.
It is a book you may not read too quickly because you know you will
feel this way at the end. It is a book you keep on your coffee table or
nightstand because you cannot even bear to add it to your groaning
shelves, just yet. Barry may even inspire you to look him up so you may
learn more about him. If he had a fan club, I would join it. I’ve
listened to him read from <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/?ie=UTF8&keywords=sebastian+barry+days+without+end&tag=googhydr-20&index=aps&hvadid=186525639735&hvpos=1t1&hvnetw=g&hvrand=8058598012151532260&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=e&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9029625&hvtargid=kwd-178838478742&ref=pd_sl_8gi3iekqgd_e"><i>Days Without End</i> </a>more than once. It is a book for your Christmas list, and one already purchased and sent on to a friend.<br />
<br />
From Page 232<br />
“Big train blowing steam and smoke at the depot. It’s like a
creature. Something in perpetual explosion. Huge long muscle body on her
and four big men punching coal into her boiler. It’s a sight. It’s
going to be dragging four carriages east and the say they’ll do good.
The light pall of snow hisses on the boiler sheets. Wish I could report
well of the third-class wagon but it’s evil cold and damp and me and
Winona got to sit in close as cats. Not an inch to move because our
fellow passengers thought to bring their whole possessions with them. We
even got goats and the mark of goats is stink.”<br />
<br />
<br />
This is the voice of Thomas who would be on a list if I had ever
comprised such a thing, as an all time great character, one I will never
forget and one whom I think I know.<br />
Life is very quiet these days at Windy Bay. September on <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lake_Coeur_d%27Alene">Lake Coeur d’ Alene</a>
is often a busy time with boats being pulled from the water, docks
going out, and getting the garden ready for winter. The summer people
are mostly gone now, and I suppose some would fear a lonely winter
ahead. As long as I have a list of books to read, I embrace the season.
Although there are more choices to read, as far as the challenge of
the short-listed books for the<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/?ie=UTF8&keywords=man+booker+prize+shortlist+2017&tag=googhydr-20&index=stripbooks&hvadid=198218370638&hvpos=1t1&hvnetw=g&hvrand=16471888029205788438&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=b&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9029625&hvtargid=kwd-314714520456&ref=pd_sl_8r684snp24_b"> Man Booker Prize</a>
is concerned, my vote is cast. The quality and variety of available
works is staggering and my hat goes off to everyone who has had the
temerity and talent to get this far. Some are in a world apart though,
and that is where I would put this master Irish story-teller.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Sebastian-Barry.jpg"><img alt="Sebastian Barry" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-548" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Sebastian-Barry-300x181.jpg" height="181" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
You may listen to him read here: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/?ie=UTF8&keywords=man+booker+prize+shortlist+2017&tag=googhydr-20&index=stripbooks&hvadid=198218370638&hvpos=1t1&hvnetw=g&hvrand=16471888029205788438&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=b&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9029625&hvtargid=kwd-314714520456&ref=pd_sl_8r684snp24_b"> https://www.theguardian.com/books/audio/2017/feb/03/sebastian-barry-on-his-costa-winning-novel-days-without-end-books-podcast</a></div>
<footer class="entry-meta">
This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=543" rel="bookmark" title="9:46 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-09-30T21:46:27+00:00">September 30, 2017</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-533 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-motivation category-uncategorized tag-chance tag-history tag-shipwreck tag-theosophy" id="post-533">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=533" rel="bookmark">The Zen of Chance</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/17266220_1914347492178554_7956206291959939072_n.jpg"><img alt="17266220_1914347492178554_7956206291959939072_n" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-537" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/17266220_1914347492178554_7956206291959939072_n-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
Spring is arriving on Windy Bay and not without drama. The water is
high, and docks are floating every which way, untethered and adrift. I
have been thinking about the role of chance in our lives and our
stories. When do we feel the gentle hand of fate touching our shoulder?
What do we do when that happens? Run and hide, or take a few gingerly
steps into the unknown?<br />
This train of thought began on <a href="http://www.history.com/topics/st-patricks-day">St. Patrick’s Day</a> when I glanced at an<a href="https://www.instagram.com/?hl=en"> Instagram</a>
post from my nephew, Tommy Smythe. He captured the title page of a
Bible belonging to his great-great-grandfather who braved the seas and
sailed for the new world. His first attempt was foiled. In his own hand,
Albert Ernest Stafford Smythe, my great-grandfather wrote these words:<br />
“This Bible is the only possession saved from the shipwreck of E.J.Harland on the 19th of November 1861.”<br />
Hit by a two-ton steamer named Lake Champlain, Captain Smylie went
down with his ship; the rest were transferred to the offending vessel
and ended up back in Liverpool. This voyage took place when my
great-grandfather was a young man of eighteen years of age. He lost his
cherished mother the year before. In spite of ending up with nothing to
his name, save a Bible, he was not deterred.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/william-q.-judge.jpg"><img alt="william q. judge" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-538 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/william-q.-judge-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a>William Q. Judge<br />
<br />
On his second voyage, he met a man who was to change his life. On his
way back to America from India, William Q. Judge, co-founder of the
early Theosophist movement along with H.P. Blavatsky and Henry S.
Olcott, had plenty of words of wisdom for his fellow ship-mates. Born in
Ireland, April 13, 1851, Judge was now in full understanding of
humanity’s great need for a new perspective on both itself and the
universe.<br />
Here is Albert E.S. Smythe’s shipboard assessment of the man:<br />
“Judge was the master of ordinary conditions and could get honey out
of the merest weed. He walked the decks with those in need of a
companion, he played cards, except on Sunday when he drew the line, he
played quoits, and he chatted.” The Canadian Theosophist, April 1939.<br />
In our modern viewpoint, the word karma is part of our lives. We
often joke about it, misuse the term, or think of it either lightly, or
having to do with a sense of just desserts. In the later part of the
1800’s, when the concept was still in need of illuminating, Judge told
the story of an Eastern King who had spawned but one son.<br />
“And this son committed a deed, the penalty of which was that he
should be killed by a great stone thrown upon him. But it was seen that
this would not repair the wrong, nor give the offender the chance to
become a better man. The counselors of the king advised that the stone
should be broken into smaller pieces and thrown at the son and at his
children and grandchildren as they were able to bear it. It was so done,
and all were in some sense sufferers, yet none were destroyed.”<br />
The Path 1892. From Sunrise Magazine, December 1996/ January 1997, copyright Theosophical University Press.<br />
Chance. A chance encounter aboard a ship carrying my great
grandfather to the new world changed the trajectory of our lives. What
if the first ship, the fully rigged E.J. Harland, had not foundered?
What if Albert E.S. Smythe had landed in New York, with his Bible and
other possessions intact. While I do not recall hearing the tale of the
Eastern King, I do know that it was made very clear to all of us that we
were to understand one simple teaching: “Yea as you sew, surely do you
reap.”<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/Albert-E.S.-Smythe.jpg"><img alt="Albert E.S. Smythe" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-540" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/Albert-E.S.-Smythe-208x300.jpg" height="300" width="208" /></a><br />
My fate changed for good when I chanced to find a ski lodge in Aspen
where I met my future husband. Had I not stopped in to see if there was a
vacancy, I certainly would not be where I am today, here on Windy Bay,
with docks knocking on the edge of the shore. I’ll always be glad that
when chance came knocking, I knew what to do.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=chance" rel="tag">Chance</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=history" rel="tag">history</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shipwreck" rel="tag">shipwreck</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=theosophy" rel="tag">Theosophy</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=533" rel="bookmark" title="11:04 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-03-24T23:04:38+00:00">March 24, 2017</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-522 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-british-colombia tag-china tag-cultural-revolution tag-fiction tag-giller-prize tag-history tag-man-booker-prize tag-shortlisted tag-vancouver" id="post-522">
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<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=522" rel="bookmark">The Opposite of Nothing is Something</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Thien.jpg"><img alt="Thien" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-525" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Thien.jpg" height="293" width="193" /></a></div>
The very best writing reads like music. It has rhythm. It has style. Madeline Thien’s<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> <i>Do Not</i> <i>Say We Have Nothing</i> </a>is a symphony. The author weaves a tale of her native <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/China">China, </a>the
tragic and tumultuous history with the stories of interlaced characters
pulled through generations. We see history not only as it unfolds, but
in the impact, it has on its people. The book is an extraordinary
achievement winning the <a href="http://www.scotiabankgillerprize.ca/">Scotiabank Giller Prize </a>and being short-listed for the <a href="http://themanbookerprize.com/">Man Booker Prize of 2016. </a>While the competition for both prizes was intense,<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=do+not+say+we+have+nothing+by+madeleine+thien&sprefix=do+not+s%2Cstripbooks%2C552&crid=25AGHYUGOK4QP"><i> Do Not Say We</i> <i>Have Nothing</i> </a>is a standout.<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&">Thien</a>‘s
style is intricate and beautiful. She is deft at moving through
settings, characters and time. It is a book that can be described, as <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=annie+lamont+word+by+word">Annie Lamont</a> put it, written <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=annie+lamont+word+by+word">‘word by word.</a>‘ From the very start, I found myself inwardly gasping at the beauty of her writing.<br />
The book opens with a profound and engaging beginning. “In a single
year, my father left us twice. The first time, to end his marriage, and
the second, when he took his own life.” Page 3.<br />
From this start, we follow<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Thien’s</a> journey to understand the events that led to this pass. She is living in<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vancouver"> Vancouver</a>,
in an apartment shared with her mother when we first encounter this
thoughtful, cerebral girl. Before long a third person arrives without a
coat and carrying a light suitcase. She is a family friend whose history
is connected to theirs. What links them together is the fact that both
of the fathers were musicians forbidden to practice their craft in the
dark years of the Cultural Revolution. If music sustained her father,
Marie finds a home in mathematics.<br />
From Page 191:<br />
“In the spring of 2000, after my mother passed away, I gave myself
entirely to my studies. The logic of mathematics-its methods of
induction and deduction, its power to describe abstract shapes that have
no counterpart in the real world- sustained me. I moved out of the
apartment that my mother had been renting ever since she and Ba first
came to Canada, and in which I had grown up. Desperate to leave it
behind, I cobbled together every penny I had and bought a dilapidated
apartment on Alexander Street. The windows looked straight out into the
port of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vancouver">Vancouver</a>
and, at night, the endless arrivals and departures of multi-coloured
shipping containers, what they held, what they divulged, comforted me.<br />
I kept my parents’ papers in the bedroom closet and a Cantor taped to
the wall: ‘The essence of mathematics lies in its freedom.’”<br />
This picture finds an easy grace in my imagination. The link between
Shanghai and the western ports of North America, where we now receive
goods too staggering in size to even contemplate from a nation that was
once brought to its knees is both beautiful and sad. That is the tone of
the work; it hit the right note for winter reading. Every once in a
great while, we pick up a book that deserves to be read twice. Some
sentences are so profound that the reader needs to stop and puzzle
through them. Sometimes it means putting the book down and returning to
awaiting tasks with the thoughts presented rattling around begging for
more time.<br />
From Page 419:<br />
“I know that throughout my life I have struggled to forgive my
father. Now, as I get older, I wish most of all that he had been able to
find a way to forgive himself. In the end, I believe these pages and
the Book of Records return to the persistence of this desire: to know
the times in which we are alive. To keep the record that must be kept,
and also, finally, to let it go. That’s what I would tell my father. To
have faith that, one day, someone else will keep the record.”<br />
Ideally, a great novel gives us a new understanding, either of times
and events or, in the best possible scenario, of the pages of our own
story.<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Madeline Thien’s </a>work carries the power to do this. Could it be possible that I feel as if I am a better person for having read <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&">Do Not Say</a></i> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"><i>We Have</i> Not<i>hing</i></a>? I hope so. For God knows, there is much work to be done.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/winning-thien.jpg"><img alt="winning thien" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-526" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/winning-thien-300x196.jpg" height="196" width="300" /></a> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Madeleine Thien </a></div>
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=british-colombia" rel="tag">British Colombia</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=china" rel="tag">China</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=cultural-revolution" rel="tag">Cultural Revolution</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=fiction" rel="tag">Fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=giller-prize" rel="tag">Giller Prize</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=history" rel="tag">history</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=man-booker-prize" rel="tag">Man Booker Prize</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shortlisted" rel="tag">Shortlisted</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=vancouver" rel="tag">Vancouver</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=522" rel="bookmark" title="11:46 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-02-25T23:46:10+00:00">February 25, 2017</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-514 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-ernest-hemingway tag-idaho tag-jess-walters tag-marilynne-robinson tag-north-idaho" id="post-514">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=514" rel="bookmark">Rave Reviews for Idaho</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Idaho-ruskovich.jpg"><img alt="Idaho ruskovich" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-517" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Idaho-ruskovich.jpg" height="250" width="173" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Emily-Ruskovich/e/B01GNBWV56">Emily Ruskovich’s</a>
debut is causing a stir. The praise for her writing skills is
well-deserved. Her prose has a maturity well beyond her years. From the
first page, the reader is at home in this book, curious to learn more
and is turning the pages feverishly. The book has dreamy qualities where
time seems to be on the back burner while a magnifying glass is applied
to an horrific event in which all characters are caught. The harsh and
beautiful environment is lovingly and emotionally depicted by the author
who is no stranger to the scene. She is a native of our beautiful <a href="http://visitnorthidaho.com/">North Idaho</a>
who sings the praises of our fair skies. The characters remain with the
reader who cannot put them down or explain them away by any of the
normal means. If a book lingers on in the mind, the way this one
promises to do, one tends to expect its journey out in the world to be
full of praise.<br />
How does the place manage to be so central to the story? The first
question one would ask is that could this story be transplanted into
say, Kansas City, and read the same. No. In this case, the mountains of
Idaho are part of the narrative.<br />
From Page 113:<br />
“Wade and Jenny are prairie people. Prairie people living on a
mountain they had not noticed was so much larger than themselves. An
acreage purchased in a hurry because it was cheap, because it was
nothing like the prairie. Such arrogance and childishness—an avalanche
of a dream. But what kind of person would tell them they wouldn’t be
trapped on a snowy mountain, when surely, without a tractor or a plow,
they would? Still, they should have questioned it. They should have made
sure. And now the only other person in the world who knows the truth of
their desperation has tattooed his hatred to his hand.”<br />
In spite of the challenges, the story of this family moves along
until the day of the murder. The weapon is an ax wielded by a mother,
landing on a child. One girl dies, and the other runs away. Wade is left
alone with an even bigger problem: his mind is fading with early onset
dementia which runs in his family. He meets a music teacher named Ann
who decides, in a moment of clarity, that she can take care of him. She
inhabits the story in a way that is almost other worldly. She becomes
obsessed as she steps into the story as to what really happened on the
day of the murder.<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/0812994043/?tag=mh0b-20&hvadid=78065334702291&hvqmt=b&hvbmt=bb&hvdev=c&ref=pd_sl_77wtodnh4n_b">Ruskovich </a>has
the skill to let the story unfold through the voices and perspectives
of other characters. Since we are caught up in the tension of wanting to
know more about the events of the fateful day, there is no shortage of
curiosity on our part. The way in which the story unfolds is not at all
traditional; one part is told through the perspective of a bloodhound.<br />
From page 282:<br />
“The loose skin of a bloodhound is meant to hold the ground. The ears
that drag along the forest floor send the scent up the skin, where,
trapped within the wrinkles and the folds, it reminds the hound what the
trail is even when the trail is lost. The smell of the trail becomes
the smell of himself, trapped between the wrinkles of the neck and all
around the eyes, which require an effort to rise under the weight of all
that skin. Head down, whatever the dog follows he follows blind;
gravity heaps the forehead down to the top of the snout, so that the
scent between the wrinkles is more of a means of seeing than the eyes of
the wrinkles cover..”<br />
“Off-duty, head up, the bloodhound is a different dog. The wrinkles fall open. The forehead is smoothed, the scent let go.<br />
This is how a dog forgets. This is how a dog moves on.<br />
He lifts his head.”<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/0812994043/?tag=mh0b-20&hvadid=78065334702291&hvqmt=b&hvbmt=bb&hvdev=c&ref=pd_sl_77wtodnh4n_b">Emily Ruskovich</a>
has written an intricate and beautiful book. While she touches on the
deep fears we all carry, she also brings to light the good people who
come along to help us through. She describes a place full of staggering
beauty: a place we know turns pink in the snowy winter sunsets, a place
where roads wash out in the spring, but still bring and newcomers who
are ready to roll up their sleeves. It is a place where we roar around
in boats in the summer, sing songs around the campfire, cut wood for the
winter and vow, once found, to never leave.<a href="https://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho</a> is not only a great place to live, but it has also inspired <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Housekeeping-Novel-Marilynne-Robinson/dp/0312424094/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=">Marilynne Robinson</a>‘s novel <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Housekeeping-Novel-Marilynne-Robinson/dp/0312424094/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid="><i>Housekeeping,</i></a> has been described by<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Beautiful-Ruins-Novel-Jess-Walter/dp/0061928178/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1486686783&sr=1-1&keywords=Jess+Walters"> Jess Walters in<i> Beautiful</i> <i>Ruins</i>,</a> was home to<a href="http://tolls-ernest-hemingway/dp/0684803356/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1486686859&sr=1-1&keywords=ernest+hemingway+books"> Ernest Hemingway</a> and now has played a role in a wonderful book bearing its name.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/mineral-ridge-trail.jpg"><img alt="mineral ridge trail" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-520" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/mineral-ridge-trail-300x262.jpg" height="262" width="300" /></a></div>
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=ernest-hemingway" rel="tag">Ernest Hemingway</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jess-walters" rel="tag">Jess Walters</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=marilynne-robinson" rel="tag">Marilynne Robinson</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=north-idaho" rel="tag">North Idaho</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=514" rel="bookmark" title="12:44 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-02-10T00:44:55+00:00">February 10, 2017</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-508 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-non-fiction tag-113 tag-american-revolution tag-david-mccullough tag-freedom tag-george-washington" id="post-508">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=508" rel="bookmark">Page One</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/portrait-of-Geoge-Washington.jpg"><img alt="portrait of Geoge Washington" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-509" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/portrait-of-Geoge-Washington.jpg" height="268" width="220" /></a></div>
It is fitting that I finished <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_McCullough">David McCullough’s</a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_5_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=1776+mccullough&sprefix=1776%2Caps%2C571&crid=2HZ7V1N22WKBZ"> 1776</a> this week. The book, published in 2005 by <a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/">Simon and Schuster</a>,
hit number one on the national bestseller list. It is not the topic
that afforded this success: the skill lies in the narrative which is
engaging and gripping. Too often history is viewed as dull and boring by
those who may have this impression solely from textbooks. McCullough
wisely focuses on the characters. He brings to life the pictures of
armies marching, of ships landing, of those who were engaged in the
effort, and whose task was the more arduous. How do you put down a
rebellion on a distant shore, landing by ship to unfamiliar ground? How
do you stop the mighty in their tracks? It was a markedly difficult task
for both sides, and as you read the description of battles, it seems
that the smart money would certainly have fallen for the British. They
had skilled troops who were trained and disciplined while <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">George Washington’</a>s army seemingly sprang up quite suddenly.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/1776.jpg"><img alt="1776" class=" size-full wp-image-510 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/1776.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
History belongs to the victors, but in this case, McCullough presents a clear picture of two sides of the coin. He paints<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington"> Washington</a>
as a man of British ancestry who sought to duplicate the life of
English gentry on American soil. He cared deeply about the addition he
envisioned and was in the process of building at Mount Vernon. He
oversaw all of the details and professed an abhorrence for disorder. The
trappings of his comfortable existence in the form of clothing,
footwear, books, coach and even the glass in his house were all imported
from London. This would not be uncommon for any prosperous colonial,
but it struck me as ironic. Like most heroes, his ascent was a reluctant
one. Nor did he have a steadfast belief in his men; there were
statements recorded of his disdain at times. According to McCullough, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington </a>was
blessed with a bit of luck, favorable weather, and marked persistence:
his efforts were successful because of these factors. In my attempt to
gain a sense of the George <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington,</a> I found the most telling description came from picturing him riding to hounds.<br />
From page 48.<br />
“Found a fox in Phil Alexander’s island which was lost after a chase
of seven hours,” Washington recorded in his diary at the end of one
winter day in 1772, but he did not give up, as shown in his entry for
the day following: ‘Found a fox in the same place again which was killed
at the end of 6 hours.’”<br />
What struck me about this description was not the fact that he
engaged in the sport of fox hunting, but that he did not do it lightly,
for the fun and revelry, but to accomplish what he set out to do. He did
not give up. The bedrock of his character lies in his obstinacy. He
could be wrong, he could be temporarily defeated, he could be
confounded, but he did not quit.<br />
Concerning the sheer logistics of the effort, it is remarkable to
contemplate from today’s perspective. We can communicate around the
world from our fingertips; they were marching blind into the night. Not
only did they not know where and when the British might strike, but they
also had no clear idea of the opposition from their fellow citizens.<br />
Page 118<br />
“In Boston, where the comparatively few Loyalists of Massachusetts
had either fled the country or were bottled up with the British, there
had never been a serious threat from ‘internal foes,’in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington’</a>s
phrase. In New York, the atmosphere was entirely different. The city
remained divided and tense. Loyalist, or Tory, sentiment, while less
conspicuous than it had been, was widespread and ranged from militant to
the disaffected, to those hesitant about declaring themselves patriots
for a variety of reasons, trade, and commerce not being the least of
them.<br />
“Two- thirds of the property in New York belonged to Tories. The year
before, in 1775, more than half the New York Chamber of Commerce were
avowed Loyalists.” p.119<br />
It boggles the mind to think on this now. People who lived and
prospered together had taken sides, some divided by region, and others
quite mixed. How would it all pan out? How would they manage to live
side by side again? In most cases, they did not; the Tories, or
Loyalists, left and sailed north leaving behind established farms and
businesses generations in the making.<br />
From p. 240<br />
“The problem was not that there were too few American soldiers in the
thirteen states. There were plenty, but the states were reluctant to
send the troops they had to fight the war, preferring to keep them close
to home, and especially as the war was not going well. In August,
Washington had had an army or 20,000. In the three months since he had
lost four battles- at Brooklyn, Kips Bay, White Plains, and Fort
Washington- they gave up Fort Lee without a fight. His army was now
divided as it had not been in August and, just as young Lieutenant
Monroe had speculated, he had only about 3, 500 troops under his
command- that was all.”<br />
Part of what makes McCulloughs work so gripping is that even though
we know the outcome, we are caught up in the impossibility of the quest.
He gives us a picture of the burning of New York, of the wet and
exhausted troops deserting, of common folk called into the fight with
some of the gentry joining and others disagreeing. I truly enjoyed the
picture McCullough painted of the British landing on Long Island and
thoroughly delighting in the land of plenty. Pleasantly surprised by the
abundance of delicious fruit, they remarked on well-tended farms and
handsome houses pleasingly furnished. Some felt that Americans were
prospering at their expense.<br />
How many mothers have said to how many squabbling children that there
are two sides to every story? “Unremitting courage and perseverance,”
is what Washington asked of his officers and soldiers. One percent of
the population was lost to the effort. Those forced to flee are also
part of the tale. This week, in the United States, the page turns one
more time. A new chapter awaits. We have better communication than ever
before, but seemingly, with less understanding of one another. We
struggle, we strive, we are determined, and we persevere. We have hope,
and we have fear: in that we are united. E Pluribus Unum carries a lot
of weight.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=1776" rel="tag">1776</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-revolution" rel="tag">American Revolution</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=david-mccullough" rel="tag">David McCullough</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=freedom" rel="tag">Freedom</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=george-washington" rel="tag">George Washington</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=508" rel="bookmark" title="1:31 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-01-19T01:31:23+00:00">January 19, 2017</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-500 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-motivation" id="post-500">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=500" rel="bookmark">Diets Don’t Work: Part Two</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg"><img alt="snowy Idaho" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-385" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg" height="176" width="286" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Last year at this
time, I shared my goals for the new year. Proclaiming that for the first
time losing weight did not top my resolutions, I am happy to report
that dieting, once again, has no place in my intentions. So how much
weight did I pack on in 2016? None. Not dieting resulted in a loss that
has me hovering around the ideal. What are the lessons to be learned? As
always, I can only speak for myself. I am a rewards based creature, an
epicurean who loves delicious food, great music and literature, and I am
a happy soul who believes in letting the good times roll.<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Blake"> Blake </a>said,
“ The road to excess leads to the palace of wisdom.” Deprivation never
did anyone any good. That is my sage advice for dieters.</span><br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/P1010598.jpg"><img alt="OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA" class="size-medium wp-image-490" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/P1010598-300x225.jpg" height="225" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">When weight loss
becomes noticeable comments will fly. They are often hilarious, combined
with a one-two punch, a compliment wrapped in a teensy bit of
hostility. Mostly, people want to know about the method. How easy is it
to say, “<a href="https://www.atkins.com/register?mcid=riseppcgglbrand&cl_vend=google&cl_ch=sem&cl_camp=188853576&cl_adg=9633835896&cl_crtv=61528816896&cl_kw=atkins&cl_pub=google.com&cl_place=&cl_dvt=c&cl_dvm=&cl_pos=1t1&cl_mt=e&cl_gtid=kwd-16609371&gclid=COa55oCMrNECFVKFfgodsjEC8A">Atkins</a>, or <a href="http://www.southbeachdiet.com/home/index.jsp?gclid=COLrr6CMrNECFU1ufgodoi8C5w">South Beach</a>, or<a href="https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/?cid=sem_us_ggl_brand_core_main_ex_weight-watchers"> Weight Watchers</a>.”
Those are all noble programs which many have tried and are armed
against. The comment I heard most is that “you did this slowly.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I do everything
slowly. My family of origin, endowed with a large dollop of ingrained
impatience, pointed this out to me constantly. My “creeping like snail”
drove everyone around me nuts. I stubbornly refused to change and to
this day, hate being pushed. At the same time, I can be impatient too.
So the slow technique will probably not be a winner, nor will it sell
the latest diet book. We gain weight gradually, so would it not stand to
reason that it may take an equal measure of time to burn it off? After
all, if you are going to go down a pant size or two, wouldn’t you want
to get some wear out of the smaller sizes before they hit the Goodwill
bag? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">With weight loss
not being on the list of resolutions, I have spent a few days thinking
long and hard about 2017. Last year I wrote that I wanted to focus on
more bliss. It worked. What do I want to gain this year? Largess. I will
seek a greater beneficence of spirit. How will this play out? I don’t
know yet. Stay tuned…<br />
</span><br />
<br /></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=500" rel="bookmark" title="12:04 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-01-06T00:04:20+00:00">January 6, 2017</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-486 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-christmas category-memoir category-motivation category-uncategorized tag-charles-dickens tag-christmas tag-coeur-d-alene" id="post-486">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=486" rel="bookmark">Christmas is my Culture</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top1.bmp"><img alt="top" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-496" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top1-300x222.bmp" height="222" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
After spending a few cozy days snowed in here on <a href="https://www.lakecoeurdalene.com/on-the-water/campgrounds/windy-bay-boat-park/">Windy Bay,</a> I had time to enjoy this winter wonderland. With many hours in which to contemplate the joys of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a>,
I indulged in all the nostalgia and emotion of the season. As is true
with just about everyone, my mind returned to childhood memories. I
credit my parents and grandparents, and all of their many efforts to
make <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a> magical and wonderful. We sat at long tables wearing paper crowns from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a> crackers in the<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/English_language"> English </a>tradition
and reveled in feasts ending in plum pudding and butter sauce we
thought might kill one of us someday, but that did not stop us from
consuming it until we groaned for mercy.<br />
Don’t look back, some say. It is not the way you are going. Yes, there is wisdom to this line of thinking, but<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas"> Christmas</a>
is a time of permission. I, for one, eat it up. We seek a deeper
connection at this time of year, a strengthening of bonds of love. When I
take out my maternal grandmother’s<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas"> Christmas </a>village
and unpack this little hand- made world, I feel as if I am seven and
wishing I lived in a pretty village where the houses and churches sit
atop a blanket of snow. In all my years in<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coeur_d'Alene,_Idaho"> Coeur d’ Alene,</a>
I often think of how funny it is that I practically re-created that
charming village in choosing such a charming town in which to live.
Shopping in the local shops on Sherman Avenue is a tradition I cherish.
Our tree now comes from our own woods; the ornaments are old and worn
but carry happy memories for us. We have always tried to keep things
somewhat simple, but by Christmas Eve, we often shake our heads. It is a
time for celebration after all, and yes, we always give books.<br />
In the years I worked at <a href="http://www.coldwatercreek.com/home?src=PGOG5001&gclid=CI2T1sSW9NACFVBafgodOloICg&gclsrc=aw.ds">Coldwater Creek</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas </a>was
a blitz from start to finish. We employees shored each other up, shared
goodies, hot tea, and boiler- plate coffee in order to keep going. We
tracked packages and agonized over mix-ups. We wrote apology letters and
often received replies. I signed company letters with Merry Christmas
and thought I would keep doing so until someone asked me not to. They
never did. I sent cards with the same message, and yes, to friends of
different faiths and traditions. I knew from growing up in a
multi-cultural city, chock full of new immigrants from around the globe,
that culture is passed from mother to daughter, from father to son, and
from grandparents to grandchildren. There is plenty of room at the
table. I witnessed so many hold fast to their traditions while embracing
a new land.<br />
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas </a>is my culture. It is a part of who I am. It is a time of wonder. That is how I aim to keep it.<br />
Devoid of any anger, lacking in perceived threat or guile, I say, Merry Christmas to readers around the world.<br />
“God bless us, everyone.”<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Dickens"> Charles Dickens.</a><br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top.bmp"><img alt="top" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-494" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top-300x210.bmp" height="210" width="300" /></a></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=60" rel="category">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=14" rel="category">Memoir</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=charles-dickens" rel="tag">Charles Dickens</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=christmas" rel="tag">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=coeur-d-alene" rel="tag">Coeur d' Alene</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=486" rel="bookmark" title="7:38 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-12-14T19:38:33+00:00">December 14, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-476 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-paul-beatty tag-social-satire" id="post-476">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=476" rel="bookmark">Social Satire</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg"><img alt="the-sellout" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-477" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg" height="293" width="196" /></a></div>
Wikipedia defines social satire as the means by which “vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are subject to ridicule.”<br />
William Shakespeare, Jonathon Swift, Oscar Wilde, and Mark Twain may
be the most familiar practitioners of the form, but now we have another
member of this illustrious club. Largely the purview of cartoonists in
today’s world, a brilliant newcomer steps up to stage.<br />
Long in the habit of reading the winner of the Man Booker Prize, this
year’s choice did not disappoint. The committee is given the challenge
of reading the longlist and then narrowing the field to the shortlist.
While it is a daunting task, it is one I would sign up for any day of
the week. Choosing the best work from an astonishing array of talent
would not be easy, and I can imagine the lively dialogue of dissenting
voices. Bookmakers in England bet on the favorite and the choice is
never easy. However, one clear voice emerged over all others. Paul
Beatty won the coveted award this year.<br />
“<i>The Sellout</i> puts you down in a place that’s miles from where it picked you up.” Dwight Garner, The New York Times.<br />
Social satire is the art of mentioning what we dare not say. If an
absolute bumbler is indulging in vile discourse, then we have the luxury
of laughing, allowing the architect to escape with his or her life. On
the back cover of <i>The Sellout</i> the explanation is offered up this way:<br />
“The work of comic genius at the top of his game,<i> The Sellout</i> questions almost every received notion about American society.”<br />
It is not the subject matter or the form alone that intrigues me. Paul Beatty writes with a voice that is so present, it sings.<br />
From Page 11<br />
“When I was ten, I spent a long night burrowed under my comforter,
cuddled up with Funshine Bear, who, filled with a foamy enigmatic sense
of language and a Bloomian dogmatism, was the most literary of the Care
Bears and my harshest critic. In the musty darkness of the rayon bat
cave, his stubby, all-but-immobile yellow arms struggled to hold the
flashlight steady as together we tried to save the black race in eight
words or less. Putting my homeschool Latin to good use, I’d crank out a
motto, then shove it under his heart-shaped plastic nose for approval….<br />
Semper Fi, Semper Funky raised his polyester hackles, and when he began
to paw the mattress in anger and reared up on his stubby yellow legs,
baring his ursine fangs and claws, I tried to remember what the Cub
Scout manual said to do when confronted by and angry cartoon bear drunk
on stolen credenza wine and editorial power. ‘If you meet an angry
bear-remain calm. Speak in gentle tones, stand your ground, get large,
and write in simple, uplifting Latin sentences.<br />
Unum corpus, una mens, una cor, unum amor.<br />
One body, one mind, one heart, one love.<br />
Not bad. It had a nice license plate ring to it.”<br />
Sitting in Quaker State garage, nestled in among an array of tired
magazines, the vending machine, and the blaring television set, waiting
for the man to come out from the hole in the floor under my car, I was
glad to be alone in the small waiting room. If anyone were to observe me
reading the last pages of <i>The Sellout,</i> they would have seen a
perpetually silly grin on my face. I wished I hadn’t blasted through the
book so quickly because the uplift was a welcome respite. I hope I
don’t have to wait so long to read a work of great social satire again.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=paul-beatty" rel="tag">Paul Beatty</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=social-satire" rel="tag">social satire</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=476" rel="bookmark" title="10:52 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-11-23T22:52:07+00:00">November 23, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-470 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-motivation tag-american-dream tag-american-history tag-crisis tag-culture" id="post-470">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=470" rel="bookmark">American Dreamer</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/hillbilly-elegy-cover.jpg"><img alt="hillbilly-elegy-cover" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-473" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/hillbilly-elegy-cover-199x300.jpg" height="300" width="199" /></a></div>
Decline. Is there anyone alive who does not fear it? Is there a way
to ascertain the beginning, the end of the beginning, or the beginning
of the end? How is to be avoided? More importantly, what is it?<br />
J.D. Vance tackles the topic in a moving and personal memoir entitled, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hillbilly-Elegy-Memoir-Family-Culture-ebook/dp/B0166ISAS8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477424634&sr=1-1&keywords=hillbilly+elegy">Hillbilly Elegy: A</a></i> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hillbilly-Elegy-Memoir-Family-Culture-ebook/dp/B0166ISAS8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477424634&sr=1-1&keywords=hillbilly+elegy"><i>Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis.</i> </a>In
the introduction, Vance describes himself as a Scots-Irish hillbilly at
heart. He lets us know that his tribe is a pessimistic bunch.<br />
Caught up in the belief that to look through a glass darkly is to be
avoided at all costs, I was drawn into the story right away. We know
from the beginning that J.D. Vance climbed from his uncertain origins to
graduating from Yale law school. The story outlines the journey. It is
uplifting because there is not a person alive who does not wonder if
they had been born in unfortunate circumstances, or were challenged by
terrible poverty, would they be one of the few to make it out? Readers
are placed squarely into the houses and schools and yards of Vance’s
life with an almost breathless desire to see him succeed. While he does
not pretend to have the answers, he neither blames nor preaches; the
book reads as a statement of fact. Look about.<br />
Going back to the Scots-Irish, or the Ulster Scots, and the roots of
their beginning, I knew from learning about the English Civil War, that
the term goes back to the plantations of Northern Ireland. Cromwell gave
vast tracts of conquered land in Ireland for the Scots to settle. Many
had been soldiers in his army and this new land represented the spoils
of war. It was hoped that they would take root and serve to be a
permanent anchor in Ireland. That set the stage for centuries of
conflict and strife. They had to fight to maintain their foothold, and
fight they did. The second migration to America yielded a group who
settled in the hills of Appalachia to eke out a living. We know that
George Washington used them handily, as did Stonewall Jackson. Wanting
nothing more than a fair shot at the American dream, and never asking
for help or handouts, became a hallmark of their values. As the jobs
became scarce and the resources few and far between, what we learn from
Vance’s experience is that we need to understand this despair.<br />
To say this book struck a cord with readers is an understatement.
Currently, it is topping the charts of the New York Times Bestseller
list. A memoir, written with such clarity and ease, will always do well,
but the success of this book speaks to something larger. We are in a
time when everyone seems to be scratching their heads. Hope is
infectious, and there is much in this book that provides it. We learn
that when Vance applied to Law School he automatically eliminated the
big Ivy League choices thinking that he would neither qualify nor be
able to pay the tuition.<br />
On Page 199 he writes:<br />
“The New York Times recently reported that the most expensive schools
are paradoxically cheaper for low-income students. At Harvard, the
student would pay only about thirteen hundred while the tuition is forty
thousand. Of course, kids like me don’t know this.”<br />
When I became an American Citizen, in my welcome packet was a letter
from the President encouraging me to take advantage of the many
opportunities before me. I could not think of a nicer welcome. Not
knowing what else to do with that information, I kept my eyes and ears
open. What Vance is writing about is all too familiar. I know what it is
like to grow up in a family whose ethic is based on hard work and never
taking handouts of any kind. It is the most uncomfortable feeling in
the world to choose to succeed knowing that you may not have the support
of those closest to you. Do it anyway. That is the great message of
this book.<br />
“Hope is the thing with feathers,” wrote Emily Dickinson. What were her
chances of achieving any success as a poet, let alone immortality? The
crisis of any culture is solved when the challenge is met, and necessary
changes are made. That is what enabled J. D. Vance to travel from the
“holler,” to Ohio, to the Marines, to College, to law school and then to
where he is today sitting at the top of the charts.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=14" rel="category">Memoir</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-dream" rel="tag">American dream</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-history" rel="tag">American History</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=crisis" rel="tag">crisis</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=culture" rel="tag">culture</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=470" rel="bookmark" title="7:49 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-10-25T19:49:22+00:00">October 25, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-460 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-motivation category-sports tag-boxing tag-muhammed-ali" id="post-460">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=460" rel="bookmark">“Float Like a Butterfly”</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg"><img alt="Ali" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-464" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg" height="182" width="276" /></a></div>
Today we look back on the life of a man who came into this world as<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muhammad_Ali"> Cassius Clay</a>.
He captured the attention of America, not only by his prowess in the
ring but by the stand he took against the Vietnam War. While he is
eulogized across all media outlets, I wish to share a personal story
about the day<a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776"> Ali </a>came to our town. We were all in an uproar.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935.jpg"><img alt="MLG 1935" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-463" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935-300x239.jpg" height="239" width="300" /></a><br />
To set the stage, I must part the mists of time and go back to the month of March 1966, when a fight, booked at<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens</a>
in Toronto, tore our family asunder. The stadium built on a wing and a
prayer housed many boxing matches, but this was a fight like no other.
My grandfather, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conn_Smythe_Trophy">Conn Smythe,</a>
still at the helm as Chairman of Board, hit the roof over the prospect
of a known draft dodger darkening the door of his temple. A veteran and
hero of two world wars, he was a consummate military man who felt that
that duty to one’s country was sacrosanct. The only reason the fight was
booked north of the border is that no American stadium would allow the
match between Ali and Ernie Terrell to take place. Small town radio disc
jockeys were having a field day saying that in no way shape or form
would their town allow the Ali/Terrell fight. My grandfather agreed. The
Forum in Montreal declined, and he believed we should do the same. My
father, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stafford_Smythe">Stafford Smythe, </a>President of the <a href="http://mapleleafs.nhl.com/">Toronto Maple Leafs</a>,
and a war veteran himself chose not to slam the door in Ali’s face and
refused to knuckle under. We in the Smythe family had two fights on our
hands.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations.jpg"><img alt="four generations" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-465" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations-300x168.jpg" height="168" width="300" /></a><br />
As the youngest daughter and a preteen at the time, we were all
involved in the donnybrook. My mother thought my grandfather would cool
off in time. My brother, the go-between, told us otherwise. It was less
than a year since we lost our grandmother, the peacemaker, and we were
scared. A way out presented itself when Terrell, unable to meet the
financial obligation, backed out. My father’s partner, Harold Ballard,
in charge of all non-hockey related attractions and the man who had set
the whole show on the road, refused to budge. He found a Canadian boxer
by the name of<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Stafford+Smythe&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8#q=George+Chuvalo"> George Chuvalo</a>
to accept the challenge. With a scant twenty-three days in which to
train, we had a new fear that raced around the school yard, was
discussed by Moms over coffee, had people calling our house incessantly,
and seemed like a real possibility. Ali would kill Chuvalo. Everyone
said if he didn’t kill him he would knock him out in the first round. It
would be a joke, a waste of time for anyone who bought a ticket, and a
disgrace to Toronto and our beloved<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens.</a> My father would have blood on his hands.<br />
As the day approached, my grandfather had neither softened nor
cooled. He increased his efforts, calling boxing officials and trying to
get the match stopped. <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a> crossed the border and arrived in Toronto. He later said that he had never been treated as nicely anywhere.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head.jpg"><img alt="head to head" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-466" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head-300x159.jpg" height="159" width="300" /></a></div>
The fight was one of the greatest of Ali’s life. It went fifteen
rounds. George Chuvalo came out from his corner with fierce
determination. He remained standing to the bitter end. He was
incredible, and so was Ali. It was the greatest fight to ever take place
at Maple Leaf Gardens. It changed our lives. It was a turning point.<br />
One day over lunch when describing this incident to a friend she
said, “Isn’t that the Rocky story?” George Chuvalo is still with us. He
is as strong as ever, and he is still one of my heroes.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg"><img alt="Chuvalo" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-467" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg" height="104" width="185" /></a><br />
At this point in time, as we say farewell to Ali, may he be
remembered as the champion he became. There is more to his story than
meets the eye. He was supposed to do what he was told; I heard this just
about everywhere I went. He wasn’t obedient. He was uppity. He didn’t
know his place. Perhaps this is true. He was a man who decided that his
place was within the realm of his own choosing. One could not help but
admire the courage with which he lived his life. “Float like a
butterfly, sting like a bee.” The stinging is over now. Float in peace, <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a>. We will always be glad you came to town.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=14" rel="category">Memoir</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=100" rel="category">Sports</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=boxing" rel="tag">boxing</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=muhammed-ali" rel="tag">Muhammed Ali</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=460" rel="bookmark" title="4:25 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-06-04T16:25:02+00:00">June 4, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-87141299477652718072017-03-25T09:29:00.000-07:002017-03-25T09:29:21.299-07:00The Zen of Chance<div class="site-content" id="primary">
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<article class="post-533 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-motivation category-uncategorized tag-chance tag-history tag-shipwreck tag-theosophy" id="post-533">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<br />
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/17266220_1914347492178554_7956206291959939072_n.jpg"><img alt="17266220_1914347492178554_7956206291959939072_n" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-537" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/17266220_1914347492178554_7956206291959939072_n-300x300.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
Spring is arriving on Windy Bay and not without drama. The water is
high, and docks are floating every which way, untethered and adrift. I
have been thinking about the role of chance in our lives and our
stories. When do we feel the gentle hand of fate touching our shoulder?
What do we do when that happens? Run and hide, or take a few gingerly
steps into the unknown?<br />
This train of thought began on <a href="http://www.history.com/topics/st-patricks-day">St. Patrick’s Day</a> when I glanced at an<a href="https://www.instagram.com/?hl=en"> Instagram</a>
post from my nephew, Tommy Smythe. He captured the title page of a
Bible belonging to his great-great-grandfather who braved the seas and
sailed for the new world. His first attempt was foiled. In his own hand,
Albert Ernest Stafford Smythe, my great-grandfather wrote these words:<br />
“This Bible is the only possession saved from the shipwreck of E.J.Harland on the 19th of November 1861.”<br />
Hit by a two-ton steamer named Lake Champlain, Captain Smylie went
down with his ship; the rest were transferred to the offending vessel
and ended up back in Liverpool. This voyage took place when my
great-grandfather was a young man of eighteen years of age. He lost his
cherished mother the year before. In spite of ending up with nothing to
his name, save a Bible, he was not deterred.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/william-q.-judge.jpg"><img alt="william q. judge" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-538 aligncenter" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/william-q.-judge-300x300.jpg" width="300" /></a>William Q. Judge<br />
<br />
On his second voyage, he met a man who was to change his life. On his
way back to America from India, William Q. Judge, co-founder of the
early Theosophist movement along with H.P. Blavatsky and Henry S.
Olcott, had plenty of words of wisdom for his fellow ship-mates. Born in
Ireland, April 13, 1851, Judge was now in full understanding of
humanity’s great need for a new perspective on both itself and the
universe.<br />
<br />
Here is Albert E.S. Smythe’s shipboard assessment of the man:<br />
“Judge was the master of ordinary conditions and could get honey out
of the merest weed. He walked the decks with those in need of a
companion, he played cards, except on Sunday when he drew the line, he
played quoits, and he chatted.” The Canadian Theosophist, April 1939.<br />
In our modern viewpoint, the word karma is part of our lives. We
often joke about it, misuse the term, or think of it either lightly, or
having to do with a sense of just desserts. In the later part of the
1800’s, when the concept was still in need of illuminating, Judge told
the story of an Eastern King who had spawned but one son.<br />
<br />
“And this son committed a deed, the penalty of which was that he
should be killed by a great stone thrown upon him. But it was seen that
this would not repair the wrong, nor give the offender the chance to
become a better man. The counselors of the king advised that the stone
should be broken into smaller pieces and thrown at the son and at his
children and grandchildren as they were able to bear it. It was so done,
and all were in some sense sufferers, yet none were destroyed.”<br />
The Path 1892. From Sunrise Magazine, December 1996/ January 1997, copyright Theosophical University Press.<br />
<br />
Chance. A chance encounter aboard a ship carrying my great
grandfather to the new world changed the trajectory of our lives. What
if the first ship, the fully rigged E.J. Harland, had not foundered?
What if Albert E.S. Smythe had landed in New York, with his Bible and
other possessions intact. While I do not recall hearing the tale of the
Eastern King, I do know that it was made very clear to all of us that we
were to understand one simple teaching: “Yea as you sew, surely do you
reap.”<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/Albert-E.S.-Smythe.jpg"><img alt="Albert E.S. Smythe" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-540" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/Albert-E.S.-Smythe-208x300.jpg" width="208" /></a><br />
My fate changed for good when I chanced to find a ski lodge in Aspen
where I met my future husband. Had I not stopped in to see if there was a
vacancy, I certainly would not be where I am today, here on Windy Bay,
with docks knocking on the edge of the shore. I’ll always be glad that
when chance came knocking, I knew what to do.<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a>, and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=chance" rel="tag">Chance</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=history" rel="tag">history</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shipwreck" rel="tag">shipwreck</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=theosophy" rel="tag">Theosophy</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=533" rel="bookmark" title="11:04 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-03-24T23:04:38+00:00">March 24, 2017</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-522 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-british-colombia tag-china tag-cultural-revolution tag-fiction tag-giller-prize tag-history tag-man-booker-prize tag-shortlisted tag-vancouver" id="post-522">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=522" rel="bookmark">The Opposite of Nothing is Something</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Thien.jpg"><img alt="Thien" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-525" height="293" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Thien.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>
The very best writing reads like music. It has rhythm. It has style. Madeline Thien’s<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> <em>Do Not</em> <em>Say We Have Nothing</em> </a>is a symphony. The author weaves a tale of her native <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/China">China, </a>the
tragic and tumultuous history with the stories of interlaced characters
pulled through generations. We see history not only as it unfolds, but
in the impact, it has on its people. The book is an extraordinary
achievement winning the <a href="http://www.scotiabankgillerprize.ca/">Scotiabank Giller Prize </a>and being short-listed for the <a href="http://themanbookerprize.com/">Man Booker Prize of 2016. </a>While the competition for both prizes was intense,<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=do+not+say+we+have+nothing+by+madeleine+thien&sprefix=do+not+s%2Cstripbooks%2C552&crid=25AGHYUGOK4QP"><em> Do Not Say We</em> <em>Have Nothing</em> </a>is a standout.<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&">Thien</a>‘s
style is intricate and beautiful. She is deft at moving through
settings, characters and time. It is a book that can be described, as <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=annie+lamont+word+by+word">Annie Lamont</a> put it, written <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=annie+lamont+word+by+word">‘word by word.</a>‘ From the very start, I found myself inwardly gasping at the beauty of her writing.<br />
The book opens with a profound and engaging beginning. “In a single
year, my father left us twice. The first time, to end his marriage, and
the second, when he took his own life.” Page 3.<br />
From this start, we follow<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Thien’s</a> journey to understand the events that led to this pass. She is living in<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vancouver"> Vancouver</a>,
in an apartment shared with her mother when we first encounter this
thoughtful, cerebral girl. Before long a third person arrives without a
coat and carrying a light suitcase. She is a family friend whose history
is connected to theirs. What links them together is the fact that both
of the fathers were musicians forbidden to practice their craft in the
dark years of the Cultural Revolution. If music sustained her father,
Marie finds a home in mathematics.<br />
From Page 191:<br />
“In the spring of 2000, after my mother passed away, I gave myself
entirely to my studies. The logic of mathematics-its methods of
induction and deduction, its power to describe abstract shapes that have
no counterpart in the real world- sustained me. I moved out of the
apartment that my mother had been renting ever since she and Ba first
came to Canada, and in which I had grown up. Desperate to leave it
behind, I cobbled together every penny I had and bought a dilapidated
apartment on Alexander Street. The windows looked straight out into the
port of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vancouver">Vancouver</a>
and, at night, the endless arrivals and departures of multi-coloured
shipping containers, what they held, what they divulged, comforted me.<br />
I kept my parents’ papers in the bedroom closet and a Cantor taped to
the wall: ‘The essence of mathematics lies in its freedom.’”<br />
This picture finds an easy grace in my imagination. The link between
Shanghai and the western ports of North America, where we now receive
goods too staggering in size to even contemplate from a nation that was
once brought to its knees is both beautiful and sad. That is the tone of
the work; it hit the right note for winter reading. Every once in a
great while, we pick up a book that deserves to be read twice. Some
sentences are so profound that the reader needs to stop and puzzle
through them. Sometimes it means putting the book down and returning to
awaiting tasks with the thoughts presented rattling around begging for
more time.<br />
From Page 419:<br />
“I know that throughout my life I have struggled to forgive my
father. Now, as I get older, I wish most of all that he had been able to
find a way to forgive himself. In the end, I believe these pages and
the Book of Records return to the persistence of this desire: to know
the times in which we are alive. To keep the record that must be kept,
and also, finally, to let it go. That’s what I would tell my father. To
have faith that, one day, someone else will keep the record.”<br />
Ideally, a great novel gives us a new understanding, either of times
and events or, in the best possible scenario, of the pages of our own
story.<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Madeline Thien’s </a>work carries the power to do this. Could it be possible that I feel as if I am a better person for having read <em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&">Do Not Say</a></em> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"><em>We Have</em> Not<em>hing</em></a>? I hope so. For God knows, there is much work to be done.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/winning-thien.jpg"><img alt="winning thien" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-526" height="196" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/winning-thien-300x196.jpg" width="300" /></a> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Madeleine Thien </a></div>
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=british-colombia" rel="tag">British Colombia</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=china" rel="tag">China</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=cultural-revolution" rel="tag">Cultural Revolution</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=fiction" rel="tag">Fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=giller-prize" rel="tag">Giller Prize</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=history" rel="tag">history</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=man-booker-prize" rel="tag">Man Booker Prize</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shortlisted" rel="tag">Shortlisted</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=vancouver" rel="tag">Vancouver</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=522" rel="bookmark" title="11:46 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-02-25T23:46:10+00:00">February 25, 2017</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-514 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-ernest-hemingway tag-idaho tag-jess-walters tag-marilynne-robinson tag-north-idaho" id="post-514">
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<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=514" rel="bookmark">Rave Reviews for Idaho</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Idaho-ruskovich.jpg"><img alt="Idaho ruskovich" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-517" height="250" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Idaho-ruskovich.jpg" width="173" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Emily-Ruskovich/e/B01GNBWV56">Emily Ruskovich’s</a>
debut is causing a stir. The praise for her writing skills is
well-deserved. Her prose has a maturity well beyond her years. From the
first page, the reader is at home in this book, curious to learn more
and is turning the pages feverishly. The book has dreamy qualities where
time seems to be on the back burner while a magnifying glass is applied
to an horrific event in which all characters are caught. The harsh and
beautiful environment is lovingly and emotionally depicted by the author
who is no stranger to the scene. She is a native of our beautiful <a href="http://visitnorthidaho.com/">North Idaho</a>
who sings the praises of our fair skies. The characters remain with the
reader who cannot put them down or explain them away by any of the
normal means. If a book lingers on in the mind, the way this one
promises to do, one tends to expect its journey out in the world to be
full of praise.<br />
How does the place manage to be so central to the story? The first
question one would ask is that could this story be transplanted into
say, Kansas City, and read the same. No. In this case, the mountains of
Idaho are part of the narrative.<br />
From Page 113:<br />
“Wade and Jenny are prairie people. Prairie people living on a
mountain they had not noticed was so much larger than themselves. An
acreage purchased in a hurry because it was cheap, because it was
nothing like the prairie. Such arrogance and childishness—an avalanche
of a dream. But what kind of person would tell them they wouldn’t be
trapped on a snowy mountain, when surely, without a tractor or a plow,
they would? Still, they should have questioned it. They should have made
sure. And now the only other person in the world who knows the truth of
their desperation has tattooed his hatred to his hand.”<br />
In spite of the challenges, the story of this family moves along
until the day of the murder. The weapon is an ax wielded by a mother,
landing on a child. One girl dies, and the other runs away. Wade is left
alone with an even bigger problem: his mind is fading with early onset
dementia which runs in his family. He meets a music teacher named Ann
who decides, in a moment of clarity, that she can take care of him. She
inhabits the story in a way that is almost other worldly. She becomes
obsessed as she steps into the story as to what really happened on the
day of the murder.<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/0812994043/?tag=mh0b-20&hvadid=78065334702291&hvqmt=b&hvbmt=bb&hvdev=c&ref=pd_sl_77wtodnh4n_b">Ruskovich </a>has
the skill to let the story unfold through the voices and perspectives
of other characters. Since we are caught up in the tension of wanting to
know more about the events of the fateful day, there is no shortage of
curiosity on our part. The way in which the story unfolds is not at all
traditional; one part is told through the perspective of a bloodhound.<br />
From page 282:<br />
“The loose skin of a bloodhound is meant to hold the ground. The ears
that drag along the forest floor send the scent up the skin, where,
trapped within the wrinkles and the folds, it reminds the hound what the
trail is even when the trail is lost. The smell of the trail becomes
the smell of himself, trapped between the wrinkles of the neck and all
around the eyes, which require an effort to rise under the weight of all
that skin. Head down, whatever the dog follows he follows blind;
gravity heaps the forehead down to the top of the snout, so that the
scent between the wrinkles is more of a means of seeing than the eyes of
the wrinkles cover..”<br />
“Off-duty, head up, the bloodhound is a different dog. The wrinkles fall open. The forehead is smoothed, the scent let go.<br />
This is how a dog forgets. This is how a dog moves on.<br />
He lifts his head.”<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/0812994043/?tag=mh0b-20&hvadid=78065334702291&hvqmt=b&hvbmt=bb&hvdev=c&ref=pd_sl_77wtodnh4n_b">Emily Ruskovich</a>
has written an intricate and beautiful book. While she touches on the
deep fears we all carry, she also brings to light the good people who
come along to help us through. She describes a place full of staggering
beauty: a place we know turns pink in the snowy winter sunsets, a place
where roads wash out in the spring, but still bring and newcomers who
are ready to roll up their sleeves. It is a place where we roar around
in boats in the summer, sing songs around the campfire, cut wood for the
winter and vow, once found, to never leave.<a href="https://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho</a> is not only a great place to live, but it has also inspired <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Housekeeping-Novel-Marilynne-Robinson/dp/0312424094/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=">Marilynne Robinson</a>‘s novel <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Housekeeping-Novel-Marilynne-Robinson/dp/0312424094/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid="><em>Housekeeping,</em></a> has been described by<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Beautiful-Ruins-Novel-Jess-Walter/dp/0061928178/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1486686783&sr=1-1&keywords=Jess+Walters"> Jess Walters in<em> Beautiful</em> <em>Ruins</em>,</a> was home to<a href="http://tolls-ernest-hemingway/dp/0684803356/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1486686859&sr=1-1&keywords=ernest+hemingway+books"> Ernest Hemingway</a> and now has played a role in a wonderful book bearing its name.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/mineral-ridge-trail.jpg"><img alt="mineral ridge trail" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-520" height="262" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/mineral-ridge-trail-300x262.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=ernest-hemingway" rel="tag">Ernest Hemingway</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jess-walters" rel="tag">Jess Walters</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=marilynne-robinson" rel="tag">Marilynne Robinson</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=north-idaho" rel="tag">North Idaho</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=514" rel="bookmark" title="12:44 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-02-10T00:44:55+00:00">February 10, 2017</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-508 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-non-fiction tag-113 tag-american-revolution tag-david-mccullough tag-freedom tag-george-washington" id="post-508">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=508" rel="bookmark">Page One</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/portrait-of-Geoge-Washington.jpg"><img alt="portrait of Geoge Washington" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-509" height="268" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/portrait-of-Geoge-Washington.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
It is fitting that I finished <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_McCullough">David McCullough’s</a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_5_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=1776+mccullough&sprefix=1776%2Caps%2C571&crid=2HZ7V1N22WKBZ"> 1776</a> this week. The book, published in 2005 by <a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/">Simon and Schuster</a>,
hit number one on the national bestseller list. It is not the topic
that afforded this success: the skill lies in the narrative which is
engaging and gripping. Too often history is viewed as dull and boring by
those who may have this impression solely from textbooks. McCullough
wisely focuses on the characters. He brings to life the pictures of
armies marching, of ships landing, of those who were engaged in the
effort, and whose task was the more arduous. How do you put down a
rebellion on a distant shore, landing by ship to unfamiliar ground? How
do you stop the mighty in their tracks? It was a markedly difficult task
for both sides, and as you read the description of battles, it seems
that the smart money would certainly have fallen for the British. They
had skilled troops who were trained and disciplined while <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">George Washington’</a>s army seemingly sprang up quite suddenly.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/1776.jpg"><img alt="1776" class=" size-full wp-image-510 aligncenter" height="200" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/1776.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
History belongs to the victors, but in this case, McCullough presents a clear picture of two sides of the coin. He paints<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington"> Washington</a>
as a man of British ancestry who sought to duplicate the life of
English gentry on American soil. He cared deeply about the addition he
envisioned and was in the process of building at Mount Vernon. He
oversaw all of the details and professed an abhorrence for disorder. The
trappings of his comfortable existence in the form of clothing,
footwear, books, coach and even the glass in his house were all imported
from London. This would not be uncommon for any prosperous colonial,
but it struck me as ironic. Like most heroes, his ascent was a reluctant
one. Nor did he have a steadfast belief in his men; there were
statements recorded of his disdain at times. According to McCullough, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington </a>was
blessed with a bit of luck, favorable weather, and marked persistence:
his efforts were successful because of these factors. In my attempt to
gain a sense of the George <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington,</a> I found the most telling description came from picturing him riding to hounds.<br />
From page 48.<br />
“Found a fox in Phil Alexander’s island which was lost after a chase
of seven hours,” Washington recorded in his diary at the end of one
winter day in 1772, but he did not give up, as shown in his entry for
the day following: ‘Found a fox in the same place again which was killed
at the end of 6 hours.’”<br />
What struck me about this description was not the fact that he
engaged in the sport of fox hunting, but that he did not do it lightly,
for the fun and revelry, but to accomplish what he set out to do. He did
not give up. The bedrock of his character lies in his obstinacy. He
could be wrong, he could be temporarily defeated, he could be
confounded, but he did not quit.<br />
Concerning the sheer logistics of the effort, it is remarkable to
contemplate from today’s perspective. We can communicate around the
world from our fingertips; they were marching blind into the night. Not
only did they not know where and when the British might strike, but they
also had no clear idea of the opposition from their fellow citizens.<br />
Page 118<br />
“In Boston, where the comparatively few Loyalists of Massachusetts
had either fled the country or were bottled up with the British, there
had never been a serious threat from ‘internal foes,’in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington’</a>s
phrase. In New York, the atmosphere was entirely different. The city
remained divided and tense. Loyalist, or Tory, sentiment, while less
conspicuous than it had been, was widespread and ranged from militant to
the disaffected, to those hesitant about declaring themselves patriots
for a variety of reasons, trade, and commerce not being the least of
them.<br />
“Two- thirds of the property in New York belonged to Tories. The year
before, in 1775, more than half the New York Chamber of Commerce were
avowed Loyalists.” p.119<br />
It boggles the mind to think on this now. People who lived and
prospered together had taken sides, some divided by region, and others
quite mixed. How would it all pan out? How would they manage to live
side by side again? In most cases, they did not; the Tories, or
Loyalists, left and sailed north leaving behind established farms and
businesses generations in the making.<br />
From p. 240<br />
“The problem was not that there were too few American soldiers in the
thirteen states. There were plenty, but the states were reluctant to
send the troops they had to fight the war, preferring to keep them close
to home, and especially as the war was not going well. In August,
Washington had had an army or 20,000. In the three months since he had
lost four battles- at Brooklyn, Kips Bay, White Plains, and Fort
Washington- they gave up Fort Lee without a fight. His army was now
divided as it had not been in August and, just as young Lieutenant
Monroe had speculated, he had only about 3, 500 troops under his
command- that was all.”<br />
Part of what makes McCulloughs work so gripping is that even though
we know the outcome, we are caught up in the impossibility of the quest.
He gives us a picture of the burning of New York, of the wet and
exhausted troops deserting, of common folk called into the fight with
some of the gentry joining and others disagreeing. I truly enjoyed the
picture McCullough painted of the British landing on Long Island and
thoroughly delighting in the land of plenty. Pleasantly surprised by the
abundance of delicious fruit, they remarked on well-tended farms and
handsome houses pleasingly furnished. Some felt that Americans were
prospering at their expense.<br />
How many mothers have said to how many squabbling children that there
are two sides to every story? “Unremitting courage and perseverance,”
is what Washington asked of his officers and soldiers. One percent of
the population was lost to the effort. Those forced to flee are also
part of the tale. This week, in the United States, the page turns one
more time. A new chapter awaits. We have better communication than ever
before, but seemingly, with less understanding of one another. We
struggle, we strive, we are determined, and we persevere. We have hope,
and we have fear: in that we are united. E Pluribus Unum carries a lot
of weight.<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=1776" rel="tag">1776</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-revolution" rel="tag">American Revolution</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=david-mccullough" rel="tag">David McCullough</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=freedom" rel="tag">Freedom</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=george-washington" rel="tag">George Washington</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=508" rel="bookmark" title="1:31 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-01-19T01:31:23+00:00">January 19, 2017</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-500 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-motivation" id="post-500">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=500" rel="bookmark">Diets Don’t Work: Part Two</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg"><img alt="snowy Idaho" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-385" height="176" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg" width="286" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Last year at this
time, I shared my goals for the new year. Proclaiming that for the first
time losing weight did not top my resolutions, I am happy to report
that dieting, once again, has no place in my intentions. So how much
weight did I pack on in 2016? None. Not dieting resulted in a loss that
has me hovering around the ideal. What are the lessons to be learned? As
always, I can only speak for myself. I am a rewards based creature, an
epicurean who loves delicious food, great music and literature, and I am
a happy soul who believes in letting the good times roll.<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Blake"> Blake </a>said,
“ The road to excess leads to the palace of wisdom.” Deprivation never
did anyone any good. That is my sage advice for dieters.</span><br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/P1010598.jpg"><img alt="OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA" class="size-medium wp-image-490" height="225" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/P1010598-300x225.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">When weight loss
becomes noticeable comments will fly. They are often hilarious, combined
with a one-two punch, a compliment wrapped in a teensy bit of
hostility. Mostly, people want to know about the method. How easy is it
to say, “<a href="https://www.atkins.com/register?mcid=riseppcgglbrand&cl_vend=google&cl_ch=sem&cl_camp=188853576&cl_adg=9633835896&cl_crtv=61528816896&cl_kw=atkins&cl_pub=google.com&cl_place=&cl_dvt=c&cl_dvm=&cl_pos=1t1&cl_mt=e&cl_gtid=kwd-16609371&gclid=COa55oCMrNECFVKFfgodsjEC8A">Atkins</a>, or <a href="http://www.southbeachdiet.com/home/index.jsp?gclid=COLrr6CMrNECFU1ufgodoi8C5w">South Beach</a>, or<a href="https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/?cid=sem_us_ggl_brand_core_main_ex_weight-watchers"> Weight Watchers</a>.”
Those are all noble programs which many have tried and are armed
against. The comment I heard most is that “you did this slowly.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">I do everything
slowly. My family of origin, endowed with a large dollop of ingrained
impatience, pointed this out to me constantly. My “creeping like snail”
drove everyone around me nuts. I stubbornly refused to change and to
this day, hate being pushed. At the same time, I can be impatient too.
So the slow technique will probably not be a winner, nor will it sell
the latest diet book. We gain weight gradually, so would it not stand to
reason that it may take an equal measure of time to burn it off? After
all, if you are going to go down a pant size or two, wouldn’t you want
to get some wear out of the smaller sizes before they hit the Goodwill
bag? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">With weight loss
not being on the list of resolutions, I have spent a few days thinking
long and hard about 2017. Last year I wrote that I wanted to focus on
more bliss. It worked. What do I want to gain this year? Largess. I will
seek a greater beneficence of spirit. How will this play out? I don’t
know yet. Stay tuned…<br />
</span><br />
<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=500" rel="bookmark" title="12:04 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-01-06T00:04:20+00:00">January 6, 2017</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-486 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-christmas category-memoir category-motivation category-uncategorized tag-charles-dickens tag-christmas tag-coeur-d-alene" id="post-486">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=486" rel="bookmark">Christmas is my Culture</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top1.bmp"><img alt="top" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-496" height="222" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top1-300x222.bmp" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
After spending a few cozy days snowed in here on <a href="https://www.lakecoeurdalene.com/on-the-water/campgrounds/windy-bay-boat-park/">Windy Bay,</a> I had time to enjoy this winter wonderland. With many hours in which to contemplate the joys of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a>,
I indulged in all the nostalgia and emotion of the season. As is true
with just about everyone, my mind returned to childhood memories. I
credit my parents and grandparents, and all of their many efforts to
make <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a> magical and wonderful. We sat at long tables wearing paper crowns from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a> crackers in the<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/English_language"> English </a>tradition
and reveled in feasts ending in plum pudding and butter sauce we
thought might kill one of us someday, but that did not stop us from
consuming it until we groaned for mercy.<br />
Don’t look back, some say. It is not the way you are going. Yes, there is wisdom to this line of thinking, but<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas"> Christmas</a>
is a time of permission. I, for one, eat it up. We seek a deeper
connection at this time of year, a strengthening of bonds of love. When I
take out my maternal grandmother’s<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas"> Christmas </a>village
and unpack this little hand- made world, I feel as if I am seven and
wishing I lived in a pretty village where the houses and churches sit
atop a blanket of snow. In all my years in<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coeur_d%27Alene,_Idaho"> Coeur d’ Alene,</a>
I often think of how funny it is that I practically re-created that
charming village in choosing such a charming town in which to live.
Shopping in the local shops on Sherman Avenue is a tradition I cherish.
Our tree now comes from our own woods; the ornaments are old and worn
but carry happy memories for us. We have always tried to keep things
somewhat simple, but by Christmas Eve, we often shake our heads. It is a
time for celebration after all, and yes, we always give books.<br />
In the years I worked at <a href="http://www.coldwatercreek.com/home?src=PGOG5001&gclid=CI2T1sSW9NACFVBafgodOloICg&gclsrc=aw.ds">Coldwater Creek</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas </a>was
a blitz from start to finish. We employees shored each other up, shared
goodies, hot tea, and boiler- plate coffee in order to keep going. We
tracked packages and agonized over mix-ups. We wrote apology letters and
often received replies. I signed company letters with Merry Christmas
and thought I would keep doing so until someone asked me not to. They
never did. I sent cards with the same message, and yes, to friends of
different faiths and traditions. I knew from growing up in a
multi-cultural city, chock full of new immigrants from around the globe,
that culture is passed from mother to daughter, from father to son, and
from grandparents to grandchildren. There is plenty of room at the
table. I witnessed so many hold fast to their traditions while embracing
a new land.<br />
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas </a>is my culture. It is a part of who I am. It is a time of wonder. That is how I aim to keep it.<br />
Devoid of any anger, lacking in perceived threat or guile, I say, Merry Christmas to readers around the world.<br />
“God bless us, everyone.”<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Dickens"> Charles Dickens.</a><br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top.bmp"><img alt="top" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-494" height="210" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top-300x210.bmp" width="300" /></a><br />
</div>
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<article class="post-476 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-paul-beatty tag-social-satire" id="post-476">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=476" rel="bookmark">Social Satire</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg"><img alt="the-sellout" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-477" height="293" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
Wikipedia defines social satire as the means by which “vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are subject to ridicule.”<br />
William Shakespeare, Jonathon Swift, Oscar Wilde, and Mark Twain may
be the most familiar practitioners of the form, but now we have another
member of this illustrious club. Largely the purview of cartoonists in
today’s world, a brilliant newcomer steps up to stage.<br />
Long in the habit of reading the winner of the Man Booker Prize, this
year’s choice did not disappoint. The committee is given the challenge
of reading the longlist and then narrowing the field to the shortlist.
While it is a daunting task, it is one I would sign up for any day of
the week. Choosing the best work from an astonishing array of talent
would not be easy, and I can imagine the lively dialogue of dissenting
voices. Bookmakers in England bet on the favorite and the choice is
never easy. However, one clear voice emerged over all others. Paul
Beatty won the coveted award this year.<br />
“<em>The Sellout</em> puts you down in a place that’s miles from where it picked you up.” Dwight Garner, The New York Times.<br />
Social satire is the art of mentioning what we dare not say. If an
absolute bumbler is indulging in vile discourse, then we have the luxury
of laughing, allowing the architect to escape with his or her life. On
the back cover of <em>The Sellout</em> the explanation is offered up this way:<br />
“The work of comic genius at the top of his game,<em> The Sellout</em> questions almost every received notion about American society.”<br />
It is not the subject matter or the form alone that intrigues me. Paul Beatty writes with a voice that is so present, it sings.<br />
From Page 11<br />
“When I was ten, I spent a long night burrowed under my comforter,
cuddled up with Funshine Bear, who, filled with a foamy enigmatic sense
of language and a Bloomian dogmatism, was the most literary of the Care
Bears and my harshest critic. In the musty darkness of the rayon bat
cave, his stubby, all-but-immobile yellow arms struggled to hold the
flashlight steady as together we tried to save the black race in eight
words or less. Putting my homeschool Latin to good use, I’d crank out a
motto, then shove it under his heart-shaped plastic nose for approval….<br />
Semper Fi, Semper Funky raised his polyester hackles, and when he began
to paw the mattress in anger and reared up on his stubby yellow legs,
baring his ursine fangs and claws, I tried to remember what the Cub
Scout manual said to do when confronted by and angry cartoon bear drunk
on stolen credenza wine and editorial power. ‘If you meet an angry
bear-remain calm. Speak in gentle tones, stand your ground, get large,
and write in simple, uplifting Latin sentences.<br />
Unum corpus, una mens, una cor, unum amor.<br />
One body, one mind, one heart, one love.<br />
Not bad. It had a nice license plate ring to it.”<br />
Sitting in Quaker State garage, nestled in among an array of tired
magazines, the vending machine, and the blaring television set, waiting
for the man to come out from the hole in the floor under my car, I was
glad to be alone in the small waiting room. If anyone were to observe me
reading the last pages of <em>The Sellout,</em> they would have seen a
perpetually silly grin on my face. I wished I hadn’t blasted through the
book so quickly because the uplift was a welcome respite. I hope I
don’t have to wait so long to read a work of great social satire again.<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=paul-beatty" rel="tag">Paul Beatty</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=social-satire" rel="tag">social satire</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=476" rel="bookmark" title="10:52 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-11-23T22:52:07+00:00">November 23, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-470 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-motivation tag-american-dream tag-american-history tag-crisis tag-culture" id="post-470">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=470" rel="bookmark">American Dreamer</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/hillbilly-elegy-cover.jpg"><img alt="hillbilly-elegy-cover" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-473" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/hillbilly-elegy-cover-199x300.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
Decline. Is there anyone alive who does not fear it? Is there a way
to ascertain the beginning, the end of the beginning, or the beginning
of the end? How is to be avoided? More importantly, what is it?<br />
J.D. Vance tackles the topic in a moving and personal memoir entitled, <em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hillbilly-Elegy-Memoir-Family-Culture-ebook/dp/B0166ISAS8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477424634&sr=1-1&keywords=hillbilly+elegy">Hillbilly Elegy: A</a></em> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hillbilly-Elegy-Memoir-Family-Culture-ebook/dp/B0166ISAS8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477424634&sr=1-1&keywords=hillbilly+elegy"><em>Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis.</em> </a>In
the introduction, Vance describes himself as a Scots-Irish hillbilly at
heart. He lets us know that his tribe is a pessimistic bunch.<br />
Caught up in the belief that to look through a glass darkly is to be
avoided at all costs, I was drawn into the story right away. We know
from the beginning that J.D. Vance climbed from his uncertain origins to
graduating from Yale law school. The story outlines the journey. It is
uplifting because there is not a person alive who does not wonder if
they had been born in unfortunate circumstances, or were challenged by
terrible poverty, would they be one of the few to make it out? Readers
are placed squarely into the houses and schools and yards of Vance’s
life with an almost breathless desire to see him succeed. While he does
not pretend to have the answers, he neither blames nor preaches; the
book reads as a statement of fact. Look about.<br />
Going back to the Scots-Irish, or the Ulster Scots, and the roots of
their beginning, I knew from learning about the English Civil War, that
the term goes back to the plantations of Northern Ireland. Cromwell gave
vast tracts of conquered land in Ireland for the Scots to settle. Many
had been soldiers in his army and this new land represented the spoils
of war. It was hoped that they would take root and serve to be a
permanent anchor in Ireland. That set the stage for centuries of
conflict and strife. They had to fight to maintain their foothold, and
fight they did. The second migration to America yielded a group who
settled in the hills of Appalachia to eke out a living. We know that
George Washington used them handily, as did Stonewall Jackson. Wanting
nothing more than a fair shot at the American dream, and never asking
for help or handouts, became a hallmark of their values. As the jobs
became scarce and the resources few and far between, what we learn from
Vance’s experience is that we need to understand this despair.<br />
To say this book struck a cord with readers is an understatement.
Currently, it is topping the charts of the New York Times Bestseller
list. A memoir, written with such clarity and ease, will always do well,
but the success of this book speaks to something larger. We are in a
time when everyone seems to be scratching their heads. Hope is
infectious, and there is much in this book that provides it. We learn
that when Vance applied to Law School he automatically eliminated the
big Ivy League choices thinking that he would neither qualify nor be
able to pay the tuition.<br />
On Page 199 he writes:<br />
“The New York Times recently reported that the most expensive schools
are paradoxically cheaper for low-income students. At Harvard, the
student would pay only about thirteen hundred while the tuition is forty
thousand. Of course, kids like me don’t know this.”<br />
When I became an American Citizen, in my welcome packet was a letter
from the President encouraging me to take advantage of the many
opportunities before me. I could not think of a nicer welcome. Not
knowing what else to do with that information, I kept my eyes and ears
open. What Vance is writing about is all too familiar. I know what it is
like to grow up in a family whose ethic is based on hard work and never
taking handouts of any kind. It is the most uncomfortable feeling in
the world to choose to succeed knowing that you may not have the support
of those closest to you. Do it anyway. That is the great message of
this book.<br />
“Hope is the thing with feathers,” wrote Emily Dickinson. What were her
chances of achieving any success as a poet, let alone immortality? The
crisis of any culture is solved when the challenge is met, and necessary
changes are made. That is what enabled J. D. Vance to travel from the
“holler,” to Ohio, to the Marines, to College, to law school and then to
where he is today sitting at the top of the charts.<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=14" rel="category">Memoir</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-dream" rel="tag">American dream</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-history" rel="tag">American History</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=crisis" rel="tag">crisis</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=culture" rel="tag">culture</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=470" rel="bookmark" title="7:49 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-10-25T19:49:22+00:00">October 25, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-460 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-motivation category-sports tag-boxing tag-muhammed-ali" id="post-460">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=460" rel="bookmark">“Float Like a Butterfly”</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg"><img alt="Ali" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-464" height="182" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
Today we look back on the life of a man who came into this world as<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muhammad_Ali"> Cassius Clay</a>.
He captured the attention of America, not only by his prowess in the
ring but by the stand he took against the Vietnam War. While he is
eulogized across all media outlets, I wish to share a personal story
about the day<a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776"> Ali </a>came to our town. We were all in an uproar.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935.jpg"><img alt="MLG 1935" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-463" height="239" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935-300x239.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
To set the stage, I must part the mists of time and go back to the month of March 1966, when a fight, booked at<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens</a>
in Toronto, tore our family asunder. The stadium built on a wing and a
prayer housed many boxing matches, but this was a fight like no other.
My grandfather, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conn_Smythe_Trophy">Conn Smythe,</a>
still at the helm as Chairman of Board, hit the roof over the prospect
of a known draft dodger darkening the door of his temple. A veteran and
hero of two world wars, he was a consummate military man who felt that
that duty to one’s country was sacrosanct. The only reason the fight was
booked north of the border is that no American stadium would allow the
match between Ali and Ernie Terrell to take place. Small town radio disc
jockeys were having a field day saying that in no way shape or form
would their town allow the Ali/Terrell fight. My grandfather agreed. The
Forum in Montreal declined, and he believed we should do the same. My
father, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stafford_Smythe">Stafford Smythe, </a>President of the <a href="http://mapleleafs.nhl.com/">Toronto Maple Leafs</a>,
and a war veteran himself chose not to slam the door in Ali’s face and
refused to knuckle under. We in the Smythe family had two fights on our
hands.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations.jpg"><img alt="four generations" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-465" height="168" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations-300x168.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
As the youngest daughter and a preteen at the time, we were all
involved in the donnybrook. My mother thought my grandfather would cool
off in time. My brother, the go-between, told us otherwise. It was less
than a year since we lost our grandmother, the peacemaker, and we were
scared. A way out presented itself when Terrell, unable to meet the
financial obligation, backed out. My father’s partner, Harold Ballard,
in charge of all non-hockey related attractions and the man who had set
the whole show on the road, refused to budge. He found a Canadian boxer
by the name of<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Stafford+Smythe&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8#q=George+Chuvalo"> George Chuvalo</a>
to accept the challenge. With a scant twenty-three days in which to
train, we had a new fear that raced around the school yard, was
discussed by Moms over coffee, had people calling our house incessantly,
and seemed like a real possibility. Ali would kill Chuvalo. Everyone
said if he didn’t kill him he would knock him out in the first round. It
would be a joke, a waste of time for anyone who bought a ticket, and a
disgrace to Toronto and our beloved<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens.</a> My father would have blood on his hands.<br />
As the day approached, my grandfather had neither softened nor
cooled. He increased his efforts, calling boxing officials and trying to
get the match stopped. <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a> crossed the border and arrived in Toronto. He later said that he had never been treated as nicely anywhere.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head.jpg"><img alt="head to head" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-466" height="159" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head-300x159.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
The fight was one of the greatest of Ali’s life. It went fifteen
rounds. George Chuvalo came out from his corner with fierce
determination. He remained standing to the bitter end. He was
incredible, and so was Ali. It was the greatest fight to ever take place
at Maple Leaf Gardens. It changed our lives. It was a turning point.<br />
One day over lunch when describing this incident to a friend she
said, “Isn’t that the Rocky story?” George Chuvalo is still with us. He
is as strong as ever, and he is still one of my heroes.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg"><img alt="Chuvalo" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-467" height="104" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg" width="185" /></a><br />
At this point in time, as we say farewell to Ali, may he be
remembered as the champion he became. There is more to his story than
meets the eye. He was supposed to do what he was told; I heard this just
about everywhere I went. He wasn’t obedient. He was uppity. He didn’t
know his place. Perhaps this is true. He was a man who decided that his
place was within the realm of his own choosing. One could not help but
admire the courage with which he lived his life. “Float like a
butterfly, sting like a bee.” The stinging is over now. Float in peace, <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a>. We will always be glad you came to town.<br />
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg"><img alt="old mills college" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-452" height="196" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg" width="257" /></a> Mills College, Oakland, California</div>
<br />
“Beware lest in attempting the grand, you overshoot the mark and become grandiose.” <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voltaire">Voltaire</a><br />
I came across this snippet the other day on<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=twitter&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8"> Twitter</a>. The advice, earmarked to writers, could apply to just about anything. It would certainly apply to editing.<br />
This time of year we are in a grand editing process. While the
natural world springs to life, we need to make room for things to grow.
Keep this and discard that. How do we decide? It was on Easter Sunday
that I heard of the concept of holding up hangers in the closet and
asking yourself if the object in your hand affords joy. What a great
idea. Those of us whose parents were children in the Depression years
were schooled, in some cases quite harshly, about discarding things
willy-nilly. It can be a source of great strife between couples
depending on the ferocity of the message. Every object in the house
could have a use at some point and to have to run out and purchase
something recently discarded, can cause genuine distress. Others want to
pare down, and certainly the modern look we see displayed in stores and
magazines is becoming more and more devoid of clutter.<br />
Yesterday, we celebrated motherhood and mothers who gave tirelessly
to shape our sensibility. I did think of my mother when I read
Voltaire’s comment. I thought about how it would make her laugh. As she
worked in her later years as an interior designer she had renowned
taste. She found a way to reconcile her childhood teachings with
creating beautiful surroundings. Her possessions grace the homes of her
children, and grandchildren. She chose objects with care, and they have
lasted the test of time. She would tell us that something “looked
tired.” It could be a table. Once it acquired this sense of fatigue, it
was out the door to anyone who would take it. How do I stand on this
issue? I feel as if I have one foot in a boat and the other on the dock.
A decision needs to be made quickly before disaster strikes. The age of
some pieces that adorn our lives never ceases to amaze me. We make our
toast every morning in a toaster that has been in use my entire life. It
has never broken. The toast goes down automatically and comes up by
itself perfectly. Almost everything I surround myself with is old.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster.jpg"><img alt="old toaster" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-455" height="245" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster-300x245.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
I am drawn to the blank page because it is empty. I want to fill it
up. Years ago, I thought writing a novel just involved getting enough
words together to fill up all the pages. The sad truth came from a
gifted teacher, a novelist who taught at <a href="http://www.mills.edu/">Mills College</a>
and she gave it to me straight. “You may have filled up your briefcase
with pages, but you have not written a novel.” Together we worked with
what I had, and I learned that the real trick is filling up pages and
then throwing them in the garbage. Hemingway once said that he could
tell that his writing was going well when the waste-basket was full of
really good stuff.<br />
Yesterday I read a quote in<a href="http://www.vanityfair.com/"> Vanity Fair</a> from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lee_Radziwill">Lee Radiwill</a>. “Great style is editing.”<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg"><img alt="Lee Radziwill" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-453" height="183" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg" width="275" /></a><br />
Whether it is in art, a beautiful interior or an excellent book, that
is the key. Do you know what great designers have? Storage units. One
piece, edited out, may reappear years later in another place and time.
The same is true for chapters or paragraphs of any work in progress.
Gone are the days when we ripped a sheet of paper from the typewriter
and tossed it in a nearby bin. We can watch our words disappear before
our very eyes. Or, like me, you might just want to keep them in a
separate document. Perhaps they may improve with age. Out of all the
rubbish, a new idea may germinate.<br />
Toaster photo: “Copyright © 2016 by Craig Rairdin.”<br />
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-77827221123953991922017-02-25T15:58:00.006-08:002017-02-25T15:58:57.323-08:00The Opposite of Nothing is Something<div class="site-content" id="primary">
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<article class="post-522 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-british-colombia tag-china tag-cultural-revolution tag-fiction tag-giller-prize tag-history tag-man-booker-prize tag-shortlisted tag-vancouver" id="post-522">
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Thien.jpg"><img alt="Thien" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-525" height="293" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Thien.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The very best writing reads like music. It has rhythm. It has style. Madeline Thien’s<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> <em>Do Not</em> <em>Say We Have Nothing</em> </a>is a symphony. The author weaves a tale of her native <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/China">China, </a>the
tragic and tumultuous history with the stories of interlaced characters
pulled through generations. We see history not only as it unfolds, but
in the impact, it has on its people. The book is an extraordinary
achievement winning the <a href="http://www.scotiabankgillerprize.ca/">Scotiabank Giller Prize </a>and being short-listed for the <a href="http://themanbookerprize.com/">Man Booker Prize of 2016. </a>While the competition for both prizes was intense,<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=do+not+say+we+have+nothing+by+madeleine+thien&sprefix=do+not+s%2Cstripbooks%2C552&crid=25AGHYUGOK4QP"><em> Do Not Say We</em> <em>Have Nothing</em> </a>is a standout.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&">Thien</a>‘s
style is intricate and beautiful. She is deft at moving through
settings, characters and time. It is a book that can be described, as <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=annie+lamont+word+by+word">Annie Lamont</a> put it, written <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=annie+lamont+word+by+word">‘word by word.</a>‘ From the very start, I found myself inwardly gasping at the beauty of her writing.<br />
<br />
<br />
The book opens with a profound and engaging beginning. “In a single
year, my father left us twice. The first time, to end his marriage, and
the second, when he took his own life.” Page 3.<br />
From this start, we follow<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Thien’s</a> journey to understand the events that led to this pass. She is living in<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vancouver"> Vancouver</a>,
in an apartment shared with her mother when we first encounter this
thoughtful, cerebral girl. Before long a third person arrives without a
coat and carrying a light suitcase. She is a family friend whose history
is connected to theirs. What links them together is the fact that both
of the fathers were musicians forbidden to practice their craft in the
dark years of the Cultural Revolution. If music sustained her father,
Marie finds a home in mathematics.<br />
<br />
<br />
From Page 191<br />
“In the spring of 2000, after my mother passed away, I gave myself
entirely to my studies. The logic of mathematics-its methods of
induction and deduction, its power to describe abstract shapes that have
no counterpart in the real world- sustained me. I moved out of the
apartment that my mother had been renting ever since she and Ba first
came to Canada, and in which I had grown up. Desperate to leave it
behind, I cobbled together every penny I had and bought a dilapidated
apartment on Alexander Street. The windows looked straight out into the
port of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vancouver">Vancouver</a>
and, at night, the endless arrivals and departures of multi-coloured
shipping containers, what they held, what they divulged, comforted me.<br />
I kept my parents’ papers in the bedroom closet and a Cantor taped to
the wall: ‘The essence of mathematics lies in its freedom.’”<br />
<br />
<br />
This picture finds an easy grace in my imagination. The link between
Shanghai and the western ports of North America, where we now receive
goods too staggering in size to even contemplate from a nation that was
once brought to its knees is both beautiful and sad. That is the tone of
the work; it hit the right note for winter reading. Every once in a
great while, we pick up a book that deserves to be read twice. Some
sentences are so profound that the reader needs to stop and puzzle
through them. Sometimes it means putting the book down and returning to
awaiting tasks with the thoughts presented rattling around begging for
more time.<br />
<br />
<br />
From Page 419.<br />
“I know that throughout my life I have struggled to forgive my
father. Now, as I get older, I wish most of all that he had been able to
find a way to forgive himself. In the end, I believe these pages and
the Book of Records return to the persistence of this desire: to know
the times in which we are alive. To keep the record that must be kept,
and also, finally, to let it go. That’s what I would tell my father. To
have faith that, one day, someone else will keep the record.”<br />
Ideally, a great novel gives us a new understanding, either of times
and events or, in the best possible scenario, of the pages of our own
story.<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Madeline Thien’s </a>work carries the power to do this. Could it be possible that I feel as if I am a better person for having read <em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&">Do Not Say</a></em> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"><em>We Have</em> Not<em>hing</em></a>? I hope so. For God knows, there is much work to be done.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/winning-thien.jpg"><img alt="winning thien" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-526" height="196" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/winning-thien-300x196.jpg" width="300" /></a> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Do-Not-Say-Have-Nothing/dp/039360988X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488064446&sr=1-1&"> Madeleine Thien </a></div>
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=514">Rave Reviews for Idaho</a>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-21793047069898347262017-02-09T16:59:00.001-08:002017-02-09T16:59:38.937-08:00Rave Reviews for Idaho
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Idaho-ruskovich.jpg"><img alt="Idaho ruskovich" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-517" height="250" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Idaho-ruskovich.jpg" width="173" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Emily-Ruskovich/e/B01GNBWV56">Emily Ruskovich’s</a>
debut is causing a stir. The praise for her writing skills is
well-deserved. Her prose has a maturity well beyond her years. From the
first page, the reader is at home in this book, curious to learn more
and is turning the pages feverishly. The book has dreamy qualities where
time seems to be on the back burner while a magnifying glass is applied
to an horrific event in which all characters are caught. The harsh and
beautiful environment is lovingly and emotionally depicted by the author
who is no stranger to the scene. She is a native of our beautiful <a href="http://visitnorthidaho.com/">North Idaho</a>
who sings the praises of our fair skies. The characters remain with the
reader who cannot put them down or explain them away by any of the
normal means. If a book lingers on in the mind, the way this one
promises to do, one tends to expect its journey out in the world to be
full of praise.<br />
How does the place manage to be so central to the story? The first
question one would ask is that could this story be transplanted into
say, Kansas City, and read the same. No. In this case, the mountains of
Idaho are part of the narrative.<br />
From Page 113:<br />
“Wade and Jenny are prairie people. Prairie people living on a
mountain they had not noticed was so much larger than themselves. An
acreage purchased in a hurry because it was cheap, because it was
nothing like the prairie. Such arrogance and childishness—an avalanche
of a dream. But what kind of person would tell them they wouldn’t be
trapped on a snowy mountain, when surely, without a tractor or a plow,
they would? Still, they should have questioned it. They should have made
sure. And now the only other person in the world who knows the truth of
their desperation has tattooed his hatred to his hand.”<br />
In spite of the challenges, the story of this family moves along
until the day of the murder. The weapon is an ax wielded by a mother,
landing on a child. One girl dies, and the other runs away. Wade is left
alone with an even bigger problem: his mind is fading with early onset
dementia which runs in his family. He meets a music teacher named Ann
who decides, in a moment of clarity, that she can take care of him. She
inhabits the story in a way that is almost other worldly. She becomes
obsessed as she steps into the story as to what really happened on the
day of the murder.<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/0812994043/?tag=mh0b-20&hvadid=78065334702291&hvqmt=b&hvbmt=bb&hvdev=c&ref=pd_sl_77wtodnh4n_b">Ruskovich </a>has
the skill to let the story unfold through the voices and perspectives
of other characters. Since we are caught up in the tension of wanting to
know more about the events of the fateful day, there is no shortage of
curiosity on our part. The way in which the story unfolds is not at all
traditional; one part is told through the perspective of a bloodhound.<br />
From page 282:<br />
“The loose skin of a bloodhound is meant to hold the ground. The ears
that drag along the forest floor send the scent up the skin, where,
trapped within the wrinkles and the folds, it reminds the hound what the
trail is even when the trail is lost. The smell of the trail becomes
the smell of himself, trapped between the wrinkles of the neck and all
around the eyes, which require an effort to rise under the weight of all
that skin. Head down, whatever the dog follows he follows blind;
gravity heaps the forehead down to the top of the snout, so that the
scent between the wrinkles is more of a means of seeing than the eyes of
the wrinkles cover..”<br />
“Off-duty, head up, the bloodhound is a different dog. The wrinkles fall open. The forehead is smoothed, the scent let go.<br />
This is how a dog forgets. This is how a dog moves on.<br />
He lifts his head.”<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/0812994043/?tag=mh0b-20&hvadid=78065334702291&hvqmt=b&hvbmt=bb&hvdev=c&ref=pd_sl_77wtodnh4n_b">Emily Ruskovich</a>
has written an intricate and beautiful book. While she touches on the
deep fears we all carry, she also brings to light the good people who
come along to help us through. She describes a place full of staggering
beauty: a place we know turns pink in the snowy winter sunsets, a place
where roads wash out in the spring, but still bring and newcomers who
are ready to roll up their sleeves. It is a place where we roar around
in boats in the summer, sing songs around the campfire, cut wood for the
winter and vow, once found, to never leave.<a href="https://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho</a> is not only a great place to live, but it has also inspired <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Housekeeping-Novel-Marilynne-Robinson/dp/0312424094/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=">Marilynne Robinson</a>‘s novel <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Housekeeping-Novel-Marilynne-Robinson/dp/0312424094/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid="><em>Housekeeping,</em></a> has been described by<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Beautiful-Ruins-Novel-Jess-Walter/dp/0061928178/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1486686783&sr=1-1&keywords=Jess+Walters"> Jess Walters in<em> Beautiful</em> <em>Ruins</em>,</a> was home to<a href="http://tolls-ernest-hemingway/dp/0684803356/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1486686859&sr=1-1&keywords=ernest+hemingway+books"> Ernest Hemingway</a> and now has played a role in a wonderful book bearing its name.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/mineral-ridge-trail.jpg"><img alt="mineral ridge trail" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-520" height="262" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/mineral-ridge-trail-300x262.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<footer class="entry-meta">
This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=ernest-hemingway" rel="tag">Ernest Hemingway</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jess-walters" rel="tag">Jess Walters</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=marilynne-robinson" rel="tag">Marilynne Robinson</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=north-idaho" rel="tag">North Idaho</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=514" rel="bookmark" title="12:44 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-02-10T00:44:55+00:00">February 10, 2017</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=514&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
<article class="post-508 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-non-fiction tag-113 tag-american-revolution tag-david-mccullough tag-freedom tag-george-washington" id="post-508">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=508" rel="bookmark">Page One</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/portrait-of-Geoge-Washington.jpg"><img alt="portrait of Geoge Washington" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-509" height="268" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/portrait-of-Geoge-Washington.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
It is fitting that I finished <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_McCullough">David McCullough’s</a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_5_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=1776+mccullough&sprefix=1776%2Caps%2C571&crid=2HZ7V1N22WKBZ"> 1776</a> this week. The book, published in 2005 by <a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/">Simon and Schuster</a>,
hit number one on the national bestseller list. It is not the topic
that afforded this success: the skill lies in the narrative which is
engaging and gripping. Too often history is viewed as dull and boring by
those who may have this impression solely from textbooks. McCullough
wisely focuses on the characters. He brings to life the pictures of
armies marching, of ships landing, of those who were engaged in the
effort, and whose task was the more arduous. How do you put down a
rebellion on a distant shore, landing by ship to unfamiliar ground? How
do you stop the mighty in their tracks? It was a markedly difficult task
for both sides, and as you read the description of battles, it seems
that the smart money would certainly have fallen for the British. They
had skilled troops who were trained and disciplined while <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">George Washington’</a>s army seemingly sprang up quite suddenly.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/1776.jpg"><img alt="1776" class=" size-full wp-image-510 aligncenter" height="200" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/1776.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
History belongs to the victors, but in this case, McCullough presents a clear picture of two sides of the coin. He paints<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington"> Washington</a>
as a man of British ancestry who sought to duplicate the life of
English gentry on American soil. He cared deeply about the addition he
envisioned and was in the process of building at Mount Vernon. He
oversaw all of the details and professed an abhorrence for disorder. The
trappings of his comfortable existence in the form of clothing,
footwear, books, coach and even the glass in his house were all imported
from London. This would not be uncommon for any prosperous colonial,
but it struck me as ironic. Like most heroes, his ascent was a reluctant
one. Nor did he have a steadfast belief in his men; there were
statements recorded of his disdain at times. According to McCullough, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington </a>was
blessed with a bit of luck, favorable weather, and marked persistence:
his efforts were successful because of these factors. In my attempt to
gain a sense of the George <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington,</a> I found the most telling description came from picturing him riding to hounds.<br />
From page 48.<br />
“Found a fox in Phil Alexander’s island which was lost after a chase
of seven hours,” Washington recorded in his diary at the end of one
winter day in 1772, but he did not give up, as shown in his entry for
the day following: ‘Found a fox in the same place again which was killed
at the end of 6 hours.’”<br />
What struck me about this description was not the fact that he
engaged in the sport of fox hunting, but that he did not do it lightly,
for the fun and revelry, but to accomplish what he set out to do. He did
not give up. The bedrock of his character lies in his obstinacy. He
could be wrong, he could be temporarily defeated, he could be
confounded, but he did not quit.<br />
Concerning the sheer logistics of the effort, it is remarkable to
contemplate from today’s perspective. We can communicate around the
world from our fingertips; they were marching blind into the night. Not
only did they not know where and when the British might strike, but they
also had no clear idea of the opposition from their fellow citizens.<br />
Page 118<br />
“In Boston, where the comparatively few Loyalists of Massachusetts
had either fled the country or were bottled up with the British, there
had never been a serious threat from ‘internal foes,’in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington’</a>s
phrase. In New York, the atmosphere was entirely different. The city
remained divided and tense. Loyalist, or Tory, sentiment, while less
conspicuous than it had been, was widespread and ranged from militant to
the disaffected, to those hesitant about declaring themselves patriots
for a variety of reasons, trade, and commerce not being the least of
them.<br />
“Two- thirds of the property in New York belonged to Tories. The year
before, in 1775, more than half the New York Chamber of Commerce were
avowed Loyalists.” p.119<br />
It boggles the mind to think on this now. People who lived and
prospered together had taken sides, some divided by region, and others
quite mixed. How would it all pan out? How would they manage to live
side by side again? In most cases, they did not; the Tories, or
Loyalists, left and sailed north leaving behind established farms and
businesses generations in the making.<br />
From p. 240<br />
“The problem was not that there were too few American soldiers in the
thirteen states. There were plenty, but the states were reluctant to
send the troops they had to fight the war, preferring to keep them close
to home, and especially as the war was not going well. In August,
Washington had had an army or 20,000. In the three months since he had
lost four battles- at Brooklyn, Kips Bay, White Plains, and Fort
Washington- they gave up Fort Lee without a fight. His army was now
divided as it had not been in August and, just as young Lieutenant
Monroe had speculated, he had only about 3, 500 troops under his
command- that was all.”<br />
Part of what makes McCulloughs work so gripping is that even though
we know the outcome, we are caught up in the impossibility of the quest.
He gives us a picture of the burning of New York, of the wet and
exhausted troops deserting, of common folk called into the fight with
some of the gentry joining and others disagreeing. I truly enjoyed the
picture McCullough painted of the British landing on Long Island and
thoroughly delighting in the land of plenty. Pleasantly surprised by the
abundance of delicious fruit, they remarked on well-tended farms and
handsome houses pleasingly furnished. Some felt that Americans were
prospering at their expense.<br />
How many mothers have said to how many squabbling children that there
are two sides to every story? “Unremitting courage and perseverance,”
is what Washington asked of his officers and soldiers. One percent of
the population was lost to the effort. Those forced to flee are also
part of the tale. This week, in the United States, the page turns one
more time. A new chapter awaits. We have better communication than ever
before, but seemingly, with less understanding of one another. We
struggle, we strive, we are determined, and we persevere. We have hope,
and we have fear: in that we are united. E Pluribus Unum carries a lot
of weight.<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=1776" rel="tag">1776</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-revolution" rel="tag">American Revolution</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=david-mccullough" rel="tag">David McCullough</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=freedom" rel="tag">Freedom</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=george-washington" rel="tag">George Washington</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=508" rel="bookmark" title="1:31 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-01-19T01:31:23+00:00">January 19, 2017</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=508&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-500 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-motivation" id="post-500">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=500" rel="bookmark">Diets Don’t Work: Part Two</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg"><img alt="snowy Idaho" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-385" height="176" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg" width="286" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Last year at this
time, I shared my goals for the new year. Proclaiming that for the first
time losing weight did not top my resolutions, I am happy to report
that dieting, once again, has no place in my intentions. So how much
weight did I pack on in 2016? None. Not dieting resulted in a loss that
has me hovering around the ideal. What are the lessons to be learned? As
always, I can only speak for myself. I am a rewards based creature, an
epicurean who loves delicious food, great music and literature, and I am
a happy soul who believes in letting the good times roll.<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Blake"> Blake </a>said,
“ The road to excess leads to the palace of wisdom.” Deprivation never
did anyone any good. That is my sage advice for dieters.</span><br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/P1010598.jpg"><img alt="OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA" class="size-medium wp-image-490" height="225" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/P1010598-300x225.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">When weight loss
becomes noticeable comments will fly. They are often hilarious, combined
with a one-two punch, a compliment wrapped in a teensy bit of
hostility. Mostly, people want to know about the method. How easy is it
to say, “<a href="https://www.atkins.com/register?mcid=riseppcgglbrand&cl_vend=google&cl_ch=sem&cl_camp=188853576&cl_adg=9633835896&cl_crtv=61528816896&cl_kw=atkins&cl_pub=google.com&cl_place=&cl_dvt=c&cl_dvm=&cl_pos=1t1&cl_mt=e&cl_gtid=kwd-16609371&gclid=COa55oCMrNECFVKFfgodsjEC8A">Atkins</a>, or <a href="http://www.southbeachdiet.com/home/index.jsp?gclid=COLrr6CMrNECFU1ufgodoi8C5w">South Beach</a>, or<a href="https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/?cid=sem_us_ggl_brand_core_main_ex_weight-watchers"> Weight Watchers</a>.”
Those are all noble programs which many have tried and are armed
against. The comment I heard most is that “you did this slowly.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">I do everything
slowly. My family of origin, endowed with a large dollop of ingrained
impatience, pointed this out to me constantly. My “creeping like snail”
drove everyone around me nuts. I stubbornly refused to change and to
this day, hate being pushed. At the same time, I can be impatient too.
So the slow technique will probably not be a winner, nor will it sell
the latest diet book. We gain weight gradually, so would it not stand to
reason that it may take an equal measure of time to burn it off? After
all, if you are going to go down a pant size or two, wouldn’t you want
to get some wear out of the smaller sizes before they hit the Goodwill
bag? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">With weight loss
not being on the list of resolutions, I have spent a few days thinking
long and hard about 2017. Last year I wrote that I wanted to focus on
more bliss. It worked. What do I want to gain this year? Largess. I will
seek a greater beneficence of spirit. How will this play out? I don’t
know yet. Stay tuned…<br />
</span><br />
<br />
</div>
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<article class="post-486 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-christmas category-memoir category-motivation category-uncategorized tag-charles-dickens tag-christmas tag-coeur-d-alene" id="post-486">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=486" rel="bookmark">Christmas is my Culture</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top1.bmp"><img alt="top" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-496" height="222" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top1-300x222.bmp" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
After spending a few cozy days snowed in here on <a href="https://www.lakecoeurdalene.com/on-the-water/campgrounds/windy-bay-boat-park/">Windy Bay,</a> I had time to enjoy this winter wonderland. With many hours in which to contemplate the joys of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a>,
I indulged in all the nostalgia and emotion of the season. As is true
with just about everyone, my mind returned to childhood memories. I
credit my parents and grandparents, and all of their many efforts to
make <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a> magical and wonderful. We sat at long tables wearing paper crowns from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a> crackers in the<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/English_language"> English </a>tradition
and reveled in feasts ending in plum pudding and butter sauce we
thought might kill one of us someday, but that did not stop us from
consuming it until we groaned for mercy.<br />
Don’t look back, some say. It is not the way you are going. Yes, there is wisdom to this line of thinking, but<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas"> Christmas</a>
is a time of permission. I, for one, eat it up. We seek a deeper
connection at this time of year, a strengthening of bonds of love. When I
take out my maternal grandmother’s<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas"> Christmas </a>village
and unpack this little hand- made world, I feel as if I am seven and
wishing I lived in a pretty village where the houses and churches sit
atop a blanket of snow. In all my years in<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coeur_d%27Alene,_Idaho"> Coeur d’ Alene,</a>
I often think of how funny it is that I practically re-created that
charming village in choosing such a charming town in which to live.
Shopping in the local shops on Sherman Avenue is a tradition I cherish.
Our tree now comes from our own woods; the ornaments are old and worn
but carry happy memories for us. We have always tried to keep things
somewhat simple, but by Christmas Eve, we often shake our heads. It is a
time for celebration after all, and yes, we always give books.<br />
In the years I worked at <a href="http://www.coldwatercreek.com/home?src=PGOG5001&gclid=CI2T1sSW9NACFVBafgodOloICg&gclsrc=aw.ds">Coldwater Creek</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas </a>was
a blitz from start to finish. We employees shored each other up, shared
goodies, hot tea, and boiler- plate coffee in order to keep going. We
tracked packages and agonized over mix-ups. We wrote apology letters and
often received replies. I signed company letters with Merry Christmas
and thought I would keep doing so until someone asked me not to. They
never did. I sent cards with the same message, and yes, to friends of
different faiths and traditions. I knew from growing up in a
multi-cultural city, chock full of new immigrants from around the globe,
that culture is passed from mother to daughter, from father to son, and
from grandparents to grandchildren. There is plenty of room at the
table. I witnessed so many hold fast to their traditions while embracing
a new land.<br />
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas </a>is my culture. It is a part of who I am. It is a time of wonder. That is how I aim to keep it.<br />
Devoid of any anger, lacking in perceived threat or guile, I say, Merry Christmas to readers around the world.<br />
“God bless us, everyone.”<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Dickens"> Charles Dickens.</a><br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top.bmp"><img alt="top" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-494" height="210" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top-300x210.bmp" width="300" /></a><br />
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<article class="post-476 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-paul-beatty tag-social-satire" id="post-476">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=476" rel="bookmark">Social Satire</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg"><img alt="the-sellout" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-477" height="293" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
Wikipedia defines social satire as the means by which “vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are subject to ridicule.”<br />
William Shakespeare, Jonathon Swift, Oscar Wilde, and Mark Twain may
be the most familiar practitioners of the form, but now we have another
member of this illustrious club. Largely the purview of cartoonists in
today’s world, a brilliant newcomer steps up to stage.<br />
Long in the habit of reading the winner of the Man Booker Prize, this
year’s choice did not disappoint. The committee is given the challenge
of reading the longlist and then narrowing the field to the shortlist.
While it is a daunting task, it is one I would sign up for any day of
the week. Choosing the best work from an astonishing array of talent
would not be easy, and I can imagine the lively dialogue of dissenting
voices. Bookmakers in England bet on the favorite and the choice is
never easy. However, one clear voice emerged over all others. Paul
Beatty won the coveted award this year.<br />
“<em>The Sellout</em> puts you down in a place that’s miles from where it picked you up.” Dwight Garner, The New York Times.<br />
Social satire is the art of mentioning what we dare not say. If an
absolute bumbler is indulging in vile discourse, then we have the luxury
of laughing, allowing the architect to escape with his or her life. On
the back cover of <em>The Sellout</em> the explanation is offered up this way:<br />
“The work of comic genius at the top of his game,<em> The Sellout</em> questions almost every received notion about American society.”<br />
It is not the subject matter or the form alone that intrigues me. Paul Beatty writes with a voice that is so present, it sings.<br />
From Page 11<br />
“When I was ten, I spent a long night burrowed under my comforter,
cuddled up with Funshine Bear, who, filled with a foamy enigmatic sense
of language and a Bloomian dogmatism, was the most literary of the Care
Bears and my harshest critic. In the musty darkness of the rayon bat
cave, his stubby, all-but-immobile yellow arms struggled to hold the
flashlight steady as together we tried to save the black race in eight
words or less. Putting my homeschool Latin to good use, I’d crank out a
motto, then shove it under his heart-shaped plastic nose for approval….<br />
Semper Fi, Semper Funky raised his polyester hackles, and when he began
to paw the mattress in anger and reared up on his stubby yellow legs,
baring his ursine fangs and claws, I tried to remember what the Cub
Scout manual said to do when confronted by and angry cartoon bear drunk
on stolen credenza wine and editorial power. ‘If you meet an angry
bear-remain calm. Speak in gentle tones, stand your ground, get large,
and write in simple, uplifting Latin sentences.<br />
Unum corpus, una mens, una cor, unum amor.<br />
One body, one mind, one heart, one love.<br />
Not bad. It had a nice license plate ring to it.”<br />
Sitting in Quaker State garage, nestled in among an array of tired
magazines, the vending machine, and the blaring television set, waiting
for the man to come out from the hole in the floor under my car, I was
glad to be alone in the small waiting room. If anyone were to observe me
reading the last pages of <em>The Sellout,</em> they would have seen a
perpetually silly grin on my face. I wished I hadn’t blasted through the
book so quickly because the uplift was a welcome respite. I hope I
don’t have to wait so long to read a work of great social satire again.<br />
</div>
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<article class="post-470 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-motivation tag-american-dream tag-american-history tag-crisis tag-culture" id="post-470">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=470" rel="bookmark">American Dreamer</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/hillbilly-elegy-cover.jpg"><img alt="hillbilly-elegy-cover" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-473" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/hillbilly-elegy-cover-199x300.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
Decline. Is there anyone alive who does not fear it? Is there a way
to ascertain the beginning, the end of the beginning, or the beginning
of the end? How is to be avoided? More importantly, what is it?<br />
J.D. Vance tackles the topic in a moving and personal memoir entitled, <em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hillbilly-Elegy-Memoir-Family-Culture-ebook/dp/B0166ISAS8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477424634&sr=1-1&keywords=hillbilly+elegy">Hillbilly Elegy: A</a></em> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hillbilly-Elegy-Memoir-Family-Culture-ebook/dp/B0166ISAS8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477424634&sr=1-1&keywords=hillbilly+elegy"><em>Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis.</em> </a>In
the introduction, Vance describes himself as a Scots-Irish hillbilly at
heart. He lets us know that his tribe is a pessimistic bunch.<br />
Caught up in the belief that to look through a glass darkly is to be
avoided at all costs, I was drawn into the story right away. We know
from the beginning that J.D. Vance climbed from his uncertain origins to
graduating from Yale law school. The story outlines the journey. It is
uplifting because there is not a person alive who does not wonder if
they had been born in unfortunate circumstances, or were challenged by
terrible poverty, would they be one of the few to make it out? Readers
are placed squarely into the houses and schools and yards of Vance’s
life with an almost breathless desire to see him succeed. While he does
not pretend to have the answers, he neither blames nor preaches; the
book reads as a statement of fact. Look about.<br />
Going back to the Scots-Irish, or the Ulster Scots, and the roots of
their beginning, I knew from learning about the English Civil War, that
the term goes back to the plantations of Northern Ireland. Cromwell gave
vast tracts of conquered land in Ireland for the Scots to settle. Many
had been soldiers in his army and this new land represented the spoils
of war. It was hoped that they would take root and serve to be a
permanent anchor in Ireland. That set the stage for centuries of
conflict and strife. They had to fight to maintain their foothold, and
fight they did. The second migration to America yielded a group who
settled in the hills of Appalachia to eke out a living. We know that
George Washington used them handily, as did Stonewall Jackson. Wanting
nothing more than a fair shot at the American dream, and never asking
for help or handouts, became a hallmark of their values. As the jobs
became scarce and the resources few and far between, what we learn from
Vance’s experience is that we need to understand this despair.<br />
To say this book struck a cord with readers is an understatement.
Currently, it is topping the charts of the New York Times Bestseller
list. A memoir, written with such clarity and ease, will always do well,
but the success of this book speaks to something larger. We are in a
time when everyone seems to be scratching their heads. Hope is
infectious, and there is much in this book that provides it. We learn
that when Vance applied to Law School he automatically eliminated the
big Ivy League choices thinking that he would neither qualify nor be
able to pay the tuition.<br />
On Page 199 he writes:<br />
“The New York Times recently reported that the most expensive schools
are paradoxically cheaper for low-income students. At Harvard, the
student would pay only about thirteen hundred while the tuition is forty
thousand. Of course, kids like me don’t know this.”<br />
When I became an American Citizen, in my welcome packet was a letter
from the President encouraging me to take advantage of the many
opportunities before me. I could not think of a nicer welcome. Not
knowing what else to do with that information, I kept my eyes and ears
open. What Vance is writing about is all too familiar. I know what it is
like to grow up in a family whose ethic is based on hard work and never
taking handouts of any kind. It is the most uncomfortable feeling in
the world to choose to succeed knowing that you may not have the support
of those closest to you. Do it anyway. That is the great message of
this book.<br />
“Hope is the thing with feathers,” wrote Emily Dickinson. What were her
chances of achieving any success as a poet, let alone immortality? The
crisis of any culture is solved when the challenge is met, and necessary
changes are made. That is what enabled J. D. Vance to travel from the
“holler,” to Ohio, to the Marines, to College, to law school and then to
where he is today sitting at the top of the charts.<br />
</div>
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<article class="post-460 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-motivation category-sports tag-boxing tag-muhammed-ali" id="post-460">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=460" rel="bookmark">“Float Like a Butterfly”</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg"><img alt="Ali" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-464" height="182" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
Today we look back on the life of a man who came into this world as<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muhammad_Ali"> Cassius Clay</a>.
He captured the attention of America, not only by his prowess in the
ring but by the stand he took against the Vietnam War. While he is
eulogized across all media outlets, I wish to share a personal story
about the day<a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776"> Ali </a>came to our town. We were all in an uproar.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935.jpg"><img alt="MLG 1935" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-463" height="239" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935-300x239.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
To set the stage, I must part the mists of time and go back to the month of March 1966, when a fight, booked at<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens</a>
in Toronto, tore our family asunder. The stadium built on a wing and a
prayer housed many boxing matches, but this was a fight like no other.
My grandfather, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conn_Smythe_Trophy">Conn Smythe,</a>
still at the helm as Chairman of Board, hit the roof over the prospect
of a known draft dodger darkening the door of his temple. A veteran and
hero of two world wars, he was a consummate military man who felt that
that duty to one’s country was sacrosanct. The only reason the fight was
booked north of the border is that no American stadium would allow the
match between Ali and Ernie Terrell to take place. Small town radio disc
jockeys were having a field day saying that in no way shape or form
would their town allow the Ali/Terrell fight. My grandfather agreed. The
Forum in Montreal declined, and he believed we should do the same. My
father, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stafford_Smythe">Stafford Smythe, </a>President of the <a href="http://mapleleafs.nhl.com/">Toronto Maple Leafs</a>,
and a war veteran himself chose not to slam the door in Ali’s face and
refused to knuckle under. We in the Smythe family had two fights on our
hands.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations.jpg"><img alt="four generations" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-465" height="168" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations-300x168.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
As the youngest daughter and a preteen at the time, we were all
involved in the donnybrook. My mother thought my grandfather would cool
off in time. My brother, the go-between, told us otherwise. It was less
than a year since we lost our grandmother, the peacemaker, and we were
scared. A way out presented itself when Terrell, unable to meet the
financial obligation, backed out. My father’s partner, Harold Ballard,
in charge of all non-hockey related attractions and the man who had set
the whole show on the road, refused to budge. He found a Canadian boxer
by the name of<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Stafford+Smythe&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8#q=George+Chuvalo"> George Chuvalo</a>
to accept the challenge. With a scant twenty-three days in which to
train, we had a new fear that raced around the school yard, was
discussed by Moms over coffee, had people calling our house incessantly,
and seemed like a real possibility. Ali would kill Chuvalo. Everyone
said if he didn’t kill him he would knock him out in the first round. It
would be a joke, a waste of time for anyone who bought a ticket, and a
disgrace to Toronto and our beloved<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens.</a> My father would have blood on his hands.<br />
As the day approached, my grandfather had neither softened nor
cooled. He increased his efforts, calling boxing officials and trying to
get the match stopped. <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a> crossed the border and arrived in Toronto. He later said that he had never been treated as nicely anywhere.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head.jpg"><img alt="head to head" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-466" height="159" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head-300x159.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
The fight was one of the greatest of Ali’s life. It went fifteen
rounds. George Chuvalo came out from his corner with fierce
determination. He remained standing to the bitter end. He was
incredible, and so was Ali. It was the greatest fight to ever take place
at Maple Leaf Gardens. It changed our lives. It was a turning point.<br />
One day over lunch when describing this incident to a friend she
said, “Isn’t that the Rocky story?” George Chuvalo is still with us. He
is as strong as ever, and he is still one of my heroes.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg"><img alt="Chuvalo" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-467" height="104" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg" width="185" /></a><br />
At this point in time, as we say farewell to Ali, may he be
remembered as the champion he became. There is more to his story than
meets the eye. He was supposed to do what he was told; I heard this just
about everywhere I went. He wasn’t obedient. He was uppity. He didn’t
know his place. Perhaps this is true. He was a man who decided that his
place was within the realm of his own choosing. One could not help but
admire the courage with which he lived his life. “Float like a
butterfly, sting like a bee.” The stinging is over now. Float in peace, <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a>. We will always be glad you came to town.<br />
</div>
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<article class="post-451 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-self-help category-uncategorized tag-edit tag-mills-college tag-style tag-toasters tag-vanity-fair" id="post-451">
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<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=451" rel="bookmark">Treasure in the Trash</a>
</h1>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg"><img alt="old mills college" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-452" height="196" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg" width="257" /></a> Mills College, Oakland, California</div>
<br />
“Beware lest in attempting the grand, you overshoot the mark and become grandiose.” <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voltaire">Voltaire</a><br />
I came across this snippet the other day on<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=twitter&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8"> Twitter</a>. The advice, earmarked to writers, could apply to just about anything. It would certainly apply to editing.<br />
This time of year we are in a grand editing process. While the
natural world springs to life, we need to make room for things to grow.
Keep this and discard that. How do we decide? It was on Easter Sunday
that I heard of the concept of holding up hangers in the closet and
asking yourself if the object in your hand affords joy. What a great
idea. Those of us whose parents were children in the Depression years
were schooled, in some cases quite harshly, about discarding things
willy-nilly. It can be a source of great strife between couples
depending on the ferocity of the message. Every object in the house
could have a use at some point and to have to run out and purchase
something recently discarded, can cause genuine distress. Others want to
pare down, and certainly the modern look we see displayed in stores and
magazines is becoming more and more devoid of clutter.<br />
Yesterday, we celebrated motherhood and mothers who gave tirelessly
to shape our sensibility. I did think of my mother when I read
Voltaire’s comment. I thought about how it would make her laugh. As she
worked in her later years as an interior designer she had renowned
taste. She found a way to reconcile her childhood teachings with
creating beautiful surroundings. Her possessions grace the homes of her
children, and grandchildren. She chose objects with care, and they have
lasted the test of time. She would tell us that something “looked
tired.” It could be a table. Once it acquired this sense of fatigue, it
was out the door to anyone who would take it. How do I stand on this
issue? I feel as if I have one foot in a boat and the other on the dock.
A decision needs to be made quickly before disaster strikes. The age of
some pieces that adorn our lives never ceases to amaze me. We make our
toast every morning in a toaster that has been in use my entire life. It
has never broken. The toast goes down automatically and comes up by
itself perfectly. Almost everything I surround myself with is old.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster.jpg"><img alt="old toaster" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-455" height="245" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster-300x245.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
I am drawn to the blank page because it is empty. I want to fill it
up. Years ago, I thought writing a novel just involved getting enough
words together to fill up all the pages. The sad truth came from a
gifted teacher, a novelist who taught at <a href="http://www.mills.edu/">Mills College</a>
and she gave it to me straight. “You may have filled up your briefcase
with pages, but you have not written a novel.” Together we worked with
what I had, and I learned that the real trick is filling up pages and
then throwing them in the garbage. Hemingway once said that he could
tell that his writing was going well when the waste-basket was full of
really good stuff.<br />
Yesterday I read a quote in<a href="http://www.vanityfair.com/"> Vanity Fair</a> from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lee_Radziwill">Lee Radiwill</a>. “Great style is editing.”<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg"><img alt="Lee Radziwill" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-453" height="183" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg" width="275" /></a><br />
Whether it is in art, a beautiful interior or an excellent book, that
is the key. Do you know what great designers have? Storage units. One
piece, edited out, may reappear years later in another place and time.
The same is true for chapters or paragraphs of any work in progress.
Gone are the days when we ripped a sheet of paper from the typewriter
and tossed it in a nearby bin. We can watch our words disappear before
our very eyes. Or, like me, you might just want to keep them in a
separate document. Perhaps they may improve with age. Out of all the
rubbish, a new idea may germinate.<br />
Toaster photo: “Copyright © 2016 by Craig Rairdin.”<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=edit" rel="tag">Edit</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=mills-college" rel="tag">Mills College</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=style" rel="tag">Style</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=toasters" rel="tag">toasters</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=vanity-fair" rel="tag">Vanity Fair</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=451" rel="bookmark" title="5:51 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-05-09T17:51:39+00:00">May 9, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=451&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-442 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-non-fiction category-uncategorized tag-hobbes tag-idaho tag-jane-mayer tag-locke-rousseau tag-political-science" id="post-442">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=442" rel="bookmark">The Discipline of Desire</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/John-Locke.jpg"><img alt="John Locke" class="size-medium wp-image-443 alignright" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/John-Locke-230x300.jpg" width="230" /></a><br />
“The discipline of desire is the background of character.”<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=John+Locke&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8"> John Locke</a><br />
How do we maintain a free society? Is it bred in the bone, or is it up for grabs?<br />
Having just finished reading Jane Mayer’s<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Money-History-Billionaires-Radical/dp/0385535597/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1459362128&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+money"> <em>Dark Money</em>,</a>
my eyes have been opened. It is not as if I did not know about the
undue influence of special interests in government; everyone is aware of
this fact. The term “special interests,” is vague, and if you cannot
put a face to something, it is hard to imagine. Television advertising
paid for by groups with names that sound good, Americans for this, that,
or the other thing, makes a person think that these organizations are
comprised of a group of individuals who came together to help solve
problems. What we are not aware of is from whom the funding comes.
Likewise, we don’t always know to what ends. Like most people, I err on
the side of a general belief that people are inherently good. This line
of thinking is the product of a Swiss- born French philosopher who
influenced Thomas Jefferson,<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/702720-du-contrat-social-ou-principes-du-droit-politique"> Jean-Jacques Rousseau. (1712-1778) </a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Rousseau.jpg"><img alt="Rousseau" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-444" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Rousseau-227x300.jpg" width="227" /></a><br />
“Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.”</div>
Hobbes, on the other hand, described life as, “solitary, nasty,
brutish and short.” Having witnessed the English Civil War, his outlook
was both Calvinistic and pessimistic.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
John Locke, the other great influence, wrote in <a href="http://m/Treatises-Government-Everyman-John-Locke/dp/0460873563/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1459362272&sr=1-1&keywords=two+treatises+of+government+by+john+locke">Two Treatise of Government</a>, “We are like chameleons. We take our hue and the color of our moral character from those around us.”</div>
I am not blind to the fact self-interest drives most decisions. When
Jane Mayer described the heart of the ideology of the far right, she
expressed the beliefs of some that there should be no limit as to what
people can acquire and keep. Many would say that is what made America.
Ronald Regan, running for President in 1980 asked, “What is wrong with
letting people keep their own money?” It is a good question. It seems
like every democracy has been in this argument forever. Remember the
heated exchanges between Archie Bunker and the Meathead we laughed at on
All in the Family? We all have friends who are on opposite sides, and
the day we can no longer have these lively debates would be a very sad
day indeed. It is completely understandable that if you amassed a great
fortune, you would naturally feel you had something significant to
contribute to the discourse. You would also feel that you lived in a
great country that made it all possible, and that you wouldn’t want
anything to change. You would want to find politicians who would do your
bidding when you came up against roadblocks. You would pick up the
phone and demand action. You may even believe that you do not have any
responsibility to your fellow man. You may feel as John Locke stated
that the only purpose of government is the defense of property. You may
choose to devote considerable time and resources to furthering these
views. Would that constitute undue influence, or would it be
contributing to the discourse? That is that is the question.<br />
There is, however, one flaw in this thinking. Hammered into my head
in my teens, by the Headmistress of my school was this universal truth
from the Bible: “To whom much has been given, much will be required.”
Fans of <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/downtonabbey/">Downton Abbey </a>will remember that it was played out in nearly every episode. <em>Nobless Oblige</em>.
If fortune has smiled on you, it is your duty to make your life about
good works. One can see philanthropy everywhere, and one can point to
all the generosity displayed by the wealthy. Some feel there should be
no taxes at all, and if let alone, people would naturally give aid where
it is needed. The only flaw I see in that philosophy is that it is too
willy-nilly. It is not organized. When George H. W. Bush referred to “a
thousand points of light,” in a speech written for him by Peggy Noonan,
it sounded well and good. A little here and a little there does not
build roads and bridges. So we aught to question the belief that we
would be better off without any government at all. Too much would not be
good either because I still believe that I was born free.<br />
Out here on Windy Bay, in the beautiful state of<a href="http://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho,</a>
watching the great birds return from the south, I see that life is
primarily about nest building and fishing. Maybe I can take my “hue and
color” from them.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/eagle-in-Canada.jpg"><img alt="eagle in Canada" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-446" height="193" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/eagle-in-Canada-300x193.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=hobbes" rel="tag">Hobbes</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jane-mayer" rel="tag">Jane Mayer</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=locke-rousseau" rel="tag">Locke Rousseau</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=political-science" rel="tag">Political Science</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=442" rel="bookmark" title="6:35 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-03-30T18:35:59+00:00">March 30, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=442&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-435 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-historical-fiction tag-idaho-toronto tag-montreal tag-potatoes" id="post-435">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=435" rel="bookmark">No Small Potatoes</a>
</h1>
</header>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Map-of-Idaho-potato.jpg"><img alt="Map of Idaho potato" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-437" height="144" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Map-of-Idaho-potato.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>
There has been a movement afoot in literature to focus on one
commodity, and make a book of it. People have written about salt, wine,
and chocolate. I wondered if anyone has written about what the great
state of<a href="http://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho</a> is known for, namely, the potato.<br />
How did this come to pass? How is it that when a person from Idaho
travels, he or she is inevitably asked about potatoes. It turns out that
Idaho was a trailblazer in this regard when in 1937 the<a href="https://idahopotato.com/"> Idaho Potato Commission </a>was
founded. This body, funded by a tax paid by potato farmers, set out to
advertise on radio and later television, to create a brand identity from
a single crop. With a seal fashioned, the customers were encouraged to
look for that mark when purchasing what was to become our famous
potatoes. Lots of other states grow the crop, but the affection and
identity formed by the commission created a market for thirteen billion
pounds of spuds, one- third of all those sold in the United States.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Galway-Bay.jpg"><img alt="Galway Bay" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-439" height="293" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Galway-Bay.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
On a past St. Patrick’s Day, a dear friend by the name of Mary, told me
about a book she had just read by Mary Pat Kelly. Entitled, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Galway-Bay-Mary-Pat-Kelly/dp/0446697109/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458142534&sr=1-1&keywords=galway+bay"><em>Galway Bay,</em></a>
the novel is an actual oral history passed down from one generation to
the next. Told primarily through the women, it is the tale of one
immigrant family and their travails from Ireland to Chicago. While it is
not about the potato famine, called An Gorda Mor in Gaelic, it is the
great catalyst of the tale.</div>
“They tried to kill us, but we didn’t die.” The thread of this story,
handed down through the ages, is one of incredible hardship and then
survival.<br />
When I was in school in Toronto, I recall the day the teacher told us
that the famine was caused by a lazy population who stupidly lived on
one crop because they could not be bothered to grow anything else.<br />
“When that crop suffered a blight they starved,” she told us, with
the implication that they should have known better hanging in the air.<br />
I remember looking out the window, trying to sift through her facts
with what I knew about my own family, all of whom are avid gardeners and
farmers. At home, I asked if the story were true and heard that food
had been exported to England all through those dark days. Imagine having
to take the harvest to market, load a ship and return home to a house
of desperate want. As the “croppies” were only given a scant bit of land
to cultivate for private use, the “pratties” gave the highest yield and
provided the greatest nourishment.<br />
These are the facts: 750,000 were confirmed dead of starvation. Bearing
in mind that many more died in the coffin ships landing in Montreal and
Boston, this would be a severe underestimation. Without the hospitals,
or the manpower necessary to deal with the influx, the sick passengers
arriving in Quebec were put on an island in the St. Lawrence and left
exposed to the elements. Promised, land, cash and food upon arrival,
they arrived to find nothing and no way home. The bit of land they left
behind on the dear, old sod had been exchanged for the price of their
passage. Cecil Woodham Smith reported that during the famine years,
257,000 sheep were exported to England from lands held by absentee
landlords. 480,827 swine went over as well as 186,483 head of cattle.
Not even mentioning other crops, the picture is clear.<br />
There is a happy ending to this tale. The Irish flourished in both the United States and Canada. Reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Galway-Bay-Mary-Pat-Kelly/dp/0446697109/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458142534&sr=1-1&keywords=galway+bay"><em>Galway Bay</em> </a>prompted
me to look up the history of my maternal grandmother, Rose Cahill
Gaudette. One of ten children in her family, I learned that her mother
was the oldest in a family of ten. Examining records found on
Ancestry.com, my blood ran cold when I saw the date. In 1848, Thomas
Cahill arrived in Montreal. Famine. Coffin ship. Most of the passengers
died, and their bodies were tossed over. Of the living, it was decided
to send the Irish on a barge to Toronto. The sun blazed and the fair
skins burned. Once again they were placed on an island off shore. Yet
the good people of the city rowed out in small boats and volunteered to
tend the sick, risking their own lives in the process. The Cahills made
their way to the gorgeous Ottawa valley, carved a life in the
wilderness, and flourished.<br />
From one noun a great story may unfold.<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho-toronto" rel="tag">Idaho Toronto</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=montreal" rel="tag">Montreal</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=potatoes" rel="tag">potatoes</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=435" rel="bookmark" title="3:48 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-03-16T15:48:16+00:00">March 16, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=435&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-23502990285302825692017-01-19T08:04:00.000-08:002017-01-19T08:04:41.493-08:00Page One
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/portrait-of-Geoge-Washington.jpg"><img alt="portrait of Geoge Washington" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-509" height="268" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/portrait-of-Geoge-Washington.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
<br />
It is fitting that I finished <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_McCullough">David McCullough’s</a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_5_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=1776+mccullough&sprefix=1776%2Caps%2C571&crid=2HZ7V1N22WKBZ"> 1776</a> this week. The book, published in 2005 by <a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/">Simon and Schuster</a>,
hit number one on the national bestseller list. It is not the topic
that afforded this success: the skill lies in the narrative which is
engaging and gripping. Too often history is viewed as dull and boring by
those who may have this impression solely from textbooks. McCullough
wisely focuses on the characters. He brings to life the pictures of
armies marching, of ships landing, of those who were engaged in the
effort, and whose task was the more arduous. How do you put down a
rebellion on a distant shore, landing by ship to unfamiliar ground? How
do you stop the mighty in their tracks? It was a markedly difficult task
for both sides, and as you read the description of battles, it seems
that the smart money would certainly have fallen for the British. They
had skilled troops who were trained and disciplined while <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">George Washington’</a>s army seemingly sprang up quite suddenly.<br />
<br />
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<br />
History belongs to the victors, but in this case, McCullough presents a clear picture of two sides of the coin. He paints<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington"> Washington</a>
as a man of British ancestry who sought to duplicate the life of
English gentry on American soil. He cared deeply about the addition he
envisioned and was in the process of building at Mount Vernon. He
oversaw all of the details and professed an abhorrence for disorder. The
trappings of his comfortable existence in the form of clothing,
footwear, books, coach and even the glass in his house were all imported
from London. This would not be uncommon for any prosperous colonial,
but it struck me as ironic. Like most heroes, his ascent was a reluctant
one. Nor did he have a steadfast belief in his men; there were
statements recorded of his disdain at times. According to McCullough, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington </a>was
blessed with a bit of luck, favorable weather, and marked persistence:
his efforts were successful because of these factors. In my attempt to
gain a sense of the George <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington,</a> I found the most telling description came from picturing him riding to hounds.<br />
<br />
From page 48.<br />
“Found a fox in Phil Alexander’s island which was lost after a chase
of seven hours,” Washington recorded in his diary at the end of one
winter day in 1772, but he did not give up, as shown in his entry for
the day following: ‘Found a fox in the same place again which was killed
at the end of 6 hours.’”<br />
What struck me about this description was not the fact that he
engaged in the sport of fox hunting, but that he did not do it lightly,
for the fun and revelry, but to accomplish what he set out to do. He did
not give up. The bedrock of his character lies in his obstinacy. He
could be wrong, he could be temporarily defeated, he could be
confounded, but he did not quit.<br />
<br />
Concerning the sheer logistics of the effort, it is remarkable to
contemplate from today’s perspective. We can communicate around the
world from our fingertips; they were marching blind into the night. Not
only did they not know where and when the British might strike, but they
also had no clear idea of the opposition from their fellow citizens.<br />
<br />
Page 118<br />
“In Boston, where the comparatively few Loyalists of Massachusetts
had either fled the country or were bottled up with the British, there
had never been a serious threat from ‘internal foes,’in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington">Washington’</a>s
phrase. In New York, the atmosphere was entirely different. The city
remained divided and tense. Loyalist, or Tory, sentiment, while less
conspicuous than it had been, was widespread and ranged from militant to
the disaffected, to those hesitant about declaring themselves patriots
for a variety of reasons, trade, and commerce not being the least of
them.<br />
<br />
“Two- thirds of the property in New York belonged to Tories. The year
before, in 1775, more than half the New York Chamber of Commerce were
avowed Loyalists.” p.119<br />
<br />
It boggles the mind to think on this now. People who lived and
prospered together had taken sides, some divided by region, and others
quite mixed. How would it all pan out? How would they manage to live
side by side again? In most cases, they did not; the Tories, or
Loyalists, left and sailed north leaving behind established farms and
businesses generations in the making.<br />
<br />
From p. 240<br />
“The problem was not that there were too few American soldiers in the
thirteen states. There were plenty, but the states were reluctant to
send the troops they had to fight the war, preferring to keep them close
to home, and especially as the war was not going well. In August,
Washington had had an army or 20,000. In the three months since he had
lost four battles- at Brooklyn, Kips Bay, White Plains, and Fort
Washington- they gave up Fort Lee without a fight. His army was now
divided as it had not been in August and, just as young Lieutenant
Monroe had speculated, he had only about 3, 500 troops under his
command- that was all.”<br />
<br />
Part of what makes McCulloughs work so gripping is that even though
we know the outcome, we are caught up in the impossibility of the quest.
He gives us a picture of the burning of New York, of the wet and
exhausted troops deserting, of common folk called into the fight with
some of the gentry joining and others disagreeing. I truly enjoyed the
picture McCullough painted of the British landing on Long Island and
thoroughly delighting in the land of plenty. Pleasantly surprised by the
abundance of delicious fruit, they remarked on well-tended farms and
handsome houses pleasingly furnished. Some felt that Americans were
prospering at their expense.<br />
<br />
How many mothers have said to how many squabbling children that there
are two sides to every story? “Unremitting courage and perseverance,”
is what Washington asked of his officers and soldiers. One percent of
the population was lost to the effort. Those forced to flee are also
part of the tale. This week, in the United States, the page turns one
more time. A new chapter awaits. We have better communication than ever
before, but seemingly, with less understanding of one another. We
struggle, we strive, we are determined, and we persevere. We have hope,
and we have fear: in that we are united. E Pluribus Unum carries a lot
of weight.<br />
<footer class="entry-meta"> </footer><footer class="entry-meta"> </footer><footer class="entry-meta">This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=1776" rel="tag">1776</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-revolution" rel="tag">American Revolution</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=david-mccullough" rel="tag">David McCullough</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=freedom" rel="tag">Freedom</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=george-washington" rel="tag">George Washington</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=508" rel="bookmark" title="1:31 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2017-01-19T01:31:23+00:00">January 19, 2017</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=508&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-78718792084044886852017-01-05T16:09:00.000-08:002017-01-05T16:09:51.471-08:00Diets Don't Work: Part Two<div class="site-content" id="primary">
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg"><img alt="snowy Idaho" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-385" height="176" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg" width="286" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Last year at this
time, I shared my goals for the new year. Proclaiming that for the first
time losing weight did not top my resolutions, I am happy to report
that dieting, once again, has no place in my intentions. So how much
weight did I pack on in 2016? None. Not dieting resulted in a loss that
has me hovering around the ideal. What are the lessons to be learned? As
always, I can only speak for myself. I am a rewards based creature, an
epicurean who loves delicious food, great music and literature, and I am
a happy soul who believes in letting the good times roll.<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Blake"> Blake </a>said,
“ The road to excess leads to the palace of wisdom.” Deprivation never
did anyone any good. That is my sage advice for dieters.</span><br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/P1010598.jpg"><img alt="OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA" class="size-medium wp-image-490" height="225" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/P1010598-300x225.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">When weight loss
becomes noticeable comments will fly. They are often hilarious, combined
with a one-two punch, a compliment wrapped in a teensy bit of
hostility. Mostly, people want to know about the method. How easy is it
to say, “<a href="https://www.atkins.com/register?mcid=riseppcgglbrand&cl_vend=google&cl_ch=sem&cl_camp=188853576&cl_adg=9633835896&cl_crtv=61528816896&cl_kw=atkins&cl_pub=google.com&cl_place=&cl_dvt=c&cl_dvm=&cl_pos=1t1&cl_mt=e&cl_gtid=kwd-16609371&gclid=COa55oCMrNECFVKFfgodsjEC8A">Atkins</a>, or <a href="http://www.southbeachdiet.com/home/index.jsp?gclid=COLrr6CMrNECFU1ufgodoi8C5w">South Beach</a>, or<a href="https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/?cid=sem_us_ggl_brand_core_main_ex_weight-watchers"> Weight Watchers</a>.”
Those are all noble programs which many have tried and are armed
against. The comment I heard most is that “you did this slowly.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">I do everything
slowly. My family of origin, endowed with a large dollop of ingrained
impatience, pointed this out to me constantly. My “creeping like snail”
drove everyone around me nuts. I stubbornly refused to change and to
this day, hate being pushed. At the same time, I can be impatient too.
So the slow technique will probably not be a winner, nor will it sell
the latest diet book. We gain weight gradually, so would it not stand to
reason that it may take an equal measure of time to burn it off? After
all, if you are going to go down a pant size or two, wouldn’t you want
to get some wear out of the smaller sizes before they hit the Goodwill
bag? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">With weight loss
not being on the list of resolutions, I have spent a few days thinking
long and hard about 2017. Last year I wrote that I wanted to focus on
more bliss. It worked. What do I want to gain this year? Largess. I will
seek a greater beneficence of spirit. How will this play out? I don’t
know yet. Stay tuned…<br />
</span><br />
<br />
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-63076968474495029702016-12-14T11:49:00.002-08:002016-12-14T13:38:12.341-08:00Christmas is my Culture<div class="entry-content">
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<br />
After spending a few cozy days snowed in here on <a href="https://www.lakecoeurdalene.com/on-the-water/campgrounds/windy-bay-boat-park/">Windy Bay,</a> I had time to enjoy this winter wonderland. With many hours in which to contemplate the joys of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a>,
I indulged in all the nostalgia and emotion of the season. As is true
with just about everyone, my mind returned to childhood memories. I
credit my parents and grandparents, and all of their many efforts to
make <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a> magical and wonderful. We sat at long tables wearing paper crowns from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas</a> crackers in the<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/English_language"> English </a>tradition
and reveled in feasts ending in plum pudding and butter sauce we
thought might kill one of us someday, but that did not stop us from
consuming it until we groaned for mercy.<br />
Don’t look back, some say. It is not the way you are going. Yes, there is wisdom to this line of thinking, but<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas"> Christmas</a>
is a time of permission. I, for one, eat it up. We seek a deeper
connection at this time of year, a strengthening of bonds of love. When I
take out my maternal grandmother’s<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas"> Christmas </a>village
and unpack this little hand- made world, I feel as if I am seven and
wishing I lived in a pretty village where the houses and churches sit
atop a blanket of snow. In all my years in<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coeur_d%27Alene,_Idaho"> Coeur d’ Alene,</a>
I often think of how funny it is that I practically re-created that
charming village in choosing such a charming town in which to live.
Shopping in the local shops on Sherman Avenue is a tradition I cherish.
Our tree now comes from our own woods; the ornaments are old and worn
but carry happy memories for us. We have always tried to keep things
somewhat simple, but by Christmas Eve, we often shake our heads. It is a
time for celebration after all, and yes, we always give books.<br />
In the years I worked at <a href="http://www.coldwatercreek.com/home?src=PGOG5001&gclid=CI2T1sSW9NACFVBafgodOloICg&gclsrc=aw.ds">Coldwater Creek</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas </a>was
a blitz from start to finish. We employees shored each other up, shared
goodies, hot tea, and boiler- plate coffee in order to keep going. We
tracked packages and agonized over mix-ups. We wrote apology letters and
often received replies. I signed company letters with Merry Christmas
and thought I would keep doing so until someone asked me not to. They
never did. I sent cards with the same message, and yes, to friends of
different faiths and traditions. I knew from growing up in a
multi-cultural city, chock full of new immigrants from around the globe,
that culture is passed from mother to daughter, from father to son, and
from grandparents to grandchildren. There is plenty of room at the
table. I witnessed so many hold fast to their traditions while embracing
a new land.<br />
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas">Christmas </a>is my culture. It is a part of who I am. It is a time of wonder. That is how I aim to keep it.<br />
Devoid of any anger, lacking in perceived threat or guile, I say, Merry Christmas to readers around the world.<br />
“God bless us, everyone.”<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Dickens"> Charles Dickens.</a><br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top.bmp"><img alt="top" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-494" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/Top-300x210.bmp" height="210" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=60" rel="category">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=14" rel="category">Memoir</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=charles-dickens" rel="tag">Charles Dickens</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=christmas" rel="tag">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=coeur-d-alene" rel="tag">Coeur d' Alene</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=486" rel="bookmark" title="7:38 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-12-14T19:38:33+00:00">December 14, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
<article class="post-476 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-paul-beatty tag-social-satire" id="post-476">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=476" rel="bookmark">Social Satire</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg"><img alt="the-sellout" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-477" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg" height="293" width="196" /></a></div>
Wikipedia defines social satire as the means by which “vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are subject to ridicule.”<br />
William Shakespeare, Jonathon Swift, Oscar Wilde, and Mark Twain may
be the most familiar practitioners of the form, but now we have another
member of this illustrious club. Largely the purview of cartoonists in
today’s world, a brilliant newcomer steps up to stage.<br />
Long in the habit of reading the winner of the Man Booker Prize, this
year’s choice did not disappoint. The committee is given the challenge
of reading the longlist and then narrowing the field to the shortlist.
While it is a daunting task, it is one I would sign up for any day of
the week. Choosing the best work from an astonishing array of talent
would not be easy, and I can imagine the lively dialogue of dissenting
voices. Bookmakers in England bet on the favorite and the choice is
never easy. However, one clear voice emerged over all others. Paul
Beatty won the coveted award this year.<br />
“<i>The Sellout</i> puts you down in a place that’s miles from where it picked you up.” Dwight Garner, The New York Times.<br />
Social satire is the art of mentioning what we dare not say. If an
absolute bumbler is indulging in vile discourse, then we have the luxury
of laughing, allowing the architect to escape with his or her life. On
the back cover of <i>The Sellout</i> the explanation is offered up this way:<br />
“The work of comic genius at the top of his game,<i> The Sellout</i> questions almost every received notion about American society.”<br />
It is not the subject matter or the form alone that intrigues me. Paul Beatty writes with a voice that is so present, it sings.<br />
From Page 11<br />
“When I was ten, I spent a long night burrowed under my comforter,
cuddled up with Funshine Bear, who, filled with a foamy enigmatic sense
of language and a Bloomian dogmatism, was the most literary of the Care
Bears and my harshest critic. In the musty darkness of the rayon bat
cave, his stubby, all-but-immobile yellow arms struggled to hold the
flashlight steady as together we tried to save the black race in eight
words or less. Putting my homeschool Latin to good use, I’d crank out a
motto, then shove it under his heart-shaped plastic nose for approval….<br />
Semper Fi, Semper Funky raised his polyester hackles, and when he began
to paw the mattress in anger and reared up on his stubby yellow legs,
baring his ursine fangs and claws, I tried to remember what the Cub
Scout manual said to do when confronted by and angry cartoon bear drunk
on stolen credenza wine and editorial power. ‘If you meet an angry
bear-remain calm. Speak in gentle tones, stand your ground, get large,
and write in simple, uplifting Latin sentences.<br />
Unum corpus, una mens, una cor, unum amor.<br />
One body, one mind, one heart, one love.<br />
Not bad. It had a nice license plate ring to it.”<br />
Sitting in Quaker State garage, nestled in among an array of tired
magazines, the vending machine, and the blaring television set, waiting
for the man to come out from the hole in the floor under my car, I was
glad to be alone in the small waiting room. If anyone were to observe me
reading the last pages of <i>The Sellout,</i> they would have seen a
perpetually silly grin on my face. I wished I hadn’t blasted through the
book so quickly because the uplift was a welcome respite. I hope I
don’t have to wait so long to read a work of great social satire again.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=paul-beatty" rel="tag">Paul Beatty</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=social-satire" rel="tag">social satire</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=476" rel="bookmark" title="10:52 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-11-23T22:52:07+00:00">November 23, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-470 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-motivation tag-american-dream tag-american-history tag-crisis tag-culture" id="post-470">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=470" rel="bookmark">American Dreamer</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/hillbilly-elegy-cover.jpg"><img alt="hillbilly-elegy-cover" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-473" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/hillbilly-elegy-cover-199x300.jpg" height="300" width="199" /></a></div>
Decline. Is there anyone alive who does not fear it? Is there a way
to ascertain the beginning, the end of the beginning, or the beginning
of the end? How is to be avoided? More importantly, what is it?<br />
J.D. Vance tackles the topic in a moving and personal memoir entitled, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hillbilly-Elegy-Memoir-Family-Culture-ebook/dp/B0166ISAS8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477424634&sr=1-1&keywords=hillbilly+elegy">Hillbilly Elegy: A</a></i> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hillbilly-Elegy-Memoir-Family-Culture-ebook/dp/B0166ISAS8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477424634&sr=1-1&keywords=hillbilly+elegy"><i>Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis.</i> </a>In
the introduction, Vance describes himself as a Scots-Irish hillbilly at
heart. He lets us know that his tribe is a pessimistic bunch.<br />
Caught up in the belief that to look through a glass darkly is to be
avoided at all costs, I was drawn into the story right away. We know
from the beginning that J.D. Vance climbed from his uncertain origins to
graduating from Yale law school. The story outlines the journey. It is
uplifting because there is not a person alive who does not wonder if
they had been born in unfortunate circumstances, or were challenged by
terrible poverty, would they be one of the few to make it out? Readers
are placed squarely into the houses and schools and yards of Vance’s
life with an almost breathless desire to see him succeed. While he does
not pretend to have the answers, he neither blames nor preaches; the
book reads as a statement of fact. Look about.<br />
Going back to the Scots-Irish, or the Ulster Scots, and the roots of
their beginning, I knew from learning about the English Civil War, that
the term goes back to the plantations of Northern Ireland. Cromwell gave
vast tracts of conquered land in Ireland for the Scots to settle. Many
had been soldiers in his army and this new land represented the spoils
of war. It was hoped that they would take root and serve to be a
permanent anchor in Ireland. That set the stage for centuries of
conflict and strife. They had to fight to maintain their foothold, and
fight they did. The second migration to America yielded a group who
settled in the hills of Appalachia to eke out a living. We know that
George Washington used them handily, as did Stonewall Jackson. Wanting
nothing more than a fair shot at the American dream, and never asking
for help or handouts, became a hallmark of their values. As the jobs
became scarce and the resources few and far between, what we learn from
Vance’s experience is that we need to understand this despair.<br />
To say this book struck a cord with readers is an understatement.
Currently, it is topping the charts of the New York Times Bestseller
list. A memoir, written with such clarity and ease, will always do well,
but the success of this book speaks to something larger. We are in a
time when everyone seems to be scratching their heads. Hope is
infectious, and there is much in this book that provides it. We learn
that when Vance applied to Law School he automatically eliminated the
big Ivy League choices thinking that he would neither qualify nor be
able to pay the tuition.<br />
On Page 199 he writes:<br />
“The New York Times recently reported that the most expensive schools
are paradoxically cheaper for low-income students. At Harvard, the
student would pay only about thirteen hundred while the tuition is forty
thousand. Of course, kids like me don’t know this.”<br />
When I became an American Citizen, in my welcome packet was a letter
from the President encouraging me to take advantage of the many
opportunities before me. I could not think of a nicer welcome. Not
knowing what else to do with that information, I kept my eyes and ears
open. What Vance is writing about is all too familiar. I know what it is
like to grow up in a family whose ethic is based on hard work and never
taking handouts of any kind. It is the most uncomfortable feeling in
the world to choose to succeed knowing that you may not have the support
of those closest to you. Do it anyway. That is the great message of
this book.<br />
“Hope is the thing with feathers,” wrote Emily Dickinson. What were her
chances of achieving any success as a poet, let alone immortality? The
crisis of any culture is solved when the challenge is met, and necessary
changes are made. That is what enabled J. D. Vance to travel from the
“holler,” to Ohio, to the Marines, to College, to law school and then to
where he is today sitting at the top of the charts.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=14" rel="category">Memoir</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-dream" rel="tag">American dream</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-history" rel="tag">American History</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=crisis" rel="tag">crisis</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=culture" rel="tag">culture</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=470" rel="bookmark" title="7:49 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-10-25T19:49:22+00:00">October 25, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-460 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-motivation category-sports tag-boxing tag-muhammed-ali" id="post-460">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=460" rel="bookmark">“Float Like a Butterfly”</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg"><img alt="Ali" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-464" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg" height="182" width="276" /></a></div>
Today we look back on the life of a man who came into this world as<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muhammad_Ali"> Cassius Clay</a>.
He captured the attention of America, not only by his prowess in the
ring but by the stand he took against the Vietnam War. While he is
eulogized across all media outlets, I wish to share a personal story
about the day<a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776"> Ali </a>came to our town. We were all in an uproar.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935.jpg"><img alt="MLG 1935" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-463" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935-300x239.jpg" height="239" width="300" /></a><br />
To set the stage, I must part the mists of time and go back to the month of March 1966, when a fight, booked at<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens</a>
in Toronto, tore our family asunder. The stadium built on a wing and a
prayer housed many boxing matches, but this was a fight like no other.
My grandfather, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conn_Smythe_Trophy">Conn Smythe,</a>
still at the helm as Chairman of Board, hit the roof over the prospect
of a known draft dodger darkening the door of his temple. A veteran and
hero of two world wars, he was a consummate military man who felt that
that duty to one’s country was sacrosanct. The only reason the fight was
booked north of the border is that no American stadium would allow the
match between Ali and Ernie Terrell to take place. Small town radio disc
jockeys were having a field day saying that in no way shape or form
would their town allow the Ali/Terrell fight. My grandfather agreed. The
Forum in Montreal declined, and he believed we should do the same. My
father, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stafford_Smythe">Stafford Smythe, </a>President of the <a href="http://mapleleafs.nhl.com/">Toronto Maple Leafs</a>,
and a war veteran himself chose not to slam the door in Ali’s face and
refused to knuckle under. We in the Smythe family had two fights on our
hands.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations.jpg"><img alt="four generations" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-465" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations-300x168.jpg" height="168" width="300" /></a><br />
As the youngest daughter and a preteen at the time, we were all
involved in the donnybrook. My mother thought my grandfather would cool
off in time. My brother, the go-between, told us otherwise. It was less
than a year since we lost our grandmother, the peacemaker, and we were
scared. A way out presented itself when Terrell, unable to meet the
financial obligation, backed out. My father’s partner, Harold Ballard,
in charge of all non-hockey related attractions and the man who had set
the whole show on the road, refused to budge. He found a Canadian boxer
by the name of<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Stafford+Smythe&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8#q=George+Chuvalo"> George Chuvalo</a>
to accept the challenge. With a scant twenty-three days in which to
train, we had a new fear that raced around the school yard, was
discussed by Moms over coffee, had people calling our house incessantly,
and seemed like a real possibility. Ali would kill Chuvalo. Everyone
said if he didn’t kill him he would knock him out in the first round. It
would be a joke, a waste of time for anyone who bought a ticket, and a
disgrace to Toronto and our beloved<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens.</a> My father would have blood on his hands.<br />
As the day approached, my grandfather had neither softened nor
cooled. He increased his efforts, calling boxing officials and trying to
get the match stopped. <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a> crossed the border and arrived in Toronto. He later said that he had never been treated as nicely anywhere.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head.jpg"><img alt="head to head" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-466" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head-300x159.jpg" height="159" width="300" /></a></div>
The fight was one of the greatest of Ali’s life. It went fifteen
rounds. George Chuvalo came out from his corner with fierce
determination. He remained standing to the bitter end. He was
incredible, and so was Ali. It was the greatest fight to ever take place
at Maple Leaf Gardens. It changed our lives. It was a turning point.<br />
One day over lunch when describing this incident to a friend she
said, “Isn’t that the Rocky story?” George Chuvalo is still with us. He
is as strong as ever, and he is still one of my heroes.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg"><img alt="Chuvalo" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-467" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg" height="104" width="185" /></a><br />
At this point in time, as we say farewell to Ali, may he be
remembered as the champion he became. There is more to his story than
meets the eye. He was supposed to do what he was told; I heard this just
about everywhere I went. He wasn’t obedient. He was uppity. He didn’t
know his place. Perhaps this is true. He was a man who decided that his
place was within the realm of his own choosing. One could not help but
admire the courage with which he lived his life. “Float like a
butterfly, sting like a bee.” The stinging is over now. Float in peace, <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a>. We will always be glad you came to town.</div>
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<article class="post-451 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-self-help category-uncategorized tag-edit tag-mills-college tag-style tag-toasters tag-vanity-fair" id="post-451">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=451" rel="bookmark">Treasure in the Trash</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg"><img alt="old mills college" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-452" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg" height="196" width="257" /></a> Mills College, Oakland, California</div>
<br />
“Beware lest in attempting the grand, you overshoot the mark and become grandiose.” <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voltaire">Voltaire</a><br />
I came across this snippet the other day on<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=twitter&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8"> Twitter</a>. The advice, earmarked to writers, could apply to just about anything. It would certainly apply to editing.<br />
This time of year we are in a grand editing process. While the
natural world springs to life, we need to make room for things to grow.
Keep this and discard that. How do we decide? It was on Easter Sunday
that I heard of the concept of holding up hangers in the closet and
asking yourself if the object in your hand affords joy. What a great
idea. Those of us whose parents were children in the Depression years
were schooled, in some cases quite harshly, about discarding things
willy-nilly. It can be a source of great strife between couples
depending on the ferocity of the message. Every object in the house
could have a use at some point and to have to run out and purchase
something recently discarded, can cause genuine distress. Others want to
pare down, and certainly the modern look we see displayed in stores and
magazines is becoming more and more devoid of clutter.<br />
Yesterday, we celebrated motherhood and mothers who gave tirelessly
to shape our sensibility. I did think of my mother when I read
Voltaire’s comment. I thought about how it would make her laugh. As she
worked in her later years as an interior designer she had renowned
taste. She found a way to reconcile her childhood teachings with
creating beautiful surroundings. Her possessions grace the homes of her
children, and grandchildren. She chose objects with care, and they have
lasted the test of time. She would tell us that something “looked
tired.” It could be a table. Once it acquired this sense of fatigue, it
was out the door to anyone who would take it. How do I stand on this
issue? I feel as if I have one foot in a boat and the other on the dock.
A decision needs to be made quickly before disaster strikes. The age of
some pieces that adorn our lives never ceases to amaze me. We make our
toast every morning in a toaster that has been in use my entire life. It
has never broken. The toast goes down automatically and comes up by
itself perfectly. Almost everything I surround myself with is old.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster.jpg"><img alt="old toaster" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-455" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster-300x245.jpg" height="245" width="300" /></a></div>
I am drawn to the blank page because it is empty. I want to fill it
up. Years ago, I thought writing a novel just involved getting enough
words together to fill up all the pages. The sad truth came from a
gifted teacher, a novelist who taught at <a href="http://www.mills.edu/">Mills College</a>
and she gave it to me straight. “You may have filled up your briefcase
with pages, but you have not written a novel.” Together we worked with
what I had, and I learned that the real trick is filling up pages and
then throwing them in the garbage. Hemingway once said that he could
tell that his writing was going well when the waste-basket was full of
really good stuff.<br />
Yesterday I read a quote in<a href="http://www.vanityfair.com/"> Vanity Fair</a> from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lee_Radziwill">Lee Radiwill</a>. “Great style is editing.”<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg"><img alt="Lee Radziwill" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-453" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg" height="183" width="275" /></a><br />
Whether it is in art, a beautiful interior or an excellent book, that
is the key. Do you know what great designers have? Storage units. One
piece, edited out, may reappear years later in another place and time.
The same is true for chapters or paragraphs of any work in progress.
Gone are the days when we ripped a sheet of paper from the typewriter
and tossed it in a nearby bin. We can watch our words disappear before
our very eyes. Or, like me, you might just want to keep them in a
separate document. Perhaps they may improve with age. Out of all the
rubbish, a new idea may germinate.<br />
Toaster photo: “Copyright © 2016 by Craig Rairdin.”</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=edit" rel="tag">Edit</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=mills-college" rel="tag">Mills College</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=style" rel="tag">Style</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=toasters" rel="tag">toasters</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=vanity-fair" rel="tag">Vanity Fair</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=451" rel="bookmark" title="5:51 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-05-09T17:51:39+00:00">May 9, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-442 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-non-fiction category-uncategorized tag-hobbes tag-idaho tag-jane-mayer tag-locke-rousseau tag-political-science" id="post-442">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=442" rel="bookmark">The Discipline of Desire</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/John-Locke.jpg"><img alt="John Locke" class="size-medium wp-image-443 alignright" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/John-Locke-230x300.jpg" height="300" width="230" /></a><br />
“The discipline of desire is the background of character.”<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=John+Locke&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8"> John Locke</a><br />
How do we maintain a free society? Is it bred in the bone, or is it up for grabs?<br />
Having just finished reading Jane Mayer’s<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Money-History-Billionaires-Radical/dp/0385535597/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1459362128&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+money"> <i>Dark Money</i>,</a>
my eyes have been opened. It is not as if I did not know about the
undue influence of special interests in government; everyone is aware of
this fact. The term “special interests,” is vague, and if you cannot
put a face to something, it is hard to imagine. Television advertising
paid for by groups with names that sound good, Americans for this, that,
or the other thing, makes a person think that these organizations are
comprised of a group of individuals who came together to help solve
problems. What we are not aware of is from whom the funding comes.
Likewise, we don’t always know to what ends. Like most people, I err on
the side of a general belief that people are inherently good. This line
of thinking is the product of a Swiss- born French philosopher who
influenced Thomas Jefferson,<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/702720-du-contrat-social-ou-principes-du-droit-politique"> Jean-Jacques Rousseau. (1712-1778) </a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Rousseau.jpg"><img alt="Rousseau" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-444" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Rousseau-227x300.jpg" height="300" width="227" /></a><br />
“Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.”</div>
Hobbes, on the other hand, described life as, “solitary, nasty,
brutish and short.” Having witnessed the English Civil War, his outlook
was both Calvinistic and pessimistic.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
John Locke, the other great influence, wrote in <a href="http://m/Treatises-Government-Everyman-John-Locke/dp/0460873563/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1459362272&sr=1-1&keywords=two+treatises+of+government+by+john+locke">Two Treatise of Government</a>, “We are like chameleons. We take our hue and the color of our moral character from those around us.”</div>
I am not blind to the fact self-interest drives most decisions. When
Jane Mayer described the heart of the ideology of the far right, she
expressed the beliefs of some that there should be no limit as to what
people can acquire and keep. Many would say that is what made America.
Ronald Regan, running for President in 1980 asked, “What is wrong with
letting people keep their own money?” It is a good question. It seems
like every democracy has been in this argument forever. Remember the
heated exchanges between Archie Bunker and the Meathead we laughed at on
All in the Family? We all have friends who are on opposite sides, and
the day we can no longer have these lively debates would be a very sad
day indeed. It is completely understandable that if you amassed a great
fortune, you would naturally feel you had something significant to
contribute to the discourse. You would also feel that you lived in a
great country that made it all possible, and that you wouldn’t want
anything to change. You would want to find politicians who would do your
bidding when you came up against roadblocks. You would pick up the
phone and demand action. You may even believe that you do not have any
responsibility to your fellow man. You may feel as John Locke stated
that the only purpose of government is the defense of property. You may
choose to devote considerable time and resources to furthering these
views. Would that constitute undue influence, or would it be
contributing to the discourse? That is that is the question.<br />
There is, however, one flaw in this thinking. Hammered into my head
in my teens, by the Headmistress of my school was this universal truth
from the Bible: “To whom much has been given, much will be required.”
Fans of <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/downtonabbey/">Downton Abbey </a>will remember that it was played out in nearly every episode. <i>Nobless Oblige</i>.
If fortune has smiled on you, it is your duty to make your life about
good works. One can see philanthropy everywhere, and one can point to
all the generosity displayed by the wealthy. Some feel there should be
no taxes at all, and if let alone, people would naturally give aid where
it is needed. The only flaw I see in that philosophy is that it is too
willy-nilly. It is not organized. When George H. W. Bush referred to “a
thousand points of light,” in a speech written for him by Peggy Noonan,
it sounded well and good. A little here and a little there does not
build roads and bridges. So we aught to question the belief that we
would be better off without any government at all. Too much would not be
good either because I still believe that I was born free.<br />
Out here on Windy Bay, in the beautiful state of<a href="http://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho,</a>
watching the great birds return from the south, I see that life is
primarily about nest building and fishing. Maybe I can take my “hue and
color” from them.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/eagle-in-Canada.jpg"><img alt="eagle in Canada" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-446" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/eagle-in-Canada-300x193.jpg" height="193" width="300" /></a></div>
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=hobbes" rel="tag">Hobbes</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jane-mayer" rel="tag">Jane Mayer</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=locke-rousseau" rel="tag">Locke Rousseau</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=political-science" rel="tag">Political Science</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=442" rel="bookmark" title="6:35 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-03-30T18:35:59+00:00">March 30, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-435 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-historical-fiction tag-idaho-toronto tag-montreal tag-potatoes" id="post-435">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=435" rel="bookmark">No Small Potatoes</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Map-of-Idaho-potato.jpg"><img alt="Map of Idaho potato" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-437" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Map-of-Idaho-potato.jpg" height="144" width="144" /></a></div>
There has been a movement afoot in literature to focus on one
commodity, and make a book of it. People have written about salt, wine,
and chocolate. I wondered if anyone has written about what the great
state of<a href="http://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho</a> is known for, namely, the potato.<br />
How did this come to pass? How is it that when a person from Idaho
travels, he or she is inevitably asked about potatoes. It turns out that
Idaho was a trailblazer in this regard when in 1937 the<a href="https://idahopotato.com/"> Idaho Potato Commission </a>was
founded. This body, funded by a tax paid by potato farmers, set out to
advertise on radio and later television, to create a brand identity from
a single crop. With a seal fashioned, the customers were encouraged to
look for that mark when purchasing what was to become our famous
potatoes. Lots of other states grow the crop, but the affection and
identity formed by the commission created a market for thirteen billion
pounds of spuds, one- third of all those sold in the United States.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Galway-Bay.jpg"><img alt="Galway Bay" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-439" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Galway-Bay.jpg" height="293" width="194" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
On a past St. Patrick’s Day, a dear friend by the name of Mary, told me
about a book she had just read by Mary Pat Kelly. Entitled, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Galway-Bay-Mary-Pat-Kelly/dp/0446697109/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458142534&sr=1-1&keywords=galway+bay"><i>Galway Bay,</i></a>
the novel is an actual oral history passed down from one generation to
the next. Told primarily through the women, it is the tale of one
immigrant family and their travails from Ireland to Chicago. While it is
not about the potato famine, called An Gorda Mor in Gaelic, it is the
great catalyst of the tale.</div>
“They tried to kill us, but we didn’t die.” The thread of this story,
handed down through the ages, is one of incredible hardship and then
survival.<br />
When I was in school in Toronto, I recall the day the teacher told us
that the famine was caused by a lazy population who stupidly lived on
one crop because they could not be bothered to grow anything else.<br />
“When that crop suffered a blight they starved,” she told us, with
the implication that they should have known better hanging in the air.<br />
I remember looking out the window, trying to sift through her facts
with what I knew about my own family, all of whom are avid gardeners and
farmers. At home, I asked if the story were true and heard that food
had been exported to England all through those dark days. Imagine having
to take the harvest to market, load a ship and return home to a house
of desperate want. As the “croppies” were only given a scant bit of land
to cultivate for private use, the “pratties” gave the highest yield and
provided the greatest nourishment.<br />
These are the facts: 750,000 were confirmed dead of starvation. Bearing
in mind that many more died in the coffin ships landing in Montreal and
Boston, this would be a severe underestimation. Without the hospitals,
or the manpower necessary to deal with the influx, the sick passengers
arriving in Quebec were put on an island in the St. Lawrence and left
exposed to the elements. Promised, land, cash and food upon arrival,
they arrived to find nothing and no way home. The bit of land they left
behind on the dear, old sod had been exchanged for the price of their
passage. Cecil Woodham Smith reported that during the famine years,
257,000 sheep were exported to England from lands held by absentee
landlords. 480,827 swine went over as well as 186,483 head of cattle.
Not even mentioning other crops, the picture is clear.<br />
There is a happy ending to this tale. The Irish flourished in both the United States and Canada. Reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Galway-Bay-Mary-Pat-Kelly/dp/0446697109/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458142534&sr=1-1&keywords=galway+bay"><i>Galway Bay</i> </a>prompted
me to look up the history of my maternal grandmother, Rose Cahill
Gaudette. One of ten children in her family, I learned that her mother
was the oldest in a family of ten. Examining records found on
Ancestry.com, my blood ran cold when I saw the date. In 1848, Thomas
Cahill arrived in Montreal. Famine. Coffin ship. Most of the passengers
died, and their bodies were tossed over. Of the living, it was decided
to send the Irish on a barge to Toronto. The sun blazed and the fair
skins burned. Once again they were placed on an island off shore. Yet
the good people of the city rowed out in small boats and volunteered to
tend the sick, risking their own lives in the process. The Cahills made
their way to the gorgeous Ottawa valley, carved a life in the
wilderness, and flourished.<br />
From one noun a great story may unfold.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho-toronto" rel="tag">Idaho Toronto</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=montreal" rel="tag">Montreal</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=potatoes" rel="tag">potatoes</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=435" rel="bookmark" title="3:48 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-03-16T15:48:16+00:00">March 16, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-424 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-uncategorized tag-elizabeth-smythe-brinton tag-elizabeth-strout tag-olive-kitterage" id="post-424">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=424" rel="bookmark">Still Thinking</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/My-Name-is-Lucy-Barton.jpg"><img alt="My Name is Lucy Barton" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-425" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/My-Name-is-Lucy-Barton-203x300.jpg" height="300" width="203" /></a></div>
It has been four days since I finished reading<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Name-Lucy-Barton-Novel/dp/1400067693/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455553547&sr=1-1&keywords=my+name+is+lucy+barton+by+elizabeth+strout"> My Name is Lucy Barton</a></i>, by Elizabeth Strout. Having enjoyed the Pulitzer Prize winner, <a href="http://izabeth-strout/dp/0812971833/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455553742&sr=1-1&keywords=olive+kitteridge"><i>Olive Kitteridge,</i></a>
I picked up this book with great anticipation. It did not disappoint –
not in any way. The reason I did not write about this book immediately
has to do with the fact that I am still thinking.<br />
What is it that keeps a reader mulling over phrases, words, ideas,
scenes and aspects about a book for days after the book is shelved? It
is most likely a by-product of tremendous skill. What is the technique
or turn of phrase that would keep resonating in the reader’s mind? A
page-turner will have me gallop through the plot, desperate to find out
what happens, and then once all loose ends are resolved, I barely give
it a second thought. In fact, those sorts of stories go into a
to-be-donated pile. There would be no reason to re-read it, and
therefore, I doubt I would even hang on to it any longer than necessary.<br />
<i>My Name is Lucy Barton</i> could be described as a quiet novel. I
applaud Random House, New York for publishing this work because there
are legions of people who dislike such stories. Any writer who attends
workshops or conferences will hear a great deal of advice about staying
away from this style. It is true that it requires a unique skill set to
do it well. It has to do with being in the mind of a created character
that has sprung to life on the page.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Elizabeth-Strout.jpg"><img alt="Elizabeth Strout" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-426" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Elizabeth-Strout-194x300.jpg" height="300" width="194" /></a></div>
Lucy Barton is confined to a hospital bed due to complications from
surgery. Her mother, with whom she has had no contact for many years,
comes to be with her. It was at the request of Lucy’s husband that she
is there, and we learn that right away. So there is tension. Lucy is
trapped, and her mother is reluctant. Ordinarily, you would not be able
to create a novel around this premise. What keeps the reader engaged is
Lucy’s innocence and child-like longing for a response from her mother.<br />
From page 55:<br />
“But it turned out I wanted something else. I wanted my mother to ask
about my life. I wanted to tell her about the life I was living now.
Stupidly-it was just stupidity- I blurted out, “Mom, I got two stories
published.” She looked at me quickly and quizzically, as if I had said
that I had grown extra toes, then looked out the window and said
nothing. “Just dumb ones,” I said, “in tiny magazines.” Still she said
nothing.”<br />
My stomach goes into knots reading this exchange. If a terrorist had
suddenly burst into the hospital room and shot both of them, the tension
would be less in this reader’s imagination. Why would her mother
continually behave in such an unloving manner? Perhaps she simply
couldn’t, or maybe she was jealous, or maybe that is just who she was,
but for whatever reason, I, as the reader, only wanted to close the gap.
This is where the story is very unquiet in my mind. Lucy is going to be
all right. We know that all along. She says she came from nothing, but
she managed to go to college, marry well, raise two daughters and become
an accomplished author. We know that she did all this with precious
little support- financial or otherwise. She did it all without becoming
bitter or hard-nosed. She values kindness and speaks of it often. That
makes her heroic in my eyes and makes me think of her as a living
entity, long after the pages are shut, and the book takes a
well-deserved place on the shelf.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=elizabeth-smythe-brinton" rel="tag">Elizabeth Smythe Brinton</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=elizabeth-strout" rel="tag">Elizabeth Strout</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=olive-kitterage" rel="tag">Olive Kitterage</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=424" rel="bookmark" title="4:38 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-02-15T16:38:09+00:00">February 15, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-416 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-historical-fiction tag-harry-potter tag-jane-eyre tag-my-american-eden tag-romeo-and-juliet tag-scarlet-ohara tag-shakespeare tag-the-count-of-monte-christo tag-tom-sawyer" id="post-416">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=416" rel="bookmark">Finding Character</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
“Characters are not created by writers. They pre-exist and have to be found.” <a href="http://385721250/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176939&sr=1-1&keywords=elizabeth+bowen+books">Elizabeth Bowen</a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg"><img alt="200px-Elizabeth_Bowen" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-419 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg" height="277" width="200" /></a><br />
This is true. I have no authority to make such a statement, but there it
is. Actors speak of finding characters. It is much more than saying the
lines, or putting on the costumes. They try different things, talk in
front of a mirror, obsess about it, work it, and then one day they will
arrive at the set and describe how they found their character. They
speak of the precise moment when it happened. It may have sprung from
tying scarves around their heads as when Johnny Depp became Jack
Sparrow, or it could be something that happened with the walk. Somewhere
along the way, they become inhabited. That is how I would describe the
experience.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In <a href="http://www.madeleinelengle.com/">Madeline L’Engle’s</a>
case, she woke up from a nap and saw him, Charles Wallace Murray. He
was sitting in her room. Other accounts describe dreams or even visions.
In my experience, it is dialog. The character starts talking. I am only
doing the typing. When this happens, I can barely contain my
excitement. I fear that to stifle my imaginary friends would be wrong,
so I let them run on. They may have accents, wear funny clothes, or seem
a bit strange, but I assume it is not my place to question anything.
They may take the story in a new direction. They will be full of
surprises. In some cases they will take over, shove me out of the way
and tell the story themselves. That is the greatest gift. Every word
will flow like a river.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg"><img alt="madeleine_lengle_2" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-417" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg" height="292" width="200" /></a> Madeline L’Engle</div>
Years ago, a young friend who wrote songs told me that the Creator
likes creating. He said that he felt well in his soul when the tunes
came to him. It is a strange unknown impulse that drives us all. So if
what Elizabeth Bowen said is true, how do we go about this process of
finding our characters? I wish I had the answer. It would be a great
boon to all kinds of creative people if the method were that simple. In
all disciplines, it seems that getting in the mode is the key. Even
stage performances will vary from night to night, and when the magic
occurs, it will be very fleeting. Those who happened to be at that
performance, or at that game, or in that moment, will know it. The
greatest characters in all of literature did not start when the author
attempted to describe a middle-aged white man or a beautiful young girl.
I would hazard a guess that those fantastic beings arrived fully
formed. Maybe great souls have a desire to jump back into life this way.
If it isn’t happening, don’t worry because if you stick with it for
long enough, I am convinced that someone will show up.<br />
While writing<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1572493488/ref=tmm_pap_new_olp_sr?ie=UTF8&condition=new&qid=1454175710&sr=8-1"> My American Eden</a></i>,
I wanted to bring Mary Dyer’s story to life. Since she was the only
female inhabitant of Boston in 1635 that Governor Winthrop attempted to
describe in his journals, I learned that she was “comely and of no mean
estate.” Years later, on Rhode Island, the Governor wrote that she could
converse with any man, as well as any man on any topic.” That was my
start. I searched and begged for more clues. One night at The Best Food
Ever Book Club in Spokane, I was elaborating on my research to date when
a great friend said, “Mary Dyer? I am a direct descendant of Mary
Dyer.” Next I learned that the model for Sylvia Shaw Judson’s statue
commemorating this rebel saint who gave her life for the cause of
religious freedom was none other than my husband’s paternal grandmother.
The list goes on, but I still yearned to see her. To really meet her.
While obsessing about Mary and writing the first draft I had to choose
between internal dialogue, what I imagined she was thinking while alone
in her house, or show her conversing with someone. Of course, who would
have been alone in their house in 1635? I added an indentured servant.
Not even beginning to create any sort of picture, she was there. By the
fourth draft I had gone from nine hundred pages to four hundred and
fifty, and switched from third person omniscient to first person. Only
it was not Mary’s voice in my head following the discipline of the
narrative; it was Irene, the servant, the one who arrived fully formed. I
started getting a better look at Mary through her eyes.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo.jpg"><img alt="count of monte christo" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-421" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo-300x169.jpg" height="169" width="300" /></a><br />
A fully formed character could be anyone. What they are is visible and memorable. <a href="http://unt-monte-cristo-penguin-classics/dp/0140449264/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175852&sr=1-1&keywords=the+count+of+monte+cristo">The Count of Monte Christo.</a> <a href="http://mark-twain/dp/1503215679/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175917&sr=1-1&keywords=tom+sawyer">Tom Sawyer</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gone-Wind-Anniversary-Margaret-Mitchell/dp/1451635621/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176163&sr=1-1&keywords=gone+with+the+wind">Scarlet O’Hara.</a><a href="http://xn---bront-uva/dp/0141441143/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175983&sr=1-1&keywords=jane+eyre+by+charlotte+bronte"> Jane Eyre</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Harry-Potter-Paperback-Box-Books/dp/0545162076/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176032&sr=1-1&keywords=Harry+Potter">Harry Potter</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romeo-Juliet-Folger-Shakespeare-Library/dp/0743477111/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176085&sr=1-1&keywords=Romeo+and+Juliet">Romeo </a>of
the House of Montague. Portia. The list goes on and on. You can’t name a
great classic without a memorable character, or several coming to mind.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=harry-potter" rel="tag">Harry Potter</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jane-eyre" rel="tag">Jane Eyre</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=my-american-eden" rel="tag">My American Eden</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=romeo-and-juliet" rel="tag">Romeo and Juliet</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=scarlet-ohara" rel="tag">Scarlet O'Hara</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shakespeare" rel="tag">Shakespeare</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-count-of-monte-christo" rel="tag">The Count of Monte Christo</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=tom-sawyer" rel="tag">Tom Sawyer</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=416" rel="bookmark" title="6:42 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-30T18:42:04+00:00">January 30, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-400 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-self-help category-uncategorized tag-atkins tag-diet tag-dr-phil tag-french-women-dont-get-fat tag-misty-copeland tag-pat-conroy tag-the-lords-of-discipline tag-the-prince-of-tides tag-weight-watchers" id="post-400">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=400" rel="bookmark">Diets Don’t Work</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
Do you know why diets don’t work? Neither do I. Diets don’t fail;
dieters do, so therefore if you don’t like failure, for heaven’s sake,
don’t go on a diet.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media4.popsugar-assets.com/files/2014/08/08/782/n/1922729/c62058b3f62b96d8_thumb_temp_image8453211407450717.xxxlarge/i/Misty-Copeland-Workout.jpg">Misty Copeland</a> <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1.jpg"><img alt="Misty-Copeland 1" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-409" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a></div>
I credit my mother for my long and tiresome history with dieting, as
it was she who would always start with the latest diet book. After she
had left this world and I had to close up her apartment, there on the
night table, right beside her bed was<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Books--Strategies-Ultimate-Solution-McGraaw/dp/B00L3OQHOK/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452705590&sr=1-6&keywords=Dr.+Phils+Strategies+for+Weight+Loss"> Dr. Phil’s Life Strategies and The Ultimate Weight Loss. </a>She
would rail against the strictures of these programs, and then get in
bed and say, “I have to read about what I get to eat tomorrow.” From the
eggs, steak and grapefruit of the sixties, to<a href="https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/?cid=SEM"> Weight Watchers</a>, to<a href="http://www.atkins.com/register?mcid=riseppcggl&gclid=CI-r9tCnp8oCFUVcfgodDKAH8g"> Atkins</a>, to<a href="http://www.southbeachdiet.com/diet/"> South Beach</a>, to<a href="http://www.westpalmbeachdietdoctor.com/"> Palm Beach, </a>you
name it, she was always game. Not being overweight, ever, and in
possession of a healthy body and mind, she was nevertheless always after
those elusive ten to fifteen pounds that seem to plague us all. At the
same time, she entertained and churned out more meals for guests than I
can count. This extended to her family, children, and grandchildren and
we do not think of her without remembering all those wonderful dinners.
As her mother came from a large Irish clan, the tradition of eating food
in season and not being too extravagant in any one direction came into
play.<br />
When I worked at Coldwater Creek, the idea of an employee cookbook
sprang to the mind of the H.R. director who wanted this to happen but
did not want to do it herself. Yours truly here volunteered to head up
the project, and a labor of love began. I decided that it would be great
to celebrate our mother’s and grandmother’s cherished recipes and put
their full names, place of birth and dates alongside those family
treasures. Sharing this task with our counterparts in West Virginia, we
gathered a compilation of culinary wisdom entitled, Coldwater Creek
Cooks. To this end, I managed to get the best pound cake recipe ever,
originating from Kentucky and served with a hot butter sauce with a
touch of Bourbon. As my son was getting married that year, I thought it
would be great to give my future daughter-in-law all the reference
material possible from the culture of his maternal line. As my daughter
headed off to college and moved from wretched dorm food to her own
apartment, she had her copy as well. How I delighted in those first
calls for instruction in basic meals. I am so proud to say that both my
children love good food, eat well and share this bond with me.<br />
Writers who love fine cuisine share a particular place in my heart.<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg"><img alt="cook_cover" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-404 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg" height="204" width="133" /></a> When<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook"> The Pat Conroy </a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">Cookbook</a>
came out, I raced home with my copy, hot off the press and read it from
cover to cover. Tasked with preparing the evening meal for his family
when his wife decided to go to law school, he began the challenge in the
way most writers do: he went straightaway to his favorite book store.
He picked up a copy of The Escoffier Cookbook and learned the basics of
French cooking which always begin with homemade stock.<br />
My culinary history has a similar origin. As a young adult, living on
my own in a stone house in the country, I came down with a nasty bout
of pneumonia and moved back home to recover. My mother, working as an
interior designer at the time, decided that if I were home all day, I
could take on the responsibility of dinner. In her collection of
cookbooks, I found one published by our favorite restaurant in Palm
Beach, Florida, called The Petite Marmite. The pictures were so
beautiful, and inspiring, that I set out to recreate them. I had to
start by making stocks that I have always believed are not only the
essence of great dishes but also of good health. In Conroy’s book, he
describes his time in Paris and also in Rome, the places where he dined
after a hard day of writing <a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/">The Lords of Discipline </a>and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_19/187-0758294-1903222?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+prince+of+tides&sprefix=The+Prince+of+Tides%2Caps%2C316">The Prince of Tides. </a>He
also peppers his chapters with tales of the region he knows so well:
the low country of South Carolina. When Mireille Guiliano created<a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/"> French Women Don’t Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure</a>,
I knew I had found the ultimate book for me. Years ago, in Paris with
my mother, we decided to uncover the secret we could see all around us,
that being, French women ate the best food in the world and seemed much
thinner than their North Americans counterparts. We thought we could
just indulge to our heart’s content, and it would all somehow balance
out. Wrong.<br />
You cannot describe the physicality of a character in exact terms. It
would read like a medical chart. Your reader will get a better picture
by depicting what they eat, how much, how often and how important it is
to them. Do they eat to live, or are they more like me, a person who
lives to eat. Are meals, described regarding grabbing a bite, or set
under an arbor in the garden and encompassing most of the afternoon? Is
food a necessary chore, or unbridled passion? Above all, what do they
eat for lunch?<br />
<br />
From <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">The Pat Conroy Cookbook:</a><br />
“I write of truffles in the Dordogne Valley in France, cilantro in
Bangkok, catfish in Alabama, scuppernong in South Carolina, Chinese food
from my years in San Francisco, and white asparagus from the first meal
my agent, Julian Bach, took me to in New York City.”<br />
<br /></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=atkins" rel="tag">Atkins</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=diet" rel="tag">Diet</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=dr-phil" rel="tag">Dr. Phil</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=french-women-dont-get-fat" rel="tag">French Women Don't Get Fat</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=misty-copeland" rel="tag">Misty Copeland</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=pat-conroy" rel="tag">Pat Conroy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-lords-of-discipline" rel="tag">The Lords of Discipline</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-prince-of-tides" rel="tag">The Prince of Tides</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=weight-watchers" rel="tag">Weight Watchers</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=400" rel="bookmark" title="6:19 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-13T18:19:10+00:00">January 13, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-78911301863420265242016-11-24T04:31:00.001-08:002016-11-24T04:31:03.961-08:00Social Satire<br />
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<a data-mce-href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg"><img alt="the-sellout" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-477" data-mce-src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg" height="293" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/The-Sellout.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
<br />
Wikipedia defines social satire as the means by which “vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are subject to ridicule.”<br />
<br />
William
Shakespeare, Jonathon Swift, Oscar Wilde, and Mark Twain may be the
most familiar practitioners of the form, but now we have another member
of this illustrious club. Largely the purview of cartoonists in today's
world, a brilliant newcomer steps up to stage.<br />
<br />
Long in the habit
of reading the winner of the<a href="http://themanbookerprize.com/fiction" target="_blank"> Man Booker Prize</a>, this year's choice did
not disappoint. The committee is given the challenge of reading the
longlist and then narrowing the field to the shortlist. While it is a
daunting task, it is one I would sign up for any day of the week.
Choosing the best work from an astonishing array of talent would not be
easy, and I can imagine the lively dialogue of dissenting voices.
Bookmakers in England bet on the favorite and the choice is never easy.
However, one clear voice emerged over all others. Paul Beatty won the
coveted award this year.<br />
<br />
“<em>The Sellout</em> puts you down in a place that's miles from where it picked you up.” Dwight Garner, The New York Times.<br />
<br />
Social
satire is the art of mentioning what we dare not say. If an absolute
bumbler is indulging in vile discourse, then we have the luxury of
laughing, allowing the architect to escape with his or her life. On the
back cover of<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_11?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+sellout+by+paul+beatty&sprefix=the+sellout%2Cstripbooks%2C608&crid=I1LEO6QDQ7I8" target="_blank"> <em>The Sellout</em> </a>the explanation is offered up this way:<br />
<br />
“The work of comic genius at the top of his game,<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_11?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+sellout+by+paul+beatty&sprefix=the+sellout%2Cstripbooks%2C608&crid=I1LEO6QDQ7I8" target="_blank"><em> The Sellout</em> </a>questions almost every received notion about American society.”<br />
It is not the subject matter or the form alone that intrigues me. Paul Beatty writes with a voice that is so present, it sings.<br />
<br />
From Page 11<br />
<br />
“When
I was ten, I spent a long night burrowed under my comforter, cuddled up
with Funshine Bear, who, filled with a foamy enigmatic sense of
language and a Bloomian dogmatism, was the most literary of the Care
Bears and my harshest critic. In the musty darkness of the rayon bat
cave, his stubby, all-but-immobile yellow arms struggled to hold the
flashlight steady as together we tried to save the black race in eight
words or less. Putting my homeschool Latin to good use, I'd crank out a
motto, then shove it under his heart-shaped plastic nose for
approval....<br /> Semper Fi, Semper Funky raised his polyester hackles,
and when he began to paw the mattress in anger and reared up on his
stubby yellow legs, baring his ursine fangs and claws, I tried to
remember what the Cub Scout manual said to do when confronted by and
angry cartoon bear drunk on stolen credenza wine and editorial power.
'If you meet an angry bear-remain calm. Speak in gentle tones, stand
your ground, get large, and write in simple, uplifting Latin sentences.<br /> Unum corpus, una mens, una cor, unum amor.<br /> One body, one mind, one heart, one love.<br /> Not bad. It had a nice license plate ring to it.”<br />
<br />
Sitting
in Quaker State garage, nestled in among the magazines, the vending
machine, and the blaring television set, waiting for the man to come out
from the hole in the floor under my car, I was glad to be alone in the
small waiting room. If anyone were to observe me reading the last pages
of<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_11?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+sellout+by+paul+beatty&sprefix=the+sellout%2Cstripbooks%2C608&crid=I1LEO6QDQ7I8" target="_blank"> </a><em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_11?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+sellout+by+paul+beatty&sprefix=the+sellout%2Cstripbooks%2C608&crid=I1LEO6QDQ7I8" target="_blank">The Sellout</a>,</em> they would have seen a perpetually silly grin
on my face. I wished I hadn't blasted through the book so quickly
because the uplift was a welcome respite. I hope I don't have to wait so
long to read a work of great social satire again.<br />
<br />
<br />
Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-29790107879994538532016-10-25T15:51:00.000-07:002016-10-25T15:51:04.860-07:00American Dreamer<div class="site-content" id="primary">
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<article class="post-470 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-motivation tag-american-dream tag-american-history tag-crisis tag-culture" id="post-470">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<br />
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/hillbilly-elegy-cover.jpg"><img alt="hillbilly-elegy-cover" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-473" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/hillbilly-elegy-cover-199x300.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
<br />
Decline. Is there anyone alive who does not fear it? Is there a way
to ascertain the beginning, the end of the beginning, or the beginning
of the end? How is to be avoided? More importantly, what is it?<br />
<br />
J.D. Vance tackles the topic in a moving and personal memoir entitled, <em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hillbilly-Elegy-Memoir-Family-Culture-ebook/dp/B0166ISAS8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477424634&sr=1-1&keywords=hillbilly+elegy">Hillbilly Elegy: A</a></em> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hillbilly-Elegy-Memoir-Family-Culture-ebook/dp/B0166ISAS8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477424634&sr=1-1&keywords=hillbilly+elegy"><em>Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis.</em> </a>In
the introduction, Vance describes himself as a Scots-Irish hillbilly at
heart. He lets us know that his tribe is a pessimistic bunch.<br />
<br />
Caught up in the belief that to look through a glass darkly is to be
avoided at all costs, I was drawn into the story right away. We know
from the beginning that J.D. Vance climbed from his uncertain origins to
graduating from Yale law school. The story outlines the journey. It is
uplifting because there is not a person alive who does not wonder if
they had been born in unfortunate circumstances, or were challenged by
terrible poverty, would they be one of the few to make it out? Readers
are placed squarely into the houses and schools and yards of Vance’s
life with an almost breathless desire to see him succeed. While he does
not pretend to have the answers, he neither blames nor preaches; the
book reads as a statement of fact. Look about.<br />
<br />
Going back to the Scots-Irish, or the Ulster Scots, and the roots of
their beginning, I knew from learning about the English Civil War, that
the term goes back to the plantations of Northern Ireland. Cromwell gave
vast tracts of conquered land in Ireland for the Scots to settle. Many
had been soldiers in his army and this new land represented the spoils
of war. It was hoped that they would take root and serve to be a
permanent anchor in Ireland. That set the stage for centuries of
conflict and strife. They had to fight to maintain their foothold, and
fight they did. The second migration to America yielded a group who
settled in the hills of Appalachia to eke out a living. We know that
George Washington used them handily, as did Stonewall Jackson. Wanting
nothing more than a fair shot at the American dream, and never asking
for help or handouts, became a hallmark of their values. As the jobs
became scarce and the resources few and far between, what we learn from
Vance’s experience is that we need to understand this despair.<br />
To say this book struck a cord with readers is an understatement.
Currently, it is topping the charts of the New York Times Bestseller
list. A memoir, written with such clarity and ease, will always do well,
but the success of this book speaks to something larger. We are in a
time when everyone seems to be scratching their heads. Hope is
infectious, and there is much in this book that provides it. We learn
that when Vance applied to Law School he automatically eliminated the
big Ivy League choices thinking that he would neither qualify nor be
able to pay the tuition.<br />
<br />
On Page 199 he writes:<br />
“The New York Times recently reported that the most expensive schools
are paradoxically cheaper for low-income students. At Harvard, the
student would pay only about thirteen hundred while the tuition is forty
thousand. Of course, kids like me don’t know this.”<br />
<br />
When I became an American Citizen, in my welcome packet was a letter
from the President encouraging me to take advantage of the many
opportunities before me. I could not think of a nicer welcome. Not
knowing what else to do with that information, I kept my eyes and ears
open. What Vance is writing about is all too familiar. I know what it is
like to grow up in a family whose ethic is based on hard work and never
taking handouts of any kind. It is the most uncomfortable feeling in
the world to choose to succeed knowing that you may not have the support
of those closest to you. Do it anyway. That is the great message of
this book.<br />
“Hope is the thing with feathers,” wrote Emily Dickinson. What were her
chances of achieving any success as a poet, let alone immortality? The
crisis of any culture is solved when the challenge is met, and necessary
changes are made. That is what enabled J. D. Vance to travel from the
“holler,” to Ohio, to the Marines, to College, to law school and then to
where he is today sitting at the top of the charts.<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=14" rel="category">Memoir</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-dream" rel="tag">American dream</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-history" rel="tag">American History</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=crisis" rel="tag">crisis</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=culture" rel="tag">culture</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=470" rel="bookmark" title="7:49 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-10-25T19:49:22+00:00">October 25, 2016</time></a>. </footer><footer class="entry-meta"> </footer><footer class="entry-meta"> </footer><footer class="entry-meta"> </footer>
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<article class="post-460 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-motivation category-sports tag-boxing tag-muhammed-ali" id="post-460">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=460" rel="bookmark">“Float Like a Butterfly”</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg"><img alt="Ali" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-464" height="182" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
Today we look back on the life of a man who came into this world as<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muhammad_Ali"> Cassius Clay</a>.
He captured the attention of America, not only by his prowess in the
ring but by the stand he took against the Vietnam War. While he is
eulogized across all media outlets, I wish to share a personal story
about the day<a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776"> Ali </a>came to our town. We were all in an uproar.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935.jpg"><img alt="MLG 1935" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-463" height="239" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935-300x239.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
To set the stage, I must part the mists of time and go back to the month of March 1966, when a fight, booked at<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens</a>
in Toronto, tore our family asunder. The stadium built on a wing and a
prayer housed many boxing matches, but this was a fight like no other.
My grandfather, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conn_Smythe_Trophy">Conn Smythe,</a>
still at the helm as Chairman of Board, hit the roof over the prospect
of a known draft dodger darkening the door of his temple. A veteran and
hero of two world wars, he was a consummate military man who felt that
that duty to one’s country was sacrosanct. The only reason the fight was
booked north of the border is that no American stadium would allow the
match between Ali and Ernie Terrell to take place. Small town radio disc
jockeys were having a field day saying that in no way shape or form
would their town allow the Ali/Terrell fight. My grandfather agreed. The
Forum in Montreal declined, and he believed we should do the same. My
father, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stafford_Smythe">Stafford Smythe, </a>President of the <a href="http://mapleleafs.nhl.com/">Toronto Maple Leafs</a>,
and a war veteran himself chose not to slam the door in Ali’s face and
refused to knuckle under. We in the Smythe family had two fights on our
hands.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations.jpg"><img alt="four generations" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-465" height="168" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations-300x168.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
As the youngest daughter and a preteen at the time, we were all
involved in the donnybrook. My mother thought my grandfather would cool
off in time. My brother, the go-between, told us otherwise. It was less
than a year since we lost our grandmother, the peacemaker, and we were
scared. A way out presented itself when Terrell, unable to meet the
financial obligation, backed out. My father’s partner, Harold Ballard,
in charge of all non-hockey related attractions and the man who had set
the whole show on the road, refused to budge. He found a Canadian boxer
by the name of<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Stafford+Smythe&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8#q=George+Chuvalo"> George Chuvalo</a>
to accept the challenge. With a scant twenty-three days in which to
train, we had a new fear that raced around the school yard, was
discussed by Moms over coffee, had people calling our house incessantly,
and seemed like a real possibility. Ali would kill Chuvalo. Everyone
said if he didn’t kill him he would knock him out in the first round. It
would be a joke, a waste of time for anyone who bought a ticket, and a
disgrace to Toronto and our beloved<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens.</a> My father would have blood on his hands.<br />
As the day approached, my grandfather had neither softened nor
cooled. He increased his efforts, calling boxing officials and trying to
get the match stopped. <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a> crossed the border and arrived in Toronto. He later said that he had never been treated as nicely anywhere.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head.jpg"><img alt="head to head" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-466" height="159" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head-300x159.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
The fight was one of the greatest of Ali’s life. It went fifteen
rounds. George Chuvalo came out from his corner with fierce
determination. He remained standing to the bitter end. He was
incredible, and so was Ali. It was the greatest fight to ever take place
at Maple Leaf Gardens. It changed our lives. It was a turning point.<br />
One day over lunch when describing this incident to a friend she
said, “Isn’t that the Rocky story?” George Chuvalo is still with us. He
is as strong as ever, and he is still one of my heroes.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg"><img alt="Chuvalo" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-467" height="104" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg" width="185" /></a><br />
At this point in time, as we say farewell to Ali, may he be
remembered as the champion he became. There is more to his story than
meets the eye. He was supposed to do what he was told; I heard this just
about everywhere I went. He wasn’t obedient. He was uppity. He didn’t
know his place. Perhaps this is true. He was a man who decided that his
place was within the realm of his own choosing. One could not help but
admire the courage with which he lived his life. “Float like a
butterfly, sting like a bee.” The stinging is over now. Float in peace, <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a>. We will always be glad you came to town.<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=14" rel="category">Memoir</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=101" rel="category">Motivation</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=100" rel="category">Sports</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=boxing" rel="tag">boxing</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=muhammed-ali" rel="tag">Muhammed Ali</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=460" rel="bookmark" title="4:25 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-06-04T16:25:02+00:00">June 4, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-451 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-self-help category-uncategorized tag-edit tag-mills-college tag-style tag-toasters tag-vanity-fair" id="post-451">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=451" rel="bookmark">Treasure in the Trash</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg"><img alt="old mills college" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-452" height="196" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg" width="257" /></a> Mills College, Oakland, California</div>
<br />
“Beware lest in attempting the grand, you overshoot the mark and become grandiose.” <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voltaire">Voltaire</a><br />
I came across this snippet the other day on<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=twitter&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8"> Twitter</a>. The advice, earmarked to writers, could apply to just about anything. It would certainly apply to editing.<br />
This time of year we are in a grand editing process. While the
natural world springs to life, we need to make room for things to grow.
Keep this and discard that. How do we decide? It was on Easter Sunday
that I heard of the concept of holding up hangers in the closet and
asking yourself if the object in your hand affords joy. What a great
idea. Those of us whose parents were children in the Depression years
were schooled, in some cases quite harshly, about discarding things
willy-nilly. It can be a source of great strife between couples
depending on the ferocity of the message. Every object in the house
could have a use at some point and to have to run out and purchase
something recently discarded, can cause genuine distress. Others want to
pare down, and certainly the modern look we see displayed in stores and
magazines is becoming more and more devoid of clutter.<br />
Yesterday, we celebrated motherhood and mothers who gave tirelessly
to shape our sensibility. I did think of my mother when I read
Voltaire’s comment. I thought about how it would make her laugh. As she
worked in her later years as an interior designer she had renowned
taste. She found a way to reconcile her childhood teachings with
creating beautiful surroundings. Her possessions grace the homes of her
children, and grandchildren. She chose objects with care, and they have
lasted the test of time. She would tell us that something “looked
tired.” It could be a table. Once it acquired this sense of fatigue, it
was out the door to anyone who would take it. How do I stand on this
issue? I feel as if I have one foot in a boat and the other on the dock.
A decision needs to be made quickly before disaster strikes. The age of
some pieces that adorn our lives never ceases to amaze me. We make our
toast every morning in a toaster that has been in use my entire life. It
has never broken. The toast goes down automatically and comes up by
itself perfectly. Almost everything I surround myself with is old.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster.jpg"><img alt="old toaster" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-455" height="245" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster-300x245.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
I am drawn to the blank page because it is empty. I want to fill it
up. Years ago, I thought writing a novel just involved getting enough
words together to fill up all the pages. The sad truth came from a
gifted teacher, a novelist who taught at <a href="http://www.mills.edu/">Mills College</a>
and she gave it to me straight. “You may have filled up your briefcase
with pages, but you have not written a novel.” Together we worked with
what I had, and I learned that the real trick is filling up pages and
then throwing them in the garbage. Hemingway once said that he could
tell that his writing was going well when the waste-basket was full of
really good stuff.<br />
Yesterday I read a quote in<a href="http://www.vanityfair.com/"> Vanity Fair</a> from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lee_Radziwill">Lee Radiwill</a>. “Great style is editing.”<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg"><img alt="Lee Radziwill" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-453" height="183" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg" width="275" /></a><br />
Whether it is in art, a beautiful interior or an excellent book, that
is the key. Do you know what great designers have? Storage units. One
piece, edited out, may reappear years later in another place and time.
The same is true for chapters or paragraphs of any work in progress.
Gone are the days when we ripped a sheet of paper from the typewriter
and tossed it in a nearby bin. We can watch our words disappear before
our very eyes. Or, like me, you might just want to keep them in a
separate document. Perhaps they may improve with age. Out of all the
rubbish, a new idea may germinate.<br />
Toaster photo: “Copyright © 2016 by Craig Rairdin.”<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=edit" rel="tag">Edit</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=mills-college" rel="tag">Mills College</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=style" rel="tag">Style</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=toasters" rel="tag">toasters</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=vanity-fair" rel="tag">Vanity Fair</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=451" rel="bookmark" title="5:51 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-05-09T17:51:39+00:00">May 9, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-442 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-non-fiction category-uncategorized tag-hobbes tag-idaho tag-jane-mayer tag-locke-rousseau tag-political-science" id="post-442">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=442" rel="bookmark">The Discipline of Desire</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/John-Locke.jpg"><img alt="John Locke" class="size-medium wp-image-443 alignright" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/John-Locke-230x300.jpg" width="230" /></a><br />
“The discipline of desire is the background of character.”<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=John+Locke&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8"> John Locke</a><br />
How do we maintain a free society? Is it bred in the bone, or is it up for grabs?<br />
Having just finished reading Jane Mayer’s<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Money-History-Billionaires-Radical/dp/0385535597/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1459362128&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+money"> <em>Dark Money</em>,</a>
my eyes have been opened. It is not as if I did not know about the
undue influence of special interests in government; everyone is aware of
this fact. The term “special interests,” is vague, and if you cannot
put a face to something, it is hard to imagine. Television advertising
paid for by groups with names that sound good, Americans for this, that,
or the other thing, makes a person think that these organizations are
comprised of a group of individuals who came together to help solve
problems. What we are not aware of is from whom the funding comes.
Likewise, we don’t always know to what ends. Like most people, I err on
the side of a general belief that people are inherently good. This line
of thinking is the product of a Swiss- born French philosopher who
influenced Thomas Jefferson,<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/702720-du-contrat-social-ou-principes-du-droit-politique"> Jean-Jacques Rousseau. (1712-1778) </a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Rousseau.jpg"><img alt="Rousseau" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-444" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Rousseau-227x300.jpg" width="227" /></a><br />
“Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.”</div>
Hobbes, on the other hand, described life as, “solitary, nasty,
brutish and short.” Having witnessed the English Civil War, his outlook
was both Calvinistic and pessimistic.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
John Locke, the other great influence, wrote in <a href="http://m/Treatises-Government-Everyman-John-Locke/dp/0460873563/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1459362272&sr=1-1&keywords=two+treatises+of+government+by+john+locke">Two Treatise of Government</a>, “We are like chameleons. We take our hue and the color of our moral character from those around us.”</div>
I am not blind to the fact self-interest drives most decisions. When
Jane Mayer described the heart of the ideology of the far right, she
expressed the beliefs of some that there should be no limit as to what
people can acquire and keep. Many would say that is what made America.
Ronald Regan, running for President in 1980 asked, “What is wrong with
letting people keep their own money?” It is a good question. It seems
like every democracy has been in this argument forever. Remember the
heated exchanges between Archie Bunker and the Meathead we laughed at on
All in the Family? We all have friends who are on opposite sides, and
the day we can no longer have these lively debates would be a very sad
day indeed. It is completely understandable that if you amassed a great
fortune, you would naturally feel you had something significant to
contribute to the discourse. You would also feel that you lived in a
great country that made it all possible, and that you wouldn’t want
anything to change. You would want to find politicians who would do your
bidding when you came up against roadblocks. You would pick up the
phone and demand action. You may even believe that you do not have any
responsibility to your fellow man. You may feel as John Locke stated
that the only purpose of government is the defense of property. You may
choose to devote considerable time and resources to furthering these
views. Would that constitute undue influence, or would it be
contributing to the discourse? That is that is the question.<br />
There is, however, one flaw in this thinking. Hammered into my head
in my teens, by the Headmistress of my school was this universal truth
from the Bible: “To whom much has been given, much will be required.”
Fans of <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/downtonabbey/">Downton Abbey </a>will remember that it was played out in nearly every episode. <em>Nobless Oblige</em>.
If fortune has smiled on you, it is your duty to make your life about
good works. One can see philanthropy everywhere, and one can point to
all the generosity displayed by the wealthy. Some feel there should be
no taxes at all, and if let alone, people would naturally give aid where
it is needed. The only flaw I see in that philosophy is that it is too
willy-nilly. It is not organized. When George H. W. Bush referred to “a
thousand points of light,” in a speech written for him by Peggy Noonan,
it sounded well and good. A little here and a little there does not
build roads and bridges. So we aught to question the belief that we
would be better off without any government at all. Too much would not be
good either because I still believe that I was born free.<br />
Out here on Windy Bay, in the beautiful state of<a href="http://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho,</a>
watching the great birds return from the south, I see that life is
primarily about nest building and fishing. Maybe I can take my “hue and
color” from them.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/eagle-in-Canada.jpg"><img alt="eagle in Canada" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-446" height="193" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/eagle-in-Canada-300x193.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=hobbes" rel="tag">Hobbes</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jane-mayer" rel="tag">Jane Mayer</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=locke-rousseau" rel="tag">Locke Rousseau</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=political-science" rel="tag">Political Science</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=442" rel="bookmark" title="6:35 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-03-30T18:35:59+00:00">March 30, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-435 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-historical-fiction tag-idaho-toronto tag-montreal tag-potatoes" id="post-435">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=435" rel="bookmark">No Small Potatoes</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Map-of-Idaho-potato.jpg"><img alt="Map of Idaho potato" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-437" height="144" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Map-of-Idaho-potato.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>
There has been a movement afoot in literature to focus on one
commodity, and make a book of it. People have written about salt, wine,
and chocolate. I wondered if anyone has written about what the great
state of<a href="http://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho</a> is known for, namely, the potato.<br />
How did this come to pass? How is it that when a person from Idaho
travels, he or she is inevitably asked about potatoes. It turns out that
Idaho was a trailblazer in this regard when in 1937 the<a href="https://idahopotato.com/"> Idaho Potato Commission </a>was
founded. This body, funded by a tax paid by potato farmers, set out to
advertise on radio and later television, to create a brand identity from
a single crop. With a seal fashioned, the customers were encouraged to
look for that mark when purchasing what was to become our famous
potatoes. Lots of other states grow the crop, but the affection and
identity formed by the commission created a market for thirteen billion
pounds of spuds, one- third of all those sold in the United States.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Galway-Bay.jpg"><img alt="Galway Bay" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-439" height="293" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Galway-Bay.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
On a past St. Patrick’s Day, a dear friend by the name of Mary, told me
about a book she had just read by Mary Pat Kelly. Entitled, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Galway-Bay-Mary-Pat-Kelly/dp/0446697109/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458142534&sr=1-1&keywords=galway+bay"><em>Galway Bay,</em></a>
the novel is an actual oral history passed down from one generation to
the next. Told primarily through the women, it is the tale of one
immigrant family and their travails from Ireland to Chicago. While it is
not about the potato famine, called An Gorda Mor in Gaelic, it is the
great catalyst of the tale.</div>
“They tried to kill us, but we didn’t die.” The thread of this story,
handed down through the ages, is one of incredible hardship and then
survival.<br />
When I was in school in Toronto, I recall the day the teacher told us
that the famine was caused by a lazy population who stupidly lived on
one crop because they could not be bothered to grow anything else.<br />
“When that crop suffered a blight they starved,” she told us, with
the implication that they should have known better hanging in the air.<br />
I remember looking out the window, trying to sift through her facts
with what I knew about my own family, all of whom are avid gardeners and
farmers. At home, I asked if the story were true and heard that food
had been exported to England all through those dark days. Imagine having
to take the harvest to market, load a ship and return home to a house
of desperate want. As the “croppies” were only given a scant bit of land
to cultivate for private use, the “pratties” gave the highest yield and
provided the greatest nourishment.<br />
These are the facts: 750,000 were confirmed dead of starvation. Bearing
in mind that many more died in the coffin ships landing in Montreal and
Boston, this would be a severe underestimation. Without the hospitals,
or the manpower necessary to deal with the influx, the sick passengers
arriving in Quebec were put on an island in the St. Lawrence and left
exposed to the elements. Promised, land, cash and food upon arrival,
they arrived to find nothing and no way home. The bit of land they left
behind on the dear, old sod had been exchanged for the price of their
passage. Cecil Woodham Smith reported that during the famine years,
257,000 sheep were exported to England from lands held by absentee
landlords. 480,827 swine went over as well as 186,483 head of cattle.
Not even mentioning other crops, the picture is clear.<br />
There is a happy ending to this tale. The Irish flourished in both the United States and Canada. Reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Galway-Bay-Mary-Pat-Kelly/dp/0446697109/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458142534&sr=1-1&keywords=galway+bay"><em>Galway Bay</em> </a>prompted
me to look up the history of my maternal grandmother, Rose Cahill
Gaudette. One of ten children in her family, I learned that her mother
was the oldest in a family of ten. Examining records found on
Ancestry.com, my blood ran cold when I saw the date. In 1848, Thomas
Cahill arrived in Montreal. Famine. Coffin ship. Most of the passengers
died, and their bodies were tossed over. Of the living, it was decided
to send the Irish on a barge to Toronto. The sun blazed and the fair
skins burned. Once again they were placed on an island off shore. Yet
the good people of the city rowed out in small boats and volunteered to
tend the sick, risking their own lives in the process. The Cahills made
their way to the gorgeous Ottawa valley, carved a life in the
wilderness, and flourished.<br />
From one noun a great story may unfold.<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho-toronto" rel="tag">Idaho Toronto</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=montreal" rel="tag">Montreal</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=potatoes" rel="tag">potatoes</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=435" rel="bookmark" title="3:48 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-03-16T15:48:16+00:00">March 16, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-424 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-uncategorized tag-elizabeth-smythe-brinton tag-elizabeth-strout tag-olive-kitterage" id="post-424">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=424" rel="bookmark">Still Thinking</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/My-Name-is-Lucy-Barton.jpg"><img alt="My Name is Lucy Barton" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-425" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/My-Name-is-Lucy-Barton-203x300.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
It has been four days since I finished reading<em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Name-Lucy-Barton-Novel/dp/1400067693/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455553547&sr=1-1&keywords=my+name+is+lucy+barton+by+elizabeth+strout"> My Name is Lucy Barton</a></em>, by Elizabeth Strout. Having enjoyed the Pulitzer Prize winner, <a href="http://izabeth-strout/dp/0812971833/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455553742&sr=1-1&keywords=olive+kitteridge"><em>Olive Kitteridge,</em></a>
I picked up this book with great anticipation. It did not disappoint –
not in any way. The reason I did not write about this book immediately
has to do with the fact that I am still thinking.<br />
What is it that keeps a reader mulling over phrases, words, ideas,
scenes and aspects about a book for days after the book is shelved? It
is most likely a by-product of tremendous skill. What is the technique
or turn of phrase that would keep resonating in the reader’s mind? A
page-turner will have me gallop through the plot, desperate to find out
what happens, and then once all loose ends are resolved, I barely give
it a second thought. In fact, those sorts of stories go into a
to-be-donated pile. There would be no reason to re-read it, and
therefore, I doubt I would even hang on to it any longer than necessary.<br />
<em>My Name is Lucy Barton</em> could be described as a quiet novel. I
applaud Random House, New York for publishing this work because there
are legions of people who dislike such stories. Any writer who attends
workshops or conferences will hear a great deal of advice about staying
away from this style. It is true that it requires a unique skill set to
do it well. It has to do with being in the mind of a created character
that has sprung to life on the page.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Elizabeth-Strout.jpg"><img alt="Elizabeth Strout" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-426" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Elizabeth-Strout-194x300.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>
Lucy Barton is confined to a hospital bed due to complications from
surgery. Her mother, with whom she has had no contact for many years,
comes to be with her. It was at the request of Lucy’s husband that she
is there, and we learn that right away. So there is tension. Lucy is
trapped, and her mother is reluctant. Ordinarily, you would not be able
to create a novel around this premise. What keeps the reader engaged is
Lucy’s innocence and child-like longing for a response from her mother.<br />
From page 55:<br />
“But it turned out I wanted something else. I wanted my mother to ask
about my life. I wanted to tell her about the life I was living now.
Stupidly-it was just stupidity- I blurted out, “Mom, I got two stories
published.” She looked at me quickly and quizzically, as if I had said
that I had grown extra toes, then looked out the window and said
nothing. “Just dumb ones,” I said, “in tiny magazines.” Still she said
nothing.”<br />
My stomach goes into knots reading this exchange. If a terrorist had
suddenly burst into the hospital room and shot both of them, the tension
would be less in this reader’s imagination. Why would her mother
continually behave in such an unloving manner? Perhaps she simply
couldn’t, or maybe she was jealous, or maybe that is just who she was,
but for whatever reason, I, as the reader, only wanted to close the gap.
This is where the story is very unquiet in my mind. Lucy is going to be
all right. We know that all along. She says she came from nothing, but
she managed to go to college, marry well, raise two daughters and become
an accomplished author. We know that she did all this with precious
little support- financial or otherwise. She did it all without becoming
bitter or hard-nosed. She values kindness and speaks of it often. That
makes her heroic in my eyes and makes me think of her as a living
entity, long after the pages are shut, and the book takes a
well-deserved place on the shelf.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=elizabeth-smythe-brinton" rel="tag">Elizabeth Smythe Brinton</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=elizabeth-strout" rel="tag">Elizabeth Strout</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=olive-kitterage" rel="tag">Olive Kitterage</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=424" rel="bookmark" title="4:38 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-02-15T16:38:09+00:00">February 15, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-416 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-historical-fiction tag-harry-potter tag-jane-eyre tag-my-american-eden tag-romeo-and-juliet tag-scarlet-ohara tag-shakespeare tag-the-count-of-monte-christo tag-tom-sawyer" id="post-416">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=416" rel="bookmark">Finding Character</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
“Characters are not created by writers. They pre-exist and have to be found.” <a href="http://385721250/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176939&sr=1-1&keywords=elizabeth+bowen+books">Elizabeth Bowen</a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg"><img alt="200px-Elizabeth_Bowen" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-419 aligncenter" height="277" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
This is true. I have no authority to make such a statement, but there it
is. Actors speak of finding characters. It is much more than saying the
lines, or putting on the costumes. They try different things, talk in
front of a mirror, obsess about it, work it, and then one day they will
arrive at the set and describe how they found their character. They
speak of the precise moment when it happened. It may have sprung from
tying scarves around their heads as when Johnny Depp became Jack
Sparrow, or it could be something that happened with the walk. Somewhere
along the way, they become inhabited. That is how I would describe the
experience.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In <a href="http://www.madeleinelengle.com/">Madeline L’Engle’s</a>
case, she woke up from a nap and saw him, Charles Wallace Murray. He
was sitting in her room. Other accounts describe dreams or even visions.
In my experience, it is dialog. The character starts talking. I am only
doing the typing. When this happens, I can barely contain my
excitement. I fear that to stifle my imaginary friends would be wrong,
so I let them run on. They may have accents, wear funny clothes, or seem
a bit strange, but I assume it is not my place to question anything.
They may take the story in a new direction. They will be full of
surprises. In some cases they will take over, shove me out of the way
and tell the story themselves. That is the greatest gift. Every word
will flow like a river.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg"><img alt="madeleine_lengle_2" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-417" height="292" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg" width="200" /></a> Madeline L’Engle</div>
Years ago, a young friend who wrote songs told me that the Creator
likes creating. He said that he felt well in his soul when the tunes
came to him. It is a strange unknown impulse that drives us all. So if
what Elizabeth Bowen said is true, how do we go about this process of
finding our characters? I wish I had the answer. It would be a great
boon to all kinds of creative people if the method were that simple. In
all disciplines, it seems that getting in the mode is the key. Even
stage performances will vary from night to night, and when the magic
occurs, it will be very fleeting. Those who happened to be at that
performance, or at that game, or in that moment, will know it. The
greatest characters in all of literature did not start when the author
attempted to describe a middle-aged white man or a beautiful young girl.
I would hazard a guess that those fantastic beings arrived fully
formed. Maybe great souls have a desire to jump back into life this way.
If it isn’t happening, don’t worry because if you stick with it for
long enough, I am convinced that someone will show up.<br />
While writing<em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1572493488/ref=tmm_pap_new_olp_sr?ie=UTF8&condition=new&qid=1454175710&sr=8-1"> My American Eden</a></em>,
I wanted to bring Mary Dyer’s story to life. Since she was the only
female inhabitant of Boston in 1635 that Governor Winthrop attempted to
describe in his journals, I learned that she was “comely and of no mean
estate.” Years later, on Rhode Island, the Governor wrote that she could
converse with any man, as well as any man on any topic.” That was my
start. I searched and begged for more clues. One night at The Best Food
Ever Book Club in Spokane, I was elaborating on my research to date when
a great friend said, “Mary Dyer? I am a direct descendant of Mary
Dyer.” Next I learned that the model for Sylvia Shaw Judson’s statue
commemorating this rebel saint who gave her life for the cause of
religious freedom was none other than my husband’s paternal grandmother.
The list goes on, but I still yearned to see her. To really meet her.
While obsessing about Mary and writing the first draft I had to choose
between internal dialogue, what I imagined she was thinking while alone
in her house, or show her conversing with someone. Of course, who would
have been alone in their house in 1635? I added an indentured servant.
Not even beginning to create any sort of picture, she was there. By the
fourth draft I had gone from nine hundred pages to four hundred and
fifty, and switched from third person omniscient to first person. Only
it was not Mary’s voice in my head following the discipline of the
narrative; it was Irene, the servant, the one who arrived fully formed. I
started getting a better look at Mary through her eyes.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo.jpg"><img alt="count of monte christo" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-421" height="169" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo-300x169.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
A fully formed character could be anyone. What they are is visible and memorable. <a href="http://unt-monte-cristo-penguin-classics/dp/0140449264/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175852&sr=1-1&keywords=the+count+of+monte+cristo">The Count of Monte Christo.</a> <a href="http://mark-twain/dp/1503215679/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175917&sr=1-1&keywords=tom+sawyer">Tom Sawyer</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gone-Wind-Anniversary-Margaret-Mitchell/dp/1451635621/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176163&sr=1-1&keywords=gone+with+the+wind">Scarlet O’Hara.</a><a href="http://xn---bront-uva/dp/0141441143/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175983&sr=1-1&keywords=jane+eyre+by+charlotte+bronte"> Jane Eyre</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Harry-Potter-Paperback-Box-Books/dp/0545162076/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176032&sr=1-1&keywords=Harry+Potter">Harry Potter</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romeo-Juliet-Folger-Shakespeare-Library/dp/0743477111/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176085&sr=1-1&keywords=Romeo+and+Juliet">Romeo </a>of
the House of Montague. Portia. The list goes on and on. You can’t name a
great classic without a memorable character, or several coming to mind.<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=harry-potter" rel="tag">Harry Potter</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jane-eyre" rel="tag">Jane Eyre</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=my-american-eden" rel="tag">My American Eden</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=romeo-and-juliet" rel="tag">Romeo and Juliet</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=scarlet-ohara" rel="tag">Scarlet O'Hara</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shakespeare" rel="tag">Shakespeare</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-count-of-monte-christo" rel="tag">The Count of Monte Christo</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=tom-sawyer" rel="tag">Tom Sawyer</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=416" rel="bookmark" title="6:42 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-30T18:42:04+00:00">January 30, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-400 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-self-help category-uncategorized tag-atkins tag-diet tag-dr-phil tag-french-women-dont-get-fat tag-misty-copeland tag-pat-conroy tag-the-lords-of-discipline tag-the-prince-of-tides tag-weight-watchers" id="post-400">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=400" rel="bookmark">Diets Don’t Work</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
Do you know why diets don’t work? Neither do I. Diets don’t fail;
dieters do, so therefore if you don’t like failure, for heaven’s sake,
don’t go on a diet.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media4.popsugar-assets.com/files/2014/08/08/782/n/1922729/c62058b3f62b96d8_thumb_temp_image8453211407450717.xxxlarge/i/Misty-Copeland-Workout.jpg">Misty Copeland</a> <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1.jpg"><img alt="Misty-Copeland 1" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-409" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1-300x300.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
I credit my mother for my long and tiresome history with dieting, as
it was she who would always start with the latest diet book. After she
had left this world and I had to close up her apartment, there on the
night table, right beside her bed was<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Books--Strategies-Ultimate-Solution-McGraaw/dp/B00L3OQHOK/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452705590&sr=1-6&keywords=Dr.+Phils+Strategies+for+Weight+Loss"> Dr. Phil’s Life Strategies and The Ultimate Weight Loss. </a>She
would rail against the strictures of these programs, and then get in
bed and say, “I have to read about what I get to eat tomorrow.” From the
eggs, steak and grapefruit of the sixties, to<a href="https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/?cid=SEM"> Weight Watchers</a>, to<a href="http://www.atkins.com/register?mcid=riseppcggl&gclid=CI-r9tCnp8oCFUVcfgodDKAH8g"> Atkins</a>, to<a href="http://www.southbeachdiet.com/diet/"> South Beach</a>, to<a href="http://www.westpalmbeachdietdoctor.com/"> Palm Beach, </a>you
name it, she was always game. Not being overweight, ever, and in
possession of a healthy body and mind, she was nevertheless always after
those elusive ten to fifteen pounds that seem to plague us all. At the
same time, she entertained and churned out more meals for guests than I
can count. This extended to her family, children, and grandchildren and
we do not think of her without remembering all those wonderful dinners.
As her mother came from a large Irish clan, the tradition of eating food
in season and not being too extravagant in any one direction came into
play.<br />
When I worked at Coldwater Creek, the idea of an employee cookbook
sprang to the mind of the H.R. director who wanted this to happen but
did not want to do it herself. Yours truly here volunteered to head up
the project, and a labor of love began. I decided that it would be great
to celebrate our mother’s and grandmother’s cherished recipes and put
their full names, place of birth and dates alongside those family
treasures. Sharing this task with our counterparts in West Virginia, we
gathered a compilation of culinary wisdom entitled, Coldwater Creek
Cooks. To this end, I managed to get the best pound cake recipe ever,
originating from Kentucky and served with a hot butter sauce with a
touch of Bourbon. As my son was getting married that year, I thought it
would be great to give my future daughter-in-law all the reference
material possible from the culture of his maternal line. As my daughter
headed off to college and moved from wretched dorm food to her own
apartment, she had her copy as well. How I delighted in those first
calls for instruction in basic meals. I am so proud to say that both my
children love good food, eat well and share this bond with me.<br />
Writers who love fine cuisine share a particular place in my heart.<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg"><img alt="cook_cover" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-404 aligncenter" height="204" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg" width="133" /></a> When<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook"> The Pat Conroy </a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">Cookbook</a>
came out, I raced home with my copy, hot off the press and read it from
cover to cover. Tasked with preparing the evening meal for his family
when his wife decided to go to law school, he began the challenge in the
way most writers do: he went straightaway to his favorite book store.
He picked up a copy of The Escoffier Cookbook and learned the basics of
French cooking which always begin with homemade stock.<br />
My culinary history has a similar origin. As a young adult, living on
my own in a stone house in the country, I came down with a nasty bout
of pneumonia and moved back home to recover. My mother, working as an
interior designer at the time, decided that if I were home all day, I
could take on the responsibility of dinner. In her collection of
cookbooks, I found one published by our favorite restaurant in Palm
Beach, Florida, called The Petite Marmite. The pictures were so
beautiful, and inspiring, that I set out to recreate them. I had to
start by making stocks that I have always believed are not only the
essence of great dishes but also of good health. In Conroy’s book, he
describes his time in Paris and also in Rome, the places where he dined
after a hard day of writing <a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/">The Lords of Discipline </a>and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_19/187-0758294-1903222?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+prince+of+tides&sprefix=The+Prince+of+Tides%2Caps%2C316">The Prince of Tides. </a>He
also peppers his chapters with tales of the region he knows so well:
the low country of South Carolina. When Mireille Guiliano created<a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/"> French Women Don’t Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure</a>,
I knew I had found the ultimate book for me. Years ago, in Paris with
my mother, we decided to uncover the secret we could see all around us,
that being, French women ate the best food in the world and seemed much
thinner than their North Americans counterparts. We thought we could
just indulge to our heart’s content, and it would all somehow balance
out. Wrong.<br />
You cannot describe the physicality of a character in exact terms. It
would read like a medical chart. Your reader will get a better picture
by depicting what they eat, how much, how often and how important it is
to them. Do they eat to live, or are they more like me, a person who
lives to eat. Are meals, described regarding grabbing a bite, or set
under an arbor in the garden and encompassing most of the afternoon? Is
food a necessary chore, or unbridled passion? Above all, what do they
eat for lunch?<br />
<br />
From <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">The Pat Conroy Cookbook:</a><br />
“I write of truffles in the Dordogne Valley in France, cilantro in
Bangkok, catfish in Alabama, scuppernong in South Carolina, Chinese food
from my years in San Francisco, and white asparagus from the first meal
my agent, Julian Bach, took me to in New York City.”<br />
<br />
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<article class="post-392 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-self-help tag-bliss tag-colum-mccann tag-ecstasy tag-idaho tag-joy tag-lake-coeur-d-alene" id="post-392">
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<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=392" rel="bookmark">More Bliss</a>
</h1>
</header>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/snowy-deck.jpg"><img alt="snowy deck" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-394" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/snowy-deck-225x300.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
It was at the checkout counter of my favorite grocery store that I
received encouragement regarding this topic. Answering the question of
my new year’s resolutions, I answered, “Just one. Two words. More
bliss.” Both the cashier and the woman helping her bag my veggies and
fresh sourdough baguette applauded the concept.<br />
As far back as my recorded resolutions state, I have begun each new
year of my adult life with these two words: lose weight. What is
different this year? I would still like to continue my weight loss
journey, but that is not the leading resolution. Why not?<br />
Bliss is not something one bumps into by accident. It is also not
something one can micro manage or plan for entirely. What is is exactly?
Where do I find it? Where does it abound? I would say<a href="https://visitidaho.org/"> Idaho. </a>Windy
Bay, Lake Coeur d’ Alene; it can be found right out my door. Communing
with nature on a daily basis is the first step. Yet there is a
difference between simple enjoyment and bliss. Bliss is defined as
supreme happiness.<br />
All guilt aside, Protestant work ethic and Calvinistic upbringing
urging me to discard these thoughts in favor of everyday nose- to- the-
grindstone good works, I can say that I will keep on with those
traditions. Since I know that bliss is fleeting and short-lived, I do
not need to fear going down the drain over seeking moments of profound
joy. I can reconcile these two concepts by acknowledging that I am in
training. For this to occur everything needs to be in place.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola.jpg"><img alt="VIP gondola" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-395" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola-225x300.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
I want to be in really good shape. To this end, my ballet, yoga, and
pilates program of my invention are essential. I need to be strong
enough to ski with my husband who is a wonder. Yesterday, <a href="http://www.silvermt.com/Outdoor-Adventures/Winter-Activities/Lift-Tickets-Season-passes?gclid=COnGlPPPkMoCFUaCfgodaEIEnA">Silver Mountain</a>
was spectacularly beautiful. While cross-country skiing, breaking trail
on a quiet, wooded road, with the sun glistening and a massive eagle
soaring overhead, it happened. I was awestruck. My jaw drops in such
moments.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg"><img alt="thirteen ways of looking" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-393" height="293" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg" width="199" /></a><br />
Reading <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_24?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=thirteen+ways+of+looking&sprefix=Thirteen+Ways+of+Looking%2Caps%2C385">Thirteen Ways of Looking</a></em>
by Colum McCann, yielded many such moments. When a person can write in a
way that barely seems mortal, it can send my spirit soaring. Looking
ahead, I am envisioning sailing with our son on Lake Coeur d’ Alene this
summer. There will be a moment. I know it. The wind will grab the
sails, and we will look at each other and laugh knowing that we are
having an absolute blast out on the water. I also look forward to
rafting, swimming, kayaking and boating down to dinner at Conklin’s
Resort, and dancing under the stars.<br />
Will I be sad, will I be angry, will I be depressed and discouraged? Yes. Will it matter? No.<br />
It was in the seventh grade when I took this poem by Sara Teasdale to heart. It is called Barter.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
All beautiful and splendid things,<br />
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,<br />
Soaring fire that sways and sings,<br />
And children’s faces looking up<br />
Holding wonder in a cup.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
Music like a curve of gold,<br />
Scent of pine trees in the rain,<br />
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,<br />
And for your spirit’s still delight,<br />
Holy thoughts that star the night.<br />
Spend all you have for loveliness,<br />
Buy it and never count the cost;<br />
For one white singing hour of peace<br />
Count many a year of strife well lost,<br />
And for a breath of ecstasy<br />
Give all you have been, or could be.<br />
I will read, I will write, I will study, I will spend time with old
friends and new, I will laugh until I cry, I will eat good food, and I
will get stronger with each passing day. I will devote myself to serving
others. When bliss comes along, I will be ready. It will be duly noted.<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=bliss" rel="tag">bliss</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=colum-mccann" rel="tag">Colum McCann</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=ecstasy" rel="tag">ecstasy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=joy" rel="tag">joy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=lake-coeur-d-alene" rel="tag">Lake Coeur d' Alene</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=392" rel="bookmark" title="7:15 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-03T19:15:11+00:00">January 3, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-382 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-christmas category-motivationinspiration category-uncategorized tag-christmas tag-norad tag-queens-christmas-message" id="post-382">
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=382" rel="bookmark">Thoughts on Christmas</a>
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The snow is falling on a slant in big, crowded flakes over Windy
Bay. We had fog this morning, and then rain, and finally snow, all
pointing to a cozy day inside. Christmas cards and wrapping gifts can
wait. I want to think about Christmas.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg"><img alt="snowy Idaho" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-385" height="176" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg" width="286" /></a><br />
We used to do so much running around. The first year America shopped
online, I worked for Coldwater Creek on the web team. Terrified of the
Internet, people would call and ask if they were online. We would
politely have to reply that they were still on the telephone. At first,
everyone forgot their passwords, but we could look them up. “That is my
dog’s name,” they would say.<br />
<br />
As the days progressed, the anxiety and stress would increase, and
yes, sometimes the call center agents, myself included, would be on the
receiving end of a lot of harsh words and yelling. We had to ask if the
customer would care to share their email address.<br />
Most responded with, “Certainly not.”<br />
With each increasing year, online shopping became more of the norm.
During those years, we scrambled to keep up with the volume of business,
and we did everything in our power to keep the customers happy. We were
proud to work for a company founded by good people and housed in the
beautiful town of Sandpoint, Idaho.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store.jpg"><img alt="Codwater Creek Store" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-387" height="83" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store-300x83.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
Sometimes, between calls, my fellow agents and I would commiserate.
We bonded. We talked a lot about the meaning of Christmas. It sure
didn’t seem like we were hearing it. If packages had yet to arrive, if
something did not live up to their expectations, or God forbid, the
wrong item got into the box, we had to hear about it. We would wonder
what happened to the idea of an old- fashioned Christmas with good food
and even better good cheer?<br />
We look back; we look around, and we look forward. We think about the
story. It is one of the greatest ever told. As a child, it used to make
me wonder why Joseph did not start our earlier, why did Mary have to be
dragged along if she was having a baby, why didn’t some nice person
give up their room at the Inn so that she could have a bed? Why weren’t
they better prepared? Times were different, my Mom said. She was glad
she had all of us in a hospital.<br />
On Christmas Eve, in the city of Toronto, we gathered around the
radio, listening for the first reports. They came from the military. As
the sky turned dark, regular programming would be interrupted with a
news bulletin. A sighting! Clearly visible from NORAD bases in the far
north, a sleigh, flying through the pitch black sky pulled by reindeer,
he was on his way! Santa’s journey had begun. We had the cookies and the
milk ready. Why were there two Christmas stories, I wondered?<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa.jpg"><img alt="santa" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-386" height="200" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa-300x200.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
On Christmas Day, we looked forward to another tradition. My mother
insisted we eat breakfast in the dining room with good china and silver,
bacon, eggs, toast and fresh orange juice. It seemed to go on forever,
but when we finished eating, we gathered by the radio to hear the Queen.
She reminded us, year after year, every year of my life to date, that
we should focus on serving others. Wherever we happened to be in the
Commonwealth, she wanted to wish us all a happy Christmas with our
families and to be mindful of those in need. She was right, is right,
and will always be right.<br />
There is meaning. There is hope. There is kindness in this world, and
there is love. Stress? Who needs it? What we could use is more of the
story and more peace.<br />
</div>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-49661010717704441402016-07-13T07:35:00.000-07:002016-07-13T07:37:05.913-07:00A Conversation with North Idaho author Buck Storm: THE MIRACLE MANby <a href="http://jenniferlamontleo.com/" target="_blank">Jennifer Lamont Leo</a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9HucoSdHgmAZoBzUha66oiov5oLhHW5HnFfAPYvH_xUNSoFwIsK8LsfUX-_-DYhDlCsc92UXTsFu-kDGXVAO1-PqO1nf07DOkRj_dO4NC_Mcti0ltsKtozEbFoJbXiNxvKqfGaxXT-Tp/s400/miracle+man.jpg" width="266" /><span id="goog_1439306932"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1439306933"></span></div>
<br />
In the nine-plus years that I’ve lived in northern Idaho, I’ve continually
been impressed by the quality of the local literary community. Who knew
there were so many intriguing authors, writers, and booklovers living
in these parts? And then to discover that I share a publisher with one
of them–well, to my mind, that makes us sort of literary cousins!<br />
<br />
On a recent sunny day I had the privilege of chatting with Buck over coffee. His debut novel, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Miracle-Man-Buck-Storm/dp/1941103928" target="_blank"><i>The Miracle Man</i></a>, was published in 2015 by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas.<br />
<br />
But Buck’s is not only a novelist–he’s an accomplished musician and
songwriter, too (another form of storytelling). As a soloist or as one
half of “Stonehill and Storm” (with Christian-music powerhouse Randy
Stonehill), Buck “plays live throughout America and the world, in venues
that range anywhere from churches to concert halls, prisons to soup
kitchens to barrooms,” as stated on <a href="http://www.buckstorm.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">his website</a>.<br />
<br />
When not traveling on tour, Buck and his wife, Michelle, call North
Idaho home. They enjoy hanging out with their grown kids and renovating
their 1908 house–of which, I must admit, I’m envious. To my delight, it
turns out that the Storms, too, are fans of “all things vintage,”
scouring the area for cast-off treasures that just need a little TLC to
restore them to their former luster.<br />
<div class="wp-caption alignright" id="attachment_2530" style="width: 330px;">
<a href="http://jenniferlamontleo.com/2016/07/12/sparkling-vintage-book-review-and-interview-the-miracle-man-by-buck-storm/buck-storm/" rel="attachment wp-att-2530"><img alt="Buck Storm, storyteller and songwriter" class="wp-image-2530 size-medium" src="http://i0.wp.com/jenniferlamontleo.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/buck-storm.jpg?resize=320%2C400" height="400" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="wp-caption-text">
Buck Storm: storyteller, singer, songwriter</div>
</div>
<br />
But back to matters at hand . . .<br />
<br />
Set in 1951,<i> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Miracle-Man-Buck-Storm/dp/1941103928" target="_blank">The Miracle Man</a></i>
tells the story of Luke Hollis, police chief of sleepy Paradise,
Arizona. When an unexplained healing occurs during a service at the
Mount Moriah Pentecostal Church of God, Hollis finds his simple belief
system challenged and his life changed forever. Throw in a struggling
minister, a world-class grifter, and a stranger with an unbelievable
story of love and redemption and the stage is set for <i>The Miracle Man</i>.
By the time it’s all over everyone involved will come face to face with
a power that’s greater and more wonderful than any of them could have
ever imagined.<br />
<br />
I loved this book, especially its vivid descriptions, memorable
characters, wry humor, and powerful story of redemption. It’s the kind
of story you find yourself rolling over in your mind, days after
finishing it.<br />
Here are some highlights from our conversation:<br />
<br />
Jennifer Lamont Leo: Thanks for meeting with me, Buck. <i>The Miracle Man</i> is set in the early 1950s. Why did you choose that time period?<br />
<br />
Buck Storm: I don’t really know … I think it chose me! Growing up in
Arizona, a lot of guys I knew were from that postwar time period. I
loved listening to their stories.<br />
<br />
Jennifer: Is Paradise based on a real town?<br />
<br />
Buck: Paradise is fictional. I’ve placed it in the area around Payson, Arizona, but it’s not based on any particular town.<br />
<br />
Jennifer: Is any part of the story autobiographical?<br />
<br />
Buck: No, except to the extent that, like Luke Hollis, I have
arm-wrestled with God. The truth is, God is involved in your life,
whether you know it or not, whether you acknowledge it.<br />
<br />
Jennifer: That’s an important message for people to hear.<br />
<br />
Buck: Yeah. If our lives are grounded in faith, then our writing comes out of that faith.<br />
<br />
Jennifer: What have you enjoyed reading/watching/listening to lately?<br />
<br />
Buck: I recently enjoyed the movie <i>Smoke Signals </i>[<i>ed. note: based on a story by another notable Northwest author, Sherman Alexie</i>].
I’ve been reading Charles Martin, Elmore Leonard, and Larry McMurtry,
paying special attention to their use of dialogue. As a songwriter, I
appreciate dialogue that has an almost lyrical quality, like
[songwriter] John Prine. I’m on the road a lot, so I listen to
audiobooks while driving.<br />
<br />
Jennifer: Speaking of being on the road, tell us a bit about your music. How would you describe it?<br />
<br />
Buck: I’d call it Americana, both in genre and content. It has
elements of country and folk, a sort of vintage acoustic style. You can
listen to it at <a href="http://buckstorm.com/">buckstorm.com</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Jennifer: Do you take copies of <i>The Miracle Man</i> with you on the road?<br />
<br />
Buck: Yeah. A lot of people who come to hear us play have responded very positively to the book.<br />
<br />
Jennifer: What writing projects are you working on now?<br />
<br />
Buck: My next novel, <i>Truck Stop Jesus</i>, will be published in November 2016. And I’m working on a third novel, <i>The Beautiful Ashes of Gomez Gomez. </i>I also write a blog called <a href="http://www.buckstorm.com/blog" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Tips for the Traveler</a>, where I share some of the thoughts I have while traveling.<br />
<br />
Jennifer: Life on the road must give you a lot of time to think. It helps your creativity.<br />
<br />
Buck: Yes, it does.<br />
<br />
Jennifer: Thanks for talking with me today, Buck. I look forward to future visits to Paradise, Arizona.<br />
<br />
Buck: Thank you.<br />
<br />
Look for <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Miracle-Man-Buck-Storm/dp/1941103928" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><i>The Miracle Man</i></a> (available now) and <i>Truck Stop Jesus</i> (coming in November 2016) at your favorite online bookseller. For more about Buck Storm, visit his website, <a href="http://www.buckstorm.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">buckstorm.com</a>, where you can read his <a href="http://www.buckstorm.com/blog" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">blog</a>, listen to his <a href="http://www.buckstorm.com/music--2" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">music</a>, and find out more about his upcoming tour schedule, book releases, and more.<br />
<br />
<i>[Note: This post also appeared on jenniferlamontleo.com.] </i>Jennifer Lamont Leohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08545029520294621355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-60224183642451812622016-06-05T10:42:00.000-07:002016-06-05T11:34:16.527-07:00Float Like A Butterfly<div class="site-content" id="primary">
<div id="content" role="main">
<br />
<article class="post-460 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-memoir category-motivation category-sports tag-boxing tag-muhammed-ali" id="post-460">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<br />
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg"><img alt="Ali" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-464" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ali.jpg" height="182" width="276" /></a></div>
Today we look back on the life of a man who came into this world as<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muhammad_Ali"> Cassius Clay</a>.
He captured the attention of America, not only by his prowess in the
ring but by the stand he took against the Vietnam War. While he is
eulogized across all media outlets, I wish to share a personal story
about the day<a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776"> Ali </a>came to our town. We were all in an uproar.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935.jpg"><img alt="MLG 1935" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-463" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/MLG-1935-300x239.jpg" height="239" width="300" /></a><br />
To set the stage, I must part the mists of time and go back to the month of March 1966, when a fight, booked at<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens</a>
in Toronto, tore our family asunder. The stadium built on a wing and a
prayer housed many boxing matches, but this was a fight like no other.
My grandfather, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conn_Smythe_Trophy">Conn Smythe,</a>
still at the helm as Chairman of Board, hit the roof over the prospect
of a known draft dodger darkening the door of his temple. A veteran and
hero of two world wars, he was a consummate military man who felt that
that duty to one’s country was sacrosanct. The only reason the fight was
booked north of the border is that no American stadium would allow the
match between Ali and Ernie Terrell to take place. Small town radio disc
jockeys were having a field day saying that in no way shape or form
would their town allow the Ali/Terrell fight. My grandfather agreed. The
Forum in Montreal declined, and he believed we should do the same. My
father, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stafford_Smythe">Stafford Smythe, </a>President of the <a href="http://mapleleafs.nhl.com/">Toronto Maple Leafs</a>,
and a war veteran himself chose not to slam the door in Ali’s face and
refused to knuckle under. We in the Smythe family had two fights on our
hands.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations.jpg"><img alt="four generations" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-465" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/four-generations-300x168.jpg" height="168" width="300" /></a><br />
As the youngest daughter and a preteen at the time, we were all
involved in the donnybrook. My mother thought my grandfather would cool
off in time. My brother, the go-between, told us otherwise. It was less
than a year since we lost our grandmother, the peacemaker, and we were
scared. A way out presented itself when Terrell, unable to meet the
financial obligation, backed out. My father’s partner, Harold Ballard,
in charge of all non-hockey related attractions and the man who had set
the whole show on the road, refused to budge. He found a Canadian boxer
by the name of<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=Stafford+Smythe&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8#q=George+Chuvalo"> George Chuvalo</a>
to accept the challenge. With a scant twenty-three days in which to
train, we had a new fear that raced around the school yard, was
discussed by Moms over coffee, had people calling our house incessantly,
and seemed like a real possibility. Ali would kill Chuvalo. Everyone
said if he didn’t kill him he would knock him out in the first round. It
would be a joke, a waste of time for anyone who bought a ticket, and a
disgrace to Toronto and our beloved<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maple_Leaf_Gardens"> Maple Leaf Gardens.</a> My father would have blood on his hands.<br />
As the day approached, my grandfather had neither softened nor
cooled. He increased his efforts, calling boxing officials and trying to
get the match stopped. <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a> crossed the border and arrived in Toronto. He later said that he had never been treated as nicely anywhere.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head.jpg"><img alt="head to head" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-466" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/head-to-head-300x159.jpg" height="159" width="300" /></a></div>
The fight was one of the greatest of Ali’s life. It went fifteen
rounds. George Chuvalo came out from his corner with fierce
determination. He remained standing to the bitter end. He was
incredible, and so was Ali. It was the greatest fight to ever take place
at Maple Leaf Gardens. It changed our lives. It was a turning point.<br />
One day over lunch when describing this incident to a friend she
said, “Isn’t that the Rocky story?” George Chuvalo is still with us. He
is as strong as ever, and he is still one of my heroes.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg"><img alt="Chuvalo" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-467" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Chuvalo.jpg" height="104" width="185" /></a><br />
At this point in time, as we say farewell to Ali, may he be
remembered as the champion he became. There is more to his story than
meets the eye. He was supposed to do what he was told; I heard this just
about everywhere I went. He wasn’t obedient. He was uppity. He didn’t
know his place. Perhaps this is true. He was a man who decided that his
place was within the realm of his own choosing. One could not help but
admire the courage with which he lived his life. “Float like a
butterfly, sting like a bee.” The stinging is over now. Float in peace, <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/news/sports/muhammad-ali-greatest-all-time-dead-74-n584776">Ali</a>. We will always be glad you came to town.</div>
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<article class="post-451 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-self-help category-uncategorized tag-edit tag-mills-college tag-style tag-toasters tag-vanity-fair" id="post-451">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=451" rel="bookmark">Treasure in the Trash</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg"><img alt="old mills college" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-452" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg" height="196" width="257" /></a> Mills College, Oakland, California</div>
<br />
“Beware lest in attempting the grand, you overshoot the mark and become grandiose.” <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voltaire">Voltaire</a><br />
I came across this snippet the other day on<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=twitter&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8"> Twitter</a>. The advice, earmarked to writers, could apply to just about anything. It would certainly apply to editing.<br />
This time of year we are in a grand editing process. While the
natural world springs to life, we need to make room for things to grow.
Keep this and discard that. How do we decide? It was on Easter Sunday
that I heard of the concept of holding up hangers in the closet and
asking yourself if the object in your hand affords joy. What a great
idea. Those of us whose parents were children in the Depression years
were schooled, in some cases quite harshly, about discarding things
willy-nilly. It can be a source of great strife between couples
depending on the ferocity of the message. Every object in the house
could have a use at some point and to have to run out and purchase
something recently discarded, can cause genuine distress. Others want to
pare down, and certainly the modern look we see displayed in stores and
magazines is becoming more and more devoid of clutter.<br />
Yesterday, we celebrated motherhood and mothers who gave tirelessly
to shape our sensibility. I did think of my mother when I read
Voltaire’s comment. I thought about how it would make her laugh. As she
worked in her later years as an interior designer she had renowned
taste. She found a way to reconcile her childhood teachings with
creating beautiful surroundings. Her possessions grace the homes of her
children, and grandchildren. She chose objects with care, and they have
lasted the test of time. She would tell us that something “looked
tired.” It could be a table. Once it acquired this sense of fatigue, it
was out the door to anyone who would take it. How do I stand on this
issue? I feel as if I have one foot in a boat and the other on the dock.
A decision needs to be made quickly before disaster strikes. The age of
some pieces that adorn our lives never ceases to amaze me. We make our
toast every morning in a toaster that has been in use my entire life. It
has never broken. The toast goes down automatically and comes up by
itself perfectly. Almost everything I surround myself with is old.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster.jpg"><img alt="old toaster" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-455" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster-300x245.jpg" height="245" width="300" /></a></div>
I am drawn to the blank page because it is empty. I want to fill it
up. Years ago, I thought writing a novel just involved getting enough
words together to fill up all the pages. The sad truth came from a
gifted teacher, a novelist who taught at <a href="http://www.mills.edu/">Mills College</a>
and she gave it to me straight. “You may have filled up your briefcase
with pages, but you have not written a novel.” Together we worked with
what I had, and I learned that the real trick is filling up pages and
then throwing them in the garbage. Hemingway once said that he could
tell that his writing was going well when the waste-basket was full of
really good stuff.<br />
Yesterday I read a quote in<a href="http://www.vanityfair.com/"> Vanity Fair</a> from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lee_Radziwill">Lee Radiwill</a>. “Great style is editing.”<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg"><img alt="Lee Radziwill" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-453" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg" height="183" width="275" /></a><br />
Whether it is in art, a beautiful interior or an excellent book, that
is the key. Do you know what great designers have? Storage units. One
piece, edited out, may reappear years later in another place and time.
The same is true for chapters or paragraphs of any work in progress.
Gone are the days when we ripped a sheet of paper from the typewriter
and tossed it in a nearby bin. We can watch our words disappear before
our very eyes. Or, like me, you might just want to keep them in a
separate document. Perhaps they may improve with age. Out of all the
rubbish, a new idea may germinate.<br />
Toaster photo: “Copyright © 2016 by Craig Rairdin.”</div>
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<article class="post-442 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-non-fiction category-uncategorized tag-hobbes tag-idaho tag-jane-mayer tag-locke-rousseau tag-political-science" id="post-442">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=442" rel="bookmark">The Discipline of Desire</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/John-Locke.jpg"><img alt="John Locke" class="size-medium wp-image-443 alignright" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/John-Locke-230x300.jpg" height="300" width="230" /></a><br />
“The discipline of desire is the background of character.”<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=John+Locke&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8"> John Locke</a><br />
How do we maintain a free society? Is it bred in the bone, or is it up for grabs?<br />
Having just finished reading Jane Mayer’s<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Money-History-Billionaires-Radical/dp/0385535597/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1459362128&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+money"> <i>Dark Money</i>,</a>
my eyes have been opened. It is not as if I did not know about the
undue influence of special interests in government; everyone is aware of
this fact. The term “special interests,” is vague, and if you cannot
put a face to something, it is hard to imagine. Television advertising
paid for by groups with names that sound good, Americans for this, that,
or the other thing, makes a person think that these organizations are
comprised of a group of individuals who came together to help solve
problems. What we are not aware of is from whom the funding comes.
Likewise, we don’t always know to what ends. Like most people, I err on
the side of a general belief that people are inherently good. This line
of thinking is the product of a Swiss- born French philosopher who
influenced Thomas Jefferson,<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/702720-du-contrat-social-ou-principes-du-droit-politique"> Jean-Jacques Rousseau. (1712-1778) </a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Rousseau.jpg"><img alt="Rousseau" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-444" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Rousseau-227x300.jpg" height="300" width="227" /></a><br />
“Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.”</div>
Hobbes, on the other hand, described life as, “solitary, nasty,
brutish and short.” Having witnessed the English Civil War, his outlook
was both Calvinistic and pessimistic.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
John Locke, the other great influence, wrote in <a href="http://m/Treatises-Government-Everyman-John-Locke/dp/0460873563/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1459362272&sr=1-1&keywords=two+treatises+of+government+by+john+locke">Two Treatise of Government</a>, “We are like chameleons. We take our hue and the color of our moral character from those around us.”</div>
I am not blind to the fact self-interest drives most decisions. When
Jane Mayer described the heart of the ideology of the far right, she
expressed the beliefs of some that there should be no limit as to what
people can acquire and keep. Many would say that is what made America.
Ronald Regan, running for President in 1980 asked, “What is wrong with
letting people keep their own money?” It is a good question. It seems
like every democracy has been in this argument forever. Remember the
heated exchanges between Archie Bunker and the Meathead we laughed at on
All in the Family? We all have friends who are on opposite sides, and
the day we can no longer have these lively debates would be a very sad
day indeed. It is completely understandable that if you amassed a great
fortune, you would naturally feel you had something significant to
contribute to the discourse. You would also feel that you lived in a
great country that made it all possible, and that you wouldn’t want
anything to change. You would want to find politicians who would do your
bidding when you came up against roadblocks. You would pick up the
phone and demand action. You may even believe that you do not have any
responsibility to your fellow man. You may feel as John Locke stated
that the only purpose of government is the defense of property. You may
choose to devote considerable time and resources to furthering these
views. Would that constitute undue influence, or would it be
contributing to the discourse? That is that is the question.<br />
There is, however, one flaw in this thinking. Hammered into my head
in my teens, by the Headmistress of my school was this universal truth
from the Bible: “To whom much has been given, much will be required.”
Fans of <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/downtonabbey/">Downton Abbey </a>will remember that it was played out in nearly every episode. <i>Nobless Oblige</i>.
If fortune has smiled on you, it is your duty to make your life about
good works. One can see philanthropy everywhere, and one can point to
all the generosity displayed by the wealthy. Some feel there should be
no taxes at all, and if let alone, people would naturally give aid where
it is needed. The only flaw I see in that philosophy is that it is too
willy-nilly. It is not organized. When George H. W. Bush referred to “a
thousand points of light,” in a speech written for him by Peggy Noonan,
it sounded well and good. A little here and a little there does not
build roads and bridges. So we aught to question the belief that we
would be better off without any government at all. Too much would not be
good either because I still believe that I was born free.<br />
Out here on Windy Bay, in the beautiful state of<a href="http://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho,</a>
watching the great birds return from the south, I see that life is
primarily about nest building and fishing. Maybe I can take my “hue and
color” from them.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/eagle-in-Canada.jpg"><img alt="eagle in Canada" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-446" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/eagle-in-Canada-300x193.jpg" height="193" width="300" /></a></div>
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=hobbes" rel="tag">Hobbes</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jane-mayer" rel="tag">Jane Mayer</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=locke-rousseau" rel="tag">Locke Rousseau</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=political-science" rel="tag">Political Science</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=442" rel="bookmark" title="6:35 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-03-30T18:35:59+00:00">March 30, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=442&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-435 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-historical-fiction tag-idaho-toronto tag-montreal tag-potatoes" id="post-435">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=435" rel="bookmark">No Small Potatoes</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Map-of-Idaho-potato.jpg"><img alt="Map of Idaho potato" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-437" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Map-of-Idaho-potato.jpg" height="144" width="144" /></a></div>
There has been a movement afoot in literature to focus on one
commodity, and make a book of it. People have written about salt, wine,
and chocolate. I wondered if anyone has written about what the great
state of<a href="http://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho</a> is known for, namely, the potato.<br />
How did this come to pass? How is it that when a person from Idaho
travels, he or she is inevitably asked about potatoes. It turns out that
Idaho was a trailblazer in this regard when in 1937 the<a href="https://idahopotato.com/"> Idaho Potato Commission </a>was
founded. This body, funded by a tax paid by potato farmers, set out to
advertise on radio and later television, to create a brand identity from
a single crop. With a seal fashioned, the customers were encouraged to
look for that mark when purchasing what was to become our famous
potatoes. Lots of other states grow the crop, but the affection and
identity formed by the commission created a market for thirteen billion
pounds of spuds, one- third of all those sold in the United States.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Galway-Bay.jpg"><img alt="Galway Bay" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-439" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Galway-Bay.jpg" height="293" width="194" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
On a past St. Patrick’s Day, a dear friend by the name of Mary, told me
about a book she had just read by Mary Pat Kelly. Entitled, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Galway-Bay-Mary-Pat-Kelly/dp/0446697109/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458142534&sr=1-1&keywords=galway+bay"><i>Galway Bay,</i></a>
the novel is an actual oral history passed down from one generation to
the next. Told primarily through the women, it is the tale of one
immigrant family and their travails from Ireland to Chicago. While it is
not about the potato famine, called An Gorda Mor in Gaelic, it is the
great catalyst of the tale.</div>
“They tried to kill us, but we didn’t die.” The thread of this story,
handed down through the ages, is one of incredible hardship and then
survival.<br />
When I was in school in Toronto, I recall the day the teacher told us
that the famine was caused by a lazy population who stupidly lived on
one crop because they could not be bothered to grow anything else.<br />
“When that crop suffered a blight they starved,” she told us, with
the implication that they should have known better hanging in the air.<br />
I remember looking out the window, trying to sift through her facts
with what I knew about my own family, all of whom are avid gardeners and
farmers. At home, I asked if the story were true and heard that food
had been exported to England all through those dark days. Imagine having
to take the harvest to market, load a ship and return home to a house
of desperate want. As the “croppies” were only given a scant bit of land
to cultivate for private use, the “pratties” gave the highest yield and
provided the greatest nourishment.<br />
These are the facts: 750,000 were confirmed dead of starvation. Bearing
in mind that many more died in the coffin ships landing in Montreal and
Boston, this would be a severe underestimation. Without the hospitals,
or the manpower necessary to deal with the influx, the sick passengers
arriving in Quebec were put on an island in the St. Lawrence and left
exposed to the elements. Promised, land, cash and food upon arrival,
they arrived to find nothing and no way home. The bit of land they left
behind on the dear, old sod had been exchanged for the price of their
passage. Cecil Woodham Smith reported that during the famine years,
257,000 sheep were exported to England from lands held by absentee
landlords. 480,827 swine went over as well as 186,483 head of cattle.
Not even mentioning other crops, the picture is clear.<br />
There is a happy ending to this tale. The Irish flourished in both the United States and Canada. Reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Galway-Bay-Mary-Pat-Kelly/dp/0446697109/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458142534&sr=1-1&keywords=galway+bay"><i>Galway Bay</i> </a>prompted
me to look up the history of my maternal grandmother, Rose Cahill
Gaudette. One of ten children in her family, I learned that her mother
was the oldest in a family of ten. Examining records found on
Ancestry.com, my blood ran cold when I saw the date. In 1848, Thomas
Cahill arrived in Montreal. Famine. Coffin ship. Most of the passengers
died, and their bodies were tossed over. Of the living, it was decided
to send the Irish on a barge to Toronto. The sun blazed and the fair
skins burned. Once again they were placed on an island off shore. Yet
the good people of the city rowed out in small boats and volunteered to
tend the sick, risking their own lives in the process. The Cahills made
their way to the gorgeous Ottawa valley, carved a life in the
wilderness, and flourished.<br />
From one noun a great story may unfold.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho-toronto" rel="tag">Idaho Toronto</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=montreal" rel="tag">Montreal</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=potatoes" rel="tag">potatoes</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=435" rel="bookmark" title="3:48 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-03-16T15:48:16+00:00">March 16, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=435&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-424 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-uncategorized tag-elizabeth-smythe-brinton tag-elizabeth-strout tag-olive-kitterage" id="post-424">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=424" rel="bookmark">Still Thinking</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/My-Name-is-Lucy-Barton.jpg"><img alt="My Name is Lucy Barton" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-425" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/My-Name-is-Lucy-Barton-203x300.jpg" height="300" width="203" /></a></div>
It has been four days since I finished reading<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Name-Lucy-Barton-Novel/dp/1400067693/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455553547&sr=1-1&keywords=my+name+is+lucy+barton+by+elizabeth+strout"> My Name is Lucy Barton</a></i>, by Elizabeth Strout. Having enjoyed the Pulitzer Prize winner, <a href="http://izabeth-strout/dp/0812971833/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455553742&sr=1-1&keywords=olive+kitteridge"><i>Olive Kitteridge,</i></a>
I picked up this book with great anticipation. It did not disappoint –
not in any way. The reason I did not write about this book immediately
has to do with the fact that I am still thinking.<br />
What is it that keeps a reader mulling over phrases, words, ideas,
scenes and aspects about a book for days after the book is shelved? It
is most likely a by-product of tremendous skill. What is the technique
or turn of phrase that would keep resonating in the reader’s mind? A
page-turner will have me gallop through the plot, desperate to find out
what happens, and then once all loose ends are resolved, I barely give
it a second thought. In fact, those sorts of stories go into a
to-be-donated pile. There would be no reason to re-read it, and
therefore, I doubt I would even hang on to it any longer than necessary.<br />
<i>My Name is Lucy Barton</i> could be described as a quiet novel. I
applaud Random House, New York for publishing this work because there
are legions of people who dislike such stories. Any writer who attends
workshops or conferences will hear a great deal of advice about staying
away from this style. It is true that it requires a unique skill set to
do it well. It has to do with being in the mind of a created character
that has sprung to life on the page.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Elizabeth-Strout.jpg"><img alt="Elizabeth Strout" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-426" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Elizabeth-Strout-194x300.jpg" height="300" width="194" /></a></div>
Lucy Barton is confined to a hospital bed due to complications from
surgery. Her mother, with whom she has had no contact for many years,
comes to be with her. It was at the request of Lucy’s husband that she
is there, and we learn that right away. So there is tension. Lucy is
trapped, and her mother is reluctant. Ordinarily, you would not be able
to create a novel around this premise. What keeps the reader engaged is
Lucy’s innocence and child-like longing for a response from her mother.<br />
From page 55:<br />
“But it turned out I wanted something else. I wanted my mother to ask
about my life. I wanted to tell her about the life I was living now.
Stupidly-it was just stupidity- I blurted out, “Mom, I got two stories
published.” She looked at me quickly and quizzically, as if I had said
that I had grown extra toes, then looked out the window and said
nothing. “Just dumb ones,” I said, “in tiny magazines.” Still she said
nothing.”<br />
My stomach goes into knots reading this exchange. If a terrorist had
suddenly burst into the hospital room and shot both of them, the tension
would be less in this reader’s imagination. Why would her mother
continually behave in such an unloving manner? Perhaps she simply
couldn’t, or maybe she was jealous, or maybe that is just who she was,
but for whatever reason, I, as the reader, only wanted to close the gap.
This is where the story is very unquiet in my mind. Lucy is going to be
all right. We know that all along. She says she came from nothing, but
she managed to go to college, marry well, raise two daughters and become
an accomplished author. We know that she did all this with precious
little support- financial or otherwise. She did it all without becoming
bitter or hard-nosed. She values kindness and speaks of it often. That
makes her heroic in my eyes and makes me think of her as a living
entity, long after the pages are shut, and the book takes a
well-deserved place on the shelf.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=elizabeth-smythe-brinton" rel="tag">Elizabeth Smythe Brinton</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=elizabeth-strout" rel="tag">Elizabeth Strout</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=olive-kitterage" rel="tag">Olive Kitterage</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=424" rel="bookmark" title="4:38 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-02-15T16:38:09+00:00">February 15, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=424&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-416 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-historical-fiction tag-harry-potter tag-jane-eyre tag-my-american-eden tag-romeo-and-juliet tag-scarlet-ohara tag-shakespeare tag-the-count-of-monte-christo tag-tom-sawyer" id="post-416">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=416" rel="bookmark">Finding Character</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
“Characters are not created by writers. They pre-exist and have to be found.” <a href="http://385721250/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176939&sr=1-1&keywords=elizabeth+bowen+books">Elizabeth Bowen</a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg"><img alt="200px-Elizabeth_Bowen" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-419 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg" height="277" width="200" /></a><br />
This is true. I have no authority to make such a statement, but there it
is. Actors speak of finding characters. It is much more than saying the
lines, or putting on the costumes. They try different things, talk in
front of a mirror, obsess about it, work it, and then one day they will
arrive at the set and describe how they found their character. They
speak of the precise moment when it happened. It may have sprung from
tying scarves around their heads as when Johnny Depp became Jack
Sparrow, or it could be something that happened with the walk. Somewhere
along the way, they become inhabited. That is how I would describe the
experience.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In <a href="http://www.madeleinelengle.com/">Madeline L’Engle’s</a>
case, she woke up from a nap and saw him, Charles Wallace Murray. He
was sitting in her room. Other accounts describe dreams or even visions.
In my experience, it is dialog. The character starts talking. I am only
doing the typing. When this happens, I can barely contain my
excitement. I fear that to stifle my imaginary friends would be wrong,
so I let them run on. They may have accents, wear funny clothes, or seem
a bit strange, but I assume it is not my place to question anything.
They may take the story in a new direction. They will be full of
surprises. In some cases they will take over, shove me out of the way
and tell the story themselves. That is the greatest gift. Every word
will flow like a river.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg"><img alt="madeleine_lengle_2" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-417" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg" height="292" width="200" /></a> Madeline L’Engle</div>
Years ago, a young friend who wrote songs told me that the Creator
likes creating. He said that he felt well in his soul when the tunes
came to him. It is a strange unknown impulse that drives us all. So if
what Elizabeth Bowen said is true, how do we go about this process of
finding our characters? I wish I had the answer. It would be a great
boon to all kinds of creative people if the method were that simple. In
all disciplines, it seems that getting in the mode is the key. Even
stage performances will vary from night to night, and when the magic
occurs, it will be very fleeting. Those who happened to be at that
performance, or at that game, or in that moment, will know it. The
greatest characters in all of literature did not start when the author
attempted to describe a middle-aged white man or a beautiful young girl.
I would hazard a guess that those fantastic beings arrived fully
formed. Maybe great souls have a desire to jump back into life this way.
If it isn’t happening, don’t worry because if you stick with it for
long enough, I am convinced that someone will show up.<br />
While writing<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1572493488/ref=tmm_pap_new_olp_sr?ie=UTF8&condition=new&qid=1454175710&sr=8-1"> My American Eden</a></i>,
I wanted to bring Mary Dyer’s story to life. Since she was the only
female inhabitant of Boston in 1635 that Governor Winthrop attempted to
describe in his journals, I learned that she was “comely and of no mean
estate.” Years later, on Rhode Island, the Governor wrote that she could
converse with any man, as well as any man on any topic.” That was my
start. I searched and begged for more clues. One night at The Best Food
Ever Book Club in Spokane, I was elaborating on my research to date when
a great friend said, “Mary Dyer? I am a direct descendant of Mary
Dyer.” Next I learned that the model for Sylvia Shaw Judson’s statue
commemorating this rebel saint who gave her life for the cause of
religious freedom was none other than my husband’s paternal grandmother.
The list goes on, but I still yearned to see her. To really meet her.
While obsessing about Mary and writing the first draft I had to choose
between internal dialogue, what I imagined she was thinking while alone
in her house, or show her conversing with someone. Of course, who would
have been alone in their house in 1635? I added an indentured servant.
Not even beginning to create any sort of picture, she was there. By the
fourth draft I had gone from nine hundred pages to four hundred and
fifty, and switched from third person omniscient to first person. Only
it was not Mary’s voice in my head following the discipline of the
narrative; it was Irene, the servant, the one who arrived fully formed. I
started getting a better look at Mary through her eyes.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo.jpg"><img alt="count of monte christo" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-421" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo-300x169.jpg" height="169" width="300" /></a><br />
A fully formed character could be anyone. What they are is visible and memorable. <a href="http://unt-monte-cristo-penguin-classics/dp/0140449264/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175852&sr=1-1&keywords=the+count+of+monte+cristo">The Count of Monte Christo.</a> <a href="http://mark-twain/dp/1503215679/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175917&sr=1-1&keywords=tom+sawyer">Tom Sawyer</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gone-Wind-Anniversary-Margaret-Mitchell/dp/1451635621/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176163&sr=1-1&keywords=gone+with+the+wind">Scarlet O’Hara.</a><a href="http://xn---bront-uva/dp/0141441143/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175983&sr=1-1&keywords=jane+eyre+by+charlotte+bronte"> Jane Eyre</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Harry-Potter-Paperback-Box-Books/dp/0545162076/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176032&sr=1-1&keywords=Harry+Potter">Harry Potter</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romeo-Juliet-Folger-Shakespeare-Library/dp/0743477111/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176085&sr=1-1&keywords=Romeo+and+Juliet">Romeo </a>of
the House of Montague. Portia. The list goes on and on. You can’t name a
great classic without a memorable character, or several coming to mind.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=harry-potter" rel="tag">Harry Potter</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jane-eyre" rel="tag">Jane Eyre</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=my-american-eden" rel="tag">My American Eden</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=romeo-and-juliet" rel="tag">Romeo and Juliet</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=scarlet-ohara" rel="tag">Scarlet O'Hara</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shakespeare" rel="tag">Shakespeare</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-count-of-monte-christo" rel="tag">The Count of Monte Christo</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=tom-sawyer" rel="tag">Tom Sawyer</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=416" rel="bookmark" title="6:42 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-30T18:42:04+00:00">January 30, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=416&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-400 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-self-help category-uncategorized tag-atkins tag-diet tag-dr-phil tag-french-women-dont-get-fat tag-misty-copeland tag-pat-conroy tag-the-lords-of-discipline tag-the-prince-of-tides tag-weight-watchers" id="post-400">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=400" rel="bookmark">Diets Don’t Work</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
Do you know why diets don’t work? Neither do I. Diets don’t fail;
dieters do, so therefore if you don’t like failure, for heaven’s sake,
don’t go on a diet.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media4.popsugar-assets.com/files/2014/08/08/782/n/1922729/c62058b3f62b96d8_thumb_temp_image8453211407450717.xxxlarge/i/Misty-Copeland-Workout.jpg">Misty Copeland</a> <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1.jpg"><img alt="Misty-Copeland 1" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-409" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a></div>
I credit my mother for my long and tiresome history with dieting, as
it was she who would always start with the latest diet book. After she
had left this world and I had to close up her apartment, there on the
night table, right beside her bed was<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Books--Strategies-Ultimate-Solution-McGraaw/dp/B00L3OQHOK/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452705590&sr=1-6&keywords=Dr.+Phils+Strategies+for+Weight+Loss"> Dr. Phil’s Life Strategies and The Ultimate Weight Loss. </a>She
would rail against the strictures of these programs, and then get in
bed and say, “I have to read about what I get to eat tomorrow.” From the
eggs, steak and grapefruit of the sixties, to<a href="https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/?cid=SEM"> Weight Watchers</a>, to<a href="http://www.atkins.com/register?mcid=riseppcggl&gclid=CI-r9tCnp8oCFUVcfgodDKAH8g"> Atkins</a>, to<a href="http://www.southbeachdiet.com/diet/"> South Beach</a>, to<a href="http://www.westpalmbeachdietdoctor.com/"> Palm Beach, </a>you
name it, she was always game. Not being overweight, ever, and in
possession of a healthy body and mind, she was nevertheless always after
those elusive ten to fifteen pounds that seem to plague us all. At the
same time, she entertained and churned out more meals for guests than I
can count. This extended to her family, children, and grandchildren and
we do not think of her without remembering all those wonderful dinners.
As her mother came from a large Irish clan, the tradition of eating food
in season and not being too extravagant in any one direction came into
play.<br />
When I worked at Coldwater Creek, the idea of an employee cookbook
sprang to the mind of the H.R. director who wanted this to happen but
did not want to do it herself. Yours truly here volunteered to head up
the project, and a labor of love began. I decided that it would be great
to celebrate our mother’s and grandmother’s cherished recipes and put
their full names, place of birth and dates alongside those family
treasures. Sharing this task with our counterparts in West Virginia, we
gathered a compilation of culinary wisdom entitled, Coldwater Creek
Cooks. To this end, I managed to get the best pound cake recipe ever,
originating from Kentucky and served with a hot butter sauce with a
touch of Bourbon. As my son was getting married that year, I thought it
would be great to give my future daughter-in-law all the reference
material possible from the culture of his maternal line. As my daughter
headed off to college and moved from wretched dorm food to her own
apartment, she had her copy as well. How I delighted in those first
calls for instruction in basic meals. I am so proud to say that both my
children love good food, eat well and share this bond with me.<br />
Writers who love fine cuisine share a particular place in my heart.<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg"><img alt="cook_cover" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-404 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg" height="204" width="133" /></a> When<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook"> The Pat Conroy </a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">Cookbook</a>
came out, I raced home with my copy, hot off the press and read it from
cover to cover. Tasked with preparing the evening meal for his family
when his wife decided to go to law school, he began the challenge in the
way most writers do: he went straightaway to his favorite book store.
He picked up a copy of The Escoffier Cookbook and learned the basics of
French cooking which always begin with homemade stock.<br />
My culinary history has a similar origin. As a young adult, living on
my own in a stone house in the country, I came down with a nasty bout
of pneumonia and moved back home to recover. My mother, working as an
interior designer at the time, decided that if I were home all day, I
could take on the responsibility of dinner. In her collection of
cookbooks, I found one published by our favorite restaurant in Palm
Beach, Florida, called The Petite Marmite. The pictures were so
beautiful, and inspiring, that I set out to recreate them. I had to
start by making stocks that I have always believed are not only the
essence of great dishes but also of good health. In Conroy’s book, he
describes his time in Paris and also in Rome, the places where he dined
after a hard day of writing <a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/">The Lords of Discipline </a>and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_19/187-0758294-1903222?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+prince+of+tides&sprefix=The+Prince+of+Tides%2Caps%2C316">The Prince of Tides. </a>He
also peppers his chapters with tales of the region he knows so well:
the low country of South Carolina. When Mireille Guiliano created<a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/"> French Women Don’t Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure</a>,
I knew I had found the ultimate book for me. Years ago, in Paris with
my mother, we decided to uncover the secret we could see all around us,
that being, French women ate the best food in the world and seemed much
thinner than their North Americans counterparts. We thought we could
just indulge to our heart’s content, and it would all somehow balance
out. Wrong.<br />
You cannot describe the physicality of a character in exact terms. It
would read like a medical chart. Your reader will get a better picture
by depicting what they eat, how much, how often and how important it is
to them. Do they eat to live, or are they more like me, a person who
lives to eat. Are meals, described regarding grabbing a bite, or set
under an arbor in the garden and encompassing most of the afternoon? Is
food a necessary chore, or unbridled passion? Above all, what do they
eat for lunch?<br />
<br />
From <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">The Pat Conroy Cookbook:</a><br />
“I write of truffles in the Dordogne Valley in France, cilantro in
Bangkok, catfish in Alabama, scuppernong in South Carolina, Chinese food
from my years in San Francisco, and white asparagus from the first meal
my agent, Julian Bach, took me to in New York City.”<br />
<br /></div>
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<article class="post-392 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-self-help tag-bliss tag-colum-mccann tag-ecstasy tag-idaho tag-joy tag-lake-coeur-d-alene" id="post-392">
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=392" rel="bookmark">More Bliss</a>
</h1>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/snowy-deck.jpg"><img alt="snowy deck" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-394" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/snowy-deck-225x300.jpg" height="300" width="225" /></a></div>
It was at the checkout counter of my favorite grocery store that I
received encouragement regarding this topic. Answering the question of
my new year’s resolutions, I answered, “Just one. Two words. More
bliss.” Both the cashier and the woman helping her bag my veggies and
fresh sourdough baguette applauded the concept.<br />
As far back as my recorded resolutions state, I have begun each new
year of my adult life with these two words: lose weight. What is
different this year? I would still like to continue my weight loss
journey, but that is not the leading resolution. Why not?<br />
Bliss is not something one bumps into by accident. It is also not
something one can micro manage or plan for entirely. What is is exactly?
Where do I find it? Where does it abound? I would say<a href="https://visitidaho.org/"> Idaho. </a>Windy
Bay, Lake Coeur d’ Alene; it can be found right out my door. Communing
with nature on a daily basis is the first step. Yet there is a
difference between simple enjoyment and bliss. Bliss is defined as
supreme happiness.<br />
All guilt aside, Protestant work ethic and Calvinistic upbringing
urging me to discard these thoughts in favor of everyday nose- to- the-
grindstone good works, I can say that I will keep on with those
traditions. Since I know that bliss is fleeting and short-lived, I do
not need to fear going down the drain over seeking moments of profound
joy. I can reconcile these two concepts by acknowledging that I am in
training. For this to occur everything needs to be in place.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola.jpg"><img alt="VIP gondola" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-395" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola-225x300.jpg" height="300" width="225" /></a></div>
I want to be in really good shape. To this end, my ballet, yoga, and
pilates program of my invention are essential. I need to be strong
enough to ski with my husband who is a wonder. Yesterday, <a href="http://www.silvermt.com/Outdoor-Adventures/Winter-Activities/Lift-Tickets-Season-passes?gclid=COnGlPPPkMoCFUaCfgodaEIEnA">Silver Mountain</a>
was spectacularly beautiful. While cross-country skiing, breaking trail
on a quiet, wooded road, with the sun glistening and a massive eagle
soaring overhead, it happened. I was awestruck. My jaw drops in such
moments.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg"><img alt="thirteen ways of looking" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-393" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg" height="293" width="199" /></a><br />
Reading <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_24?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=thirteen+ways+of+looking&sprefix=Thirteen+Ways+of+Looking%2Caps%2C385">Thirteen Ways of Looking</a></i>
by Colum McCann, yielded many such moments. When a person can write in a
way that barely seems mortal, it can send my spirit soaring. Looking
ahead, I am envisioning sailing with our son on Lake Coeur d’ Alene this
summer. There will be a moment. I know it. The wind will grab the
sails, and we will look at each other and laugh knowing that we are
having an absolute blast out on the water. I also look forward to
rafting, swimming, kayaking and boating down to dinner at Conklin’s
Resort, and dancing under the stars.<br />
Will I be sad, will I be angry, will I be depressed and discouraged? Yes. Will it matter? No.<br />
It was in the seventh grade when I took this poem by Sara Teasdale to heart. It is called Barter.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
All beautiful and splendid things,<br />
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,<br />
Soaring fire that sways and sings,<br />
And children’s faces looking up<br />
Holding wonder in a cup.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
Music like a curve of gold,<br />
Scent of pine trees in the rain,<br />
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,<br />
And for your spirit’s still delight,<br />
Holy thoughts that star the night.<br />
Spend all you have for loveliness,<br />
Buy it and never count the cost;<br />
For one white singing hour of peace<br />
Count many a year of strife well lost,<br />
And for a breath of ecstasy<br />
Give all you have been, or could be.<br />
I will read, I will write, I will study, I will spend time with old
friends and new, I will laugh until I cry, I will eat good food, and I
will get stronger with each passing day. I will devote myself to serving
others. When bliss comes along, I will be ready. It will be duly noted.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=bliss" rel="tag">bliss</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=colum-mccann" rel="tag">Colum McCann</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=ecstasy" rel="tag">ecstasy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=joy" rel="tag">joy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=lake-coeur-d-alene" rel="tag">Lake Coeur d' Alene</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=392" rel="bookmark" title="7:15 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-03T19:15:11+00:00">January 3, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=392&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-382 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-christmas category-motivationinspiration category-uncategorized tag-christmas tag-norad tag-queens-christmas-message" id="post-382">
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=382" rel="bookmark">Thoughts on Christmas</a>
</h1>
</header>
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The snow is falling on a slant in big, crowded flakes over Windy
Bay. We had fog this morning, and then rain, and finally snow, all
pointing to a cozy day inside. Christmas cards and wrapping gifts can
wait. I want to think about Christmas.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg"><img alt="snowy Idaho" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-385" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg" height="176" width="286" /></a><br />
We used to do so much running around. The first year America shopped
online, I worked for Coldwater Creek on the web team. Terrified of the
Internet, people would call and ask if they were online. We would
politely have to reply that they were still on the telephone. At first,
everyone forgot their passwords, but we could look them up. “That is my
dog’s name,” they would say.<br />
<br />
As the days progressed, the anxiety and stress would increase, and
yes, sometimes the call center agents, myself included, would be on the
receiving end of a lot of harsh words and yelling. We had to ask if the
customer would care to share their email address.<br />
Most responded with, “Certainly not.”<br />
With each increasing year, online shopping became more of the norm.
During those years, we scrambled to keep up with the volume of business,
and we did everything in our power to keep the customers happy. We were
proud to work for a company founded by good people and housed in the
beautiful town of Sandpoint, Idaho.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store.jpg"><img alt="Codwater Creek Store" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-387" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store-300x83.jpg" height="83" width="300" /></a><br />
Sometimes, between calls, my fellow agents and I would commiserate.
We bonded. We talked a lot about the meaning of Christmas. It sure
didn’t seem like we were hearing it. If packages had yet to arrive, if
something did not live up to their expectations, or God forbid, the
wrong item got into the box, we had to hear about it. We would wonder
what happened to the idea of an old- fashioned Christmas with good food
and even better good cheer?<br />
We look back; we look around, and we look forward. We think about the
story. It is one of the greatest ever told. As a child, it used to make
me wonder why Joseph did not start our earlier, why did Mary have to be
dragged along if she was having a baby, why didn’t some nice person
give up their room at the Inn so that she could have a bed? Why weren’t
they better prepared? Times were different, my Mom said. She was glad
she had all of us in a hospital.<br />
On Christmas Eve, in the city of Toronto, we gathered around the
radio, listening for the first reports. They came from the military. As
the sky turned dark, regular programming would be interrupted with a
news bulletin. A sighting! Clearly visible from NORAD bases in the far
north, a sleigh, flying through the pitch black sky pulled by reindeer,
he was on his way! Santa’s journey had begun. We had the cookies and the
milk ready. Why were there two Christmas stories, I wondered?<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa.jpg"><img alt="santa" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-386" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa-300x200.jpg" height="200" width="300" /></a><br />
On Christmas Day, we looked forward to another tradition. My mother
insisted we eat breakfast in the dining room with good china and silver,
bacon, eggs, toast and fresh orange juice. It seemed to go on forever,
but when we finished eating, we gathered by the radio to hear the Queen.
She reminded us, year after year, every year of my life to date, that
we should focus on serving others. Wherever we happened to be in the
Commonwealth, she wanted to wish us all a happy Christmas with our
families and to be mindful of those in need. She was right, is right,
and will always be right.<br />
There is meaning. There is hope. There is kindness in this world, and
there is love. Stress? Who needs it? What we could use is more of the
story and more peace.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=60" rel="category">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=33" rel="category">Motivation?Inspiration</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=christmas" rel="tag">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=norad" rel="tag">NORAD</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=queens-christmas-message" rel="tag">Queen's Christmas Message</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=382" rel="bookmark" title="12:14 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-12-20T00:14:31+00:00">December 20, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=382&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-367 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-historical-fiction category-non-fiction tag-american-history tag-colonial-history tag-president-john-f-kennedy tag-thanksgiving" id="post-367">
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<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=367" rel="bookmark">Thoughts for Thanksgiving</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/going-to-the-execution.jpg"><img alt="going to the execution" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-370" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/going-to-the-execution-200x300.jpg" height="300" width="200" /></a></div>
What happens when you are interested in a particular period in time?
If you like to read, you will be drawn to books about that era. When I
was writing <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1572493488/ref=sr_1_1_twi_pap_1_olp?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232535&sr=1-1&keywords=My+American+Eden"><i>My American Eden</i>,</a>
I was tasked with researching Colonial America between the years of
1635-1660. It began when I found a tidbit in a history book about a
woman who walked into Boston with her shroud in hand. She walked to the
hanging tree twice, had the noose around her neck twice, and her face
covered with her Pastor’s handkerchief twice. A last-minute reprieve by
the Governor spared her the first time: the second resulted in death.
This story struck me as one that every American should know. Because a
law was passed banishing Quakers on pain of death, Mary Dyer challenged
it with her life. As I began researching the event, I quickly realized
that history is far from simple.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Amazon-Link-to-mae.jpg"><img alt="Amazon Link to mae" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-371" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Amazon-Link-to-mae-197x300.jpg" height="300" width="197" /></a></div>
I found that perspectives differed depending on the author. Then
something else came to light. The story tended to change over time.
Quaker historians had one perspective, British authors had another, and
then American academia added more confusion to the mix. I began to
wonder if history is based on myth or fact and wondered how to find the
truth. Official court documents, dates and times, all came up with
discrepancies. Initially, I was obsessed with every detail. My first
draft ballooned to eight hundred pages. When I learned that Mary Dyer
traveled back to England and spent seven years there, I had to accept
the challenge of understanding the English civil war. The Puritans and
the Roundheads, the rise of Oliver Cromwell, and his destruction of
Parliament were vague recollections from high school. I turned to my
favorite historian <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill">Sir Winston Churchill</a>.
It was his description of a rising merchant class gaining sufficient
power to challenge the established ruling class that piqued my interest.
The more deeply I delved into the conflict, the more understanding I
gained of what unfolded decades, and then centuries later. I learned of
that the roots of the American Civil War stretched back to the events of
the 1650s. One side, the Royalists, eventually gravitated to Virginia
and the southern United States while the Puritans sailed to Boston. The
events in New England also had an effect on the American Revolution and
the founding fathers. Mary Dyer’s protests did not go unheeded. When
Charles II was restored to the throne in 1660, he immediately passed a
law forbidding such discrimination.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/JFK-the-Unspeakable.jpg"><img alt="JFK the Unspeakable" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-372 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/JFK-the-Unspeakable-201x300.jpg" height="300" width="201" /></a></div>
As we watch history unfold, try as we might, it is often difficult to
find the truth. When asked if history would be kind to him,<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill"> Winston Churchill </a>replied
that it would indeed because he intended to write it. As a child
growing up in a military family in the post-war fifties and sixties, the
shadow of war hung over the conversations by the adults. Watching the
first reports of the news from Dallas, fifty-two years ago today, I had
nothing but questions. At that point in time, I was obsessed with the<a href="http://oxed-books/dp/0448466759/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232611&sr=1-2&keywords=nancy+drew+books"><i> Nancy Drew</i> </a>series.
Even in the midst of the emotional wallop that hit us all regarding the
assassination of the President, I sensed a murder mystery. People crave
a simple explanation, but I feel we must be sleuths. What could be
murkier than the events of November 22, 1963? One book leads to another;
facts are disputed, and some facts are indisputable. The deeper one
delves, the more confusion one is likely to find until at last the truth
emerges. Should we accept the fact that we will never know? I have
never thought so.<i><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/JFK-Unspeakable-Why-Died-Matters/dp/1439193886/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232781&sr=1-2&keywords=the+unspeaka"> The Unspeakable</a> </i>by James W. Douglass and <a href="http://alias%3dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+devil%27s+chessboard&sprefix=the+devil,stripbooks,276/"><i>The Devil’s Chessboard</i>, </a>by David Talbot have shed new light. Both books are thoroughly researched and beautifully written.<br />
The final paragraph of the speech<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_F._Kennedy"> President John F. Kennedy</a> was to deliver in Dallas on Nov. 22, 1963:<br />
We in this country, in this generation, are — by destiny rather than
choice — the watchmen on the walls of world freedom. We ask, therefore,
that we may be worthy of our power and responsibility — that we may
exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint — and that we may
achieve in our time and for all time the ancient vision of “peace on
earth, good will toward men.” That must always be our goal — and the
righteousness of our cause must always underlie our strength. For as was
written long ago: “except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh
but in vain.”<br />
SOURCE: John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum<br />
Two statues in front of the Massachusetts State House: One by Sylvia
Shaw Judson depicts Mary Dyer, and the other is Isabel Mcllvain’s
President Kennedy.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/bigger-statue-of-Mary-Dyer.jpg"><img alt="bigger statue of Mary Dyer" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-377" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/bigger-statue-of-Mary-Dyer.jpg" height="216" width="233" /></a><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/jfk-statehouse.jpg"><img alt="jfk statehouse" class=" size-full wp-image-376 alignright" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/jfk-statehouse.jpg" height="251" width="201" /></a><br />
This week we will gather with friends and family remembering those
first families who came to the New World seeking freedom. Some of us
will pray for those around the globe who are fleeing terrible
circumstances and conflict. Hopefully, we will all give thanks for the
simple things: a roof over our heads, a warm house and a bounteous feast
on the table. I hope we will all remember to cherish freedom too.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-history" rel="tag">American History</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=colonial-history" rel="tag">Colonial history</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=president-john-f-kennedy" rel="tag">President John F. Kennedy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=thanksgiving" rel="tag">Thanksgiving</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=367" rel="bookmark" title="11:57 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-22T23:57:46+00:00">November 22, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=367&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-128881527876226792016-05-15T08:36:00.000-07:002016-05-15T08:38:47.690-07:00Treasure in the Trash<div class="site-content" id="primary">
<div id="content" role="main">
<br />
<article class="post-451 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-self-help category-uncategorized tag-edit tag-mills-college tag-style tag-toasters tag-vanity-fair" id="post-451">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<br />
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg"><img alt="old mills college" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-452" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-mills-college.jpg" height="196" width="257" /></a> Mills College, Oakland, California</div>
<br />
“Beware lest in attempting the grand, you overshoot the mark and become grandiose.” <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voltaire">Voltaire</a><br />
I came across this snippet the other day on<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=twitter&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8"> Twitter</a>. The advice, earmarked to writers, could apply to just about anything. It would certainly apply to editing.<br />
This time of year we are in a grand editing process. While the
natural world springs to life, we need to make room for things to grow.
Keep this and discard that. How do we decide? It was on Easter Sunday
that I heard of the concept of holding up hangers in the closet and
asking yourself if the object in your hand affords joy. What a great
idea. Those of us whose parents were children in the Depression years
were schooled, in some cases quite harshly, about discarding things
willy-nilly. It can be a source of great strife between couples
depending on the ferocity of the message. Every object in the house
could have a use at some point and to have to run out and purchase
something recently discarded, can cause genuine distress. Others want to
pare down, and certainly the modern look we see displayed in stores and
magazines is becoming more and more devoid of clutter.<br />
Yesterday, we celebrated motherhood and mothers who gave tirelessly
to shape our sensibility. I did think of my mother when I read
Voltaire’s comment. I thought about how it would make her laugh. As she
worked in her later years as an interior designer she had renowned
taste. She found a way to reconcile her childhood teachings with
creating beautiful surroundings. Her possessions grace the homes of her
children, and grandchildren. She chose objects with care, and they have
lasted the test of time. She would tell us that something “looked
tired.” It could be a table. Once it acquired this sense of fatigue, it
was out the door to anyone who would take it. How do I stand on this
issue? I feel as if I have one foot in a boat and the other on the dock.
A decision needs to be made quickly before disaster strikes. The age of
some pieces that adorn our lives never ceases to amaze me. We make our
toast every morning in a toaster that has been in use my entire life. It
has never broken. The toast goes down automatically and comes up by
itself perfectly. Almost everything I surround myself with is old.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster.jpg"><img alt="old toaster" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-455" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/old-toaster-300x245.jpg" height="245" width="300" /></a></div>
I am drawn to the blank page because it is empty. I want to fill it
up. Years ago, I thought writing a novel just involved getting enough
words together to fill up all the pages. The sad truth came from a
gifted teacher, a novelist who taught at <a href="http://www.mills.edu/">Mills College</a>
and she gave it to me straight. “You may have filled up your briefcase
with pages, but you have not written a novel.” Together we worked with
what I had, and I learned that the real trick is filling up pages and
then throwing them in the garbage. Hemingway once said that he could
tell that his writing was going well when the waste-basket was full of
really good stuff.<br />
Yesterday I read a quote in<a href="http://www.vanityfair.com/"> Vanity Fair</a> from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lee_Radziwill">Lee Radiwill</a>. “Great style is editing.”<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg"><img alt="Lee Radziwill" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-453" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Lee-Radziwill.jpg" height="183" width="275" /></a><br />
Whether it is in art, a beautiful interior or an excellent book, that
is the key. Do you know what great designers have? Storage units. One
piece, edited out, may reappear years later in another place and time.
The same is true for chapters or paragraphs of any work in progress.
Gone are the days when we ripped a sheet of paper from the typewriter
and tossed it in a nearby bin. We can watch our words disappear before
our very eyes. Or, like me, you might just want to keep them in a
separate document. Perhaps they may improve with age. Out of all the
rubbish, a new idea may germinate.<br />
Toaster photo: “Copyright © 2016 by Craig Rairdin.”</div>
<footer class="entry-meta">
This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=edit" rel="tag">Edit</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=mills-college" rel="tag">Mills College</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=style" rel="tag">Style</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=toasters" rel="tag">toasters</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=vanity-fair" rel="tag">Vanity Fair</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=451" rel="bookmark" title="5:51 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-05-09T17:51:39+00:00">May 9, 2016</time></a>. </footer><footer class="entry-meta"> </footer><footer class="entry-meta">From: www.elizabethbrinton.com </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-442 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-non-fiction category-uncategorized tag-hobbes tag-idaho tag-jane-mayer tag-locke-rousseau tag-political-science" id="post-442">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=442" rel="bookmark">The Discipline of Desire</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/John-Locke.jpg"><img alt="John Locke" class="size-medium wp-image-443 alignright" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/John-Locke-230x300.jpg" height="300" width="230" /></a><br />
“The discipline of desire is the background of character.”<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=John+Locke&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8"> John Locke</a><br />
How do we maintain a free society? Is it bred in the bone, or is it up for grabs?<br />
Having just finished reading Jane Mayer’s<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Money-History-Billionaires-Radical/dp/0385535597/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1459362128&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+money"> <i>Dark Money</i>,</a>
my eyes have been opened. It is not as if I did not know about the
undue influence of special interests in government; everyone is aware of
this fact. The term “special interests,” is vague, and if you cannot
put a face to something, it is hard to imagine. Television advertising
paid for by groups with names that sound good, Americans for this, that,
or the other thing, makes a person think that these organizations are
comprised of a group of individuals who came together to help solve
problems. What we are not aware of is from whom the funding comes.
Likewise, we don’t always know to what ends. Like most people, I err on
the side of a general belief that people are inherently good. This line
of thinking is the product of a Swiss- born French philosopher who
influenced Thomas Jefferson,<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/702720-du-contrat-social-ou-principes-du-droit-politique"> Jean-Jacques Rousseau. (1712-1778) </a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Rousseau.jpg"><img alt="Rousseau" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-444" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Rousseau-227x300.jpg" height="300" width="227" /></a><br />
“Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.”</div>
Hobbes, on the other hand, described life as, “solitary, nasty,
brutish and short.” Having witnessed the English Civil War, his outlook
was both Calvinistic and pessimistic.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
John Locke, the other great influence, wrote in <a href="http://m/Treatises-Government-Everyman-John-Locke/dp/0460873563/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1459362272&sr=1-1&keywords=two+treatises+of+government+by+john+locke">Two Treatise of Government</a>, “We are like chameleons. We take our hue and the color of our moral character from those around us.”</div>
I am not blind to the fact self-interest drives most decisions. When
Jane Mayer described the heart of the ideology of the far right, she
expressed the beliefs of some that there should be no limit as to what
people can acquire and keep. Many would say that is what made America.
Ronald Regan, running for President in 1980 asked, “What is wrong with
letting people keep their own money?” It is a good question. It seems
like every democracy has been in this argument forever. Remember the
heated exchanges between Archie Bunker and the Meathead we laughed at on
All in the Family? We all have friends who are on opposite sides, and
the day we can no longer have these lively debates would be a very sad
day indeed. It is completely understandable that if you amassed a great
fortune, you would naturally feel you had something significant to
contribute to the discourse. You would also feel that you lived in a
great country that made it all possible, and that you wouldn’t want
anything to change. You would want to find politicians who would do your
bidding when you came up against roadblocks. You would pick up the
phone and demand action. You may even believe that you do not have any
responsibility to your fellow man. You may feel as John Locke stated
that the only purpose of government is the defense of property. You may
choose to devote considerable time and resources to furthering these
views. Would that constitute undue influence, or would it be
contributing to the discourse? That is that is the question.<br />
There is, however, one flaw in this thinking. Hammered into my head
in my teens, by the Headmistress of my school was this universal truth
from the Bible: “To whom much has been given, much will be required.”
Fans of <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/downtonabbey/">Downton Abbey </a>will remember that it was played out in nearly every episode. <i>Nobless Oblige</i>.
If fortune has smiled on you, it is your duty to make your life about
good works. One can see philanthropy everywhere, and one can point to
all the generosity displayed by the wealthy. Some feel there should be
no taxes at all, and if let alone, people would naturally give aid where
it is needed. The only flaw I see in that philosophy is that it is too
willy-nilly. It is not organized. When George H. W. Bush referred to “a
thousand points of light,” in a speech written for him by Peggy Noonan,
it sounded well and good. A little here and a little there does not
build roads and bridges. So we aught to question the belief that we
would be better off without any government at all. Too much would not be
good either because I still believe that I was born free.<br />
Out here on Windy Bay, in the beautiful state of<a href="http://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho,</a>
watching the great birds return from the south, I see that life is
primarily about nest building and fishing. Maybe I can take my “hue and
color” from them.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/eagle-in-Canada.jpg"><img alt="eagle in Canada" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-446" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/eagle-in-Canada-300x193.jpg" height="193" width="300" /></a></div>
</div>
<footer class="entry-meta">
This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=hobbes" rel="tag">Hobbes</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jane-mayer" rel="tag">Jane Mayer</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=locke-rousseau" rel="tag">Locke Rousseau</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=political-science" rel="tag">Political Science</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=442" rel="bookmark" title="6:35 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-03-30T18:35:59+00:00">March 30, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-435 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-historical-fiction tag-idaho-toronto tag-montreal tag-potatoes" id="post-435">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=435" rel="bookmark">No Small Potatoes</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Map-of-Idaho-potato.jpg"><img alt="Map of Idaho potato" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-437" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Map-of-Idaho-potato.jpg" height="144" width="144" /></a></div>
There has been a movement afoot in literature to focus on one
commodity, and make a book of it. People have written about salt, wine,
and chocolate. I wondered if anyone has written about what the great
state of<a href="http://www.idaho.gov/"> Idaho</a> is known for, namely, the potato.<br />
How did this come to pass? How is it that when a person from Idaho
travels, he or she is inevitably asked about potatoes. It turns out that
Idaho was a trailblazer in this regard when in 1937 the<a href="https://idahopotato.com/"> Idaho Potato Commission </a>was
founded. This body, funded by a tax paid by potato farmers, set out to
advertise on radio and later television, to create a brand identity from
a single crop. With a seal fashioned, the customers were encouraged to
look for that mark when purchasing what was to become our famous
potatoes. Lots of other states grow the crop, but the affection and
identity formed by the commission created a market for thirteen billion
pounds of spuds, one- third of all those sold in the United States.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Galway-Bay.jpg"><img alt="Galway Bay" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-439" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Galway-Bay.jpg" height="293" width="194" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
On a past St. Patrick’s Day, a dear friend by the name of Mary, told me
about a book she had just read by Mary Pat Kelly. Entitled, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Galway-Bay-Mary-Pat-Kelly/dp/0446697109/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458142534&sr=1-1&keywords=galway+bay"><i>Galway Bay,</i></a>
the novel is an actual oral history passed down from one generation to
the next. Told primarily through the women, it is the tale of one
immigrant family and their travails from Ireland to Chicago. While it is
not about the potato famine, called An Gorda Mor in Gaelic, it is the
great catalyst of the tale.</div>
“They tried to kill us, but we didn’t die.” The thread of this story,
handed down through the ages, is one of incredible hardship and then
survival.<br />
When I was in school in Toronto, I recall the day the teacher told us
that the famine was caused by a lazy population who stupidly lived on
one crop because they could not be bothered to grow anything else.<br />
“When that crop suffered a blight they starved,” she told us, with
the implication that they should have known better hanging in the air.<br />
I remember looking out the window, trying to sift through her facts
with what I knew about my own family, all of whom are avid gardeners and
farmers. At home, I asked if the story were true and heard that food
had been exported to England all through those dark days. Imagine having
to take the harvest to market, load a ship and return home to a house
of desperate want. As the “croppies” were only given a scant bit of land
to cultivate for private use, the “pratties” gave the highest yield and
provided the greatest nourishment.<br />
These are the facts: 750,000 were confirmed dead of starvation. Bearing
in mind that many more died in the coffin ships landing in Montreal and
Boston, this would be a severe underestimation. Without the hospitals,
or the manpower necessary to deal with the influx, the sick passengers
arriving in Quebec were put on an island in the St. Lawrence and left
exposed to the elements. Promised, land, cash and food upon arrival,
they arrived to find nothing and no way home. The bit of land they left
behind on the dear, old sod had been exchanged for the price of their
passage. Cecil Woodham Smith reported that during the famine years,
257,000 sheep were exported to England from lands held by absentee
landlords. 480,827 swine went over as well as 186,483 head of cattle.
Not even mentioning other crops, the picture is clear.<br />
There is a happy ending to this tale. The Irish flourished in both the United States and Canada. Reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Galway-Bay-Mary-Pat-Kelly/dp/0446697109/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458142534&sr=1-1&keywords=galway+bay"><i>Galway Bay</i> </a>prompted
me to look up the history of my maternal grandmother, Rose Cahill
Gaudette. One of ten children in her family, I learned that her mother
was the oldest in a family of ten. Examining records found on
Ancestry.com, my blood ran cold when I saw the date. In 1848, Thomas
Cahill arrived in Montreal. Famine. Coffin ship. Most of the passengers
died, and their bodies were tossed over. Of the living, it was decided
to send the Irish on a barge to Toronto. The sun blazed and the fair
skins burned. Once again they were placed on an island off shore. Yet
the good people of the city rowed out in small boats and volunteered to
tend the sick, risking their own lives in the process. The Cahills made
their way to the gorgeous Ottawa valley, carved a life in the
wilderness, and flourished.<br />
From one noun a great story may unfold.</div>
<footer class="entry-meta">
This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho-toronto" rel="tag">Idaho Toronto</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=montreal" rel="tag">Montreal</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=potatoes" rel="tag">potatoes</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=435" rel="bookmark" title="3:48 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-03-16T15:48:16+00:00">March 16, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-424 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-uncategorized tag-elizabeth-smythe-brinton tag-elizabeth-strout tag-olive-kitterage" id="post-424">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=424" rel="bookmark">Still Thinking</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/My-Name-is-Lucy-Barton.jpg"><img alt="My Name is Lucy Barton" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-425" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/My-Name-is-Lucy-Barton-203x300.jpg" height="300" width="203" /></a></div>
It has been four days since I finished reading<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Name-Lucy-Barton-Novel/dp/1400067693/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455553547&sr=1-1&keywords=my+name+is+lucy+barton+by+elizabeth+strout"> My Name is Lucy Barton</a></i>, by Elizabeth Strout. Having enjoyed the Pulitzer Prize winner, <a href="http://izabeth-strout/dp/0812971833/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455553742&sr=1-1&keywords=olive+kitteridge"><i>Olive Kitteridge,</i></a>
I picked up this book with great anticipation. It did not disappoint –
not in any way. The reason I did not write about this book immediately
has to do with the fact that I am still thinking.<br />
What is it that keeps a reader mulling over phrases, words, ideas,
scenes and aspects about a book for days after the book is shelved? It
is most likely a by-product of tremendous skill. What is the technique
or turn of phrase that would keep resonating in the reader’s mind? A
page-turner will have me gallop through the plot, desperate to find out
what happens, and then once all loose ends are resolved, I barely give
it a second thought. In fact, those sorts of stories go into a
to-be-donated pile. There would be no reason to re-read it, and
therefore, I doubt I would even hang on to it any longer than necessary.<br />
<i>My Name is Lucy Barton</i> could be described as a quiet novel. I
applaud Random House, New York for publishing this work because there
are legions of people who dislike such stories. Any writer who attends
workshops or conferences will hear a great deal of advice about staying
away from this style. It is true that it requires a unique skill set to
do it well. It has to do with being in the mind of a created character
that has sprung to life on the page.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Elizabeth-Strout.jpg"><img alt="Elizabeth Strout" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-426" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Elizabeth-Strout-194x300.jpg" height="300" width="194" /></a></div>
Lucy Barton is confined to a hospital bed due to complications from
surgery. Her mother, with whom she has had no contact for many years,
comes to be with her. It was at the request of Lucy’s husband that she
is there, and we learn that right away. So there is tension. Lucy is
trapped, and her mother is reluctant. Ordinarily, you would not be able
to create a novel around this premise. What keeps the reader engaged is
Lucy’s innocence and child-like longing for a response from her mother.<br />
From page 55:<br />
“But it turned out I wanted something else. I wanted my mother to ask
about my life. I wanted to tell her about the life I was living now.
Stupidly-it was just stupidity- I blurted out, “Mom, I got two stories
published.” She looked at me quickly and quizzically, as if I had said
that I had grown extra toes, then looked out the window and said
nothing. “Just dumb ones,” I said, “in tiny magazines.” Still she said
nothing.”<br />
My stomach goes into knots reading this exchange. If a terrorist had
suddenly burst into the hospital room and shot both of them, the tension
would be less in this reader’s imagination. Why would her mother
continually behave in such an unloving manner? Perhaps she simply
couldn’t, or maybe she was jealous, or maybe that is just who she was,
but for whatever reason, I, as the reader, only wanted to close the gap.
This is where the story is very unquiet in my mind. Lucy is going to be
all right. We know that all along. She says she came from nothing, but
she managed to go to college, marry well, raise two daughters and become
an accomplished author. We know that she did all this with precious
little support- financial or otherwise. She did it all without becoming
bitter or hard-nosed. She values kindness and speaks of it often. That
makes her heroic in my eyes and makes me think of her as a living
entity, long after the pages are shut, and the book takes a
well-deserved place on the shelf.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=elizabeth-smythe-brinton" rel="tag">Elizabeth Smythe Brinton</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=elizabeth-strout" rel="tag">Elizabeth Strout</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=olive-kitterage" rel="tag">Olive Kitterage</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=424" rel="bookmark" title="4:38 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-02-15T16:38:09+00:00">February 15, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-416 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-historical-fiction tag-harry-potter tag-jane-eyre tag-my-american-eden tag-romeo-and-juliet tag-scarlet-ohara tag-shakespeare tag-the-count-of-monte-christo tag-tom-sawyer" id="post-416">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=416" rel="bookmark">Finding Character</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
“Characters are not created by writers. They pre-exist and have to be found.” <a href="http://385721250/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176939&sr=1-1&keywords=elizabeth+bowen+books">Elizabeth Bowen</a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg"><img alt="200px-Elizabeth_Bowen" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-419 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg" height="277" width="200" /></a><br />
This is true. I have no authority to make such a statement, but there it
is. Actors speak of finding characters. It is much more than saying the
lines, or putting on the costumes. They try different things, talk in
front of a mirror, obsess about it, work it, and then one day they will
arrive at the set and describe how they found their character. They
speak of the precise moment when it happened. It may have sprung from
tying scarves around their heads as when Johnny Depp became Jack
Sparrow, or it could be something that happened with the walk. Somewhere
along the way, they become inhabited. That is how I would describe the
experience.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In <a href="http://www.madeleinelengle.com/">Madeline L’Engle’s</a>
case, she woke up from a nap and saw him, Charles Wallace Murray. He
was sitting in her room. Other accounts describe dreams or even visions.
In my experience, it is dialog. The character starts talking. I am only
doing the typing. When this happens, I can barely contain my
excitement. I fear that to stifle my imaginary friends would be wrong,
so I let them run on. They may have accents, wear funny clothes, or seem
a bit strange, but I assume it is not my place to question anything.
They may take the story in a new direction. They will be full of
surprises. In some cases they will take over, shove me out of the way
and tell the story themselves. That is the greatest gift. Every word
will flow like a river.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg"><img alt="madeleine_lengle_2" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-417" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg" height="292" width="200" /></a> Madeline L’Engle</div>
Years ago, a young friend who wrote songs told me that the Creator
likes creating. He said that he felt well in his soul when the tunes
came to him. It is a strange unknown impulse that drives us all. So if
what Elizabeth Bowen said is true, how do we go about this process of
finding our characters? I wish I had the answer. It would be a great
boon to all kinds of creative people if the method were that simple. In
all disciplines, it seems that getting in the mode is the key. Even
stage performances will vary from night to night, and when the magic
occurs, it will be very fleeting. Those who happened to be at that
performance, or at that game, or in that moment, will know it. The
greatest characters in all of literature did not start when the author
attempted to describe a middle-aged white man or a beautiful young girl.
I would hazard a guess that those fantastic beings arrived fully
formed. Maybe great souls have a desire to jump back into life this way.
If it isn’t happening, don’t worry because if you stick with it for
long enough, I am convinced that someone will show up.<br />
While writing<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1572493488/ref=tmm_pap_new_olp_sr?ie=UTF8&condition=new&qid=1454175710&sr=8-1"> My American Eden</a></i>,
I wanted to bring Mary Dyer’s story to life. Since she was the only
female inhabitant of Boston in 1635 that Governor Winthrop attempted to
describe in his journals, I learned that she was “comely and of no mean
estate.” Years later, on Rhode Island, the Governor wrote that she could
converse with any man, as well as any man on any topic.” That was my
start. I searched and begged for more clues. One night at The Best Food
Ever Book Club in Spokane, I was elaborating on my research to date when
a great friend said, “Mary Dyer? I am a direct descendant of Mary
Dyer.” Next I learned that the model for Sylvia Shaw Judson’s statue
commemorating this rebel saint who gave her life for the cause of
religious freedom was none other than my husband’s paternal grandmother.
The list goes on, but I still yearned to see her. To really meet her.
While obsessing about Mary and writing the first draft I had to choose
between internal dialogue, what I imagined she was thinking while alone
in her house, or show her conversing with someone. Of course, who would
have been alone in their house in 1635? I added an indentured servant.
Not even beginning to create any sort of picture, she was there. By the
fourth draft I had gone from nine hundred pages to four hundred and
fifty, and switched from third person omniscient to first person. Only
it was not Mary’s voice in my head following the discipline of the
narrative; it was Irene, the servant, the one who arrived fully formed. I
started getting a better look at Mary through her eyes.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo.jpg"><img alt="count of monte christo" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-421" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo-300x169.jpg" height="169" width="300" /></a><br />
A fully formed character could be anyone. What they are is visible and memorable. <a href="http://unt-monte-cristo-penguin-classics/dp/0140449264/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175852&sr=1-1&keywords=the+count+of+monte+cristo">The Count of Monte Christo.</a> <a href="http://mark-twain/dp/1503215679/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175917&sr=1-1&keywords=tom+sawyer">Tom Sawyer</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gone-Wind-Anniversary-Margaret-Mitchell/dp/1451635621/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176163&sr=1-1&keywords=gone+with+the+wind">Scarlet O’Hara.</a><a href="http://xn---bront-uva/dp/0141441143/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175983&sr=1-1&keywords=jane+eyre+by+charlotte+bronte"> Jane Eyre</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Harry-Potter-Paperback-Box-Books/dp/0545162076/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176032&sr=1-1&keywords=Harry+Potter">Harry Potter</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romeo-Juliet-Folger-Shakespeare-Library/dp/0743477111/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176085&sr=1-1&keywords=Romeo+and+Juliet">Romeo </a>of
the House of Montague. Portia. The list goes on and on. You can’t name a
great classic without a memorable character, or several coming to mind.</div>
<footer class="entry-meta">
This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=harry-potter" rel="tag">Harry Potter</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jane-eyre" rel="tag">Jane Eyre</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=my-american-eden" rel="tag">My American Eden</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=romeo-and-juliet" rel="tag">Romeo and Juliet</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=scarlet-ohara" rel="tag">Scarlet O'Hara</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shakespeare" rel="tag">Shakespeare</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-count-of-monte-christo" rel="tag">The Count of Monte Christo</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=tom-sawyer" rel="tag">Tom Sawyer</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=416" rel="bookmark" title="6:42 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-30T18:42:04+00:00">January 30, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-400 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-self-help category-uncategorized tag-atkins tag-diet tag-dr-phil tag-french-women-dont-get-fat tag-misty-copeland tag-pat-conroy tag-the-lords-of-discipline tag-the-prince-of-tides tag-weight-watchers" id="post-400">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=400" rel="bookmark">Diets Don’t Work</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
Do you know why diets don’t work? Neither do I. Diets don’t fail;
dieters do, so therefore if you don’t like failure, for heaven’s sake,
don’t go on a diet.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media4.popsugar-assets.com/files/2014/08/08/782/n/1922729/c62058b3f62b96d8_thumb_temp_image8453211407450717.xxxlarge/i/Misty-Copeland-Workout.jpg">Misty Copeland</a> <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1.jpg"><img alt="Misty-Copeland 1" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-409" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a></div>
I credit my mother for my long and tiresome history with dieting, as
it was she who would always start with the latest diet book. After she
had left this world and I had to close up her apartment, there on the
night table, right beside her bed was<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Books--Strategies-Ultimate-Solution-McGraaw/dp/B00L3OQHOK/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452705590&sr=1-6&keywords=Dr.+Phils+Strategies+for+Weight+Loss"> Dr. Phil’s Life Strategies and The Ultimate Weight Loss. </a>She
would rail against the strictures of these programs, and then get in
bed and say, “I have to read about what I get to eat tomorrow.” From the
eggs, steak and grapefruit of the sixties, to<a href="https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/?cid=SEM"> Weight Watchers</a>, to<a href="http://www.atkins.com/register?mcid=riseppcggl&gclid=CI-r9tCnp8oCFUVcfgodDKAH8g"> Atkins</a>, to<a href="http://www.southbeachdiet.com/diet/"> South Beach</a>, to<a href="http://www.westpalmbeachdietdoctor.com/"> Palm Beach, </a>you
name it, she was always game. Not being overweight, ever, and in
possession of a healthy body and mind, she was nevertheless always after
those elusive ten to fifteen pounds that seem to plague us all. At the
same time, she entertained and churned out more meals for guests than I
can count. This extended to her family, children, and grandchildren and
we do not think of her without remembering all those wonderful dinners.
As her mother came from a large Irish clan, the tradition of eating food
in season and not being too extravagant in any one direction came into
play.<br />
When I worked at Coldwater Creek, the idea of an employee cookbook
sprang to the mind of the H.R. director who wanted this to happen but
did not want to do it herself. Yours truly here volunteered to head up
the project, and a labor of love began. I decided that it would be great
to celebrate our mother’s and grandmother’s cherished recipes and put
their full names, place of birth and dates alongside those family
treasures. Sharing this task with our counterparts in West Virginia, we
gathered a compilation of culinary wisdom entitled, Coldwater Creek
Cooks. To this end, I managed to get the best pound cake recipe ever,
originating from Kentucky and served with a hot butter sauce with a
touch of Bourbon. As my son was getting married that year, I thought it
would be great to give my future daughter-in-law all the reference
material possible from the culture of his maternal line. As my daughter
headed off to college and moved from wretched dorm food to her own
apartment, she had her copy as well. How I delighted in those first
calls for instruction in basic meals. I am so proud to say that both my
children love good food, eat well and share this bond with me.<br />
Writers who love fine cuisine share a particular place in my heart.<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg"><img alt="cook_cover" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-404 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg" height="204" width="133" /></a> When<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook"> The Pat Conroy </a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">Cookbook</a>
came out, I raced home with my copy, hot off the press and read it from
cover to cover. Tasked with preparing the evening meal for his family
when his wife decided to go to law school, he began the challenge in the
way most writers do: he went straightaway to his favorite book store.
He picked up a copy of The Escoffier Cookbook and learned the basics of
French cooking which always begin with homemade stock.<br />
My culinary history has a similar origin. As a young adult, living on
my own in a stone house in the country, I came down with a nasty bout
of pneumonia and moved back home to recover. My mother, working as an
interior designer at the time, decided that if I were home all day, I
could take on the responsibility of dinner. In her collection of
cookbooks, I found one published by our favorite restaurant in Palm
Beach, Florida, called The Petite Marmite. The pictures were so
beautiful, and inspiring, that I set out to recreate them. I had to
start by making stocks that I have always believed are not only the
essence of great dishes but also of good health. In Conroy’s book, he
describes his time in Paris and also in Rome, the places where he dined
after a hard day of writing <a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/">The Lords of Discipline </a>and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_19/187-0758294-1903222?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+prince+of+tides&sprefix=The+Prince+of+Tides%2Caps%2C316">The Prince of Tides. </a>He
also peppers his chapters with tales of the region he knows so well:
the low country of South Carolina. When Mireille Guiliano created<a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/"> French Women Don’t Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure</a>,
I knew I had found the ultimate book for me. Years ago, in Paris with
my mother, we decided to uncover the secret we could see all around us,
that being, French women ate the best food in the world and seemed much
thinner than their North Americans counterparts. We thought we could
just indulge to our heart’s content, and it would all somehow balance
out. Wrong.<br />
You cannot describe the physicality of a character in exact terms. It
would read like a medical chart. Your reader will get a better picture
by depicting what they eat, how much, how often and how important it is
to them. Do they eat to live, or are they more like me, a person who
lives to eat. Are meals, described regarding grabbing a bite, or set
under an arbor in the garden and encompassing most of the afternoon? Is
food a necessary chore, or unbridled passion? Above all, what do they
eat for lunch?<br />
<br />
From <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">The Pat Conroy Cookbook:</a><br />
“I write of truffles in the Dordogne Valley in France, cilantro in
Bangkok, catfish in Alabama, scuppernong in South Carolina, Chinese food
from my years in San Francisco, and white asparagus from the first meal
my agent, Julian Bach, took me to in New York City.”<br />
<br /></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=atkins" rel="tag">Atkins</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=diet" rel="tag">Diet</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=dr-phil" rel="tag">Dr. Phil</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=french-women-dont-get-fat" rel="tag">French Women Don't Get Fat</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=misty-copeland" rel="tag">Misty Copeland</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=pat-conroy" rel="tag">Pat Conroy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-lords-of-discipline" rel="tag">The Lords of Discipline</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-prince-of-tides" rel="tag">The Prince of Tides</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=weight-watchers" rel="tag">Weight Watchers</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=400" rel="bookmark" title="6:19 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-13T18:19:10+00:00">January 13, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
</article>
<article class="post-392 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-self-help tag-bliss tag-colum-mccann tag-ecstasy tag-idaho tag-joy tag-lake-coeur-d-alene" id="post-392">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=392" rel="bookmark">More Bliss</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/snowy-deck.jpg"><img alt="snowy deck" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-394" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/snowy-deck-225x300.jpg" height="300" width="225" /></a></div>
It was at the checkout counter of my favorite grocery store that I
received encouragement regarding this topic. Answering the question of
my new year’s resolutions, I answered, “Just one. Two words. More
bliss.” Both the cashier and the woman helping her bag my veggies and
fresh sourdough baguette applauded the concept.<br />
As far back as my recorded resolutions state, I have begun each new
year of my adult life with these two words: lose weight. What is
different this year? I would still like to continue my weight loss
journey, but that is not the leading resolution. Why not?<br />
Bliss is not something one bumps into by accident. It is also not
something one can micro manage or plan for entirely. What is is exactly?
Where do I find it? Where does it abound? I would say<a href="https://visitidaho.org/"> Idaho. </a>Windy
Bay, Lake Coeur d’ Alene; it can be found right out my door. Communing
with nature on a daily basis is the first step. Yet there is a
difference between simple enjoyment and bliss. Bliss is defined as
supreme happiness.<br />
All guilt aside, Protestant work ethic and Calvinistic upbringing
urging me to discard these thoughts in favor of everyday nose- to- the-
grindstone good works, I can say that I will keep on with those
traditions. Since I know that bliss is fleeting and short-lived, I do
not need to fear going down the drain over seeking moments of profound
joy. I can reconcile these two concepts by acknowledging that I am in
training. For this to occur everything needs to be in place.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola.jpg"><img alt="VIP gondola" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-395" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola-225x300.jpg" height="300" width="225" /></a></div>
I want to be in really good shape. To this end, my ballet, yoga, and
pilates program of my invention are essential. I need to be strong
enough to ski with my husband who is a wonder. Yesterday, <a href="http://www.silvermt.com/Outdoor-Adventures/Winter-Activities/Lift-Tickets-Season-passes?gclid=COnGlPPPkMoCFUaCfgodaEIEnA">Silver Mountain</a>
was spectacularly beautiful. While cross-country skiing, breaking trail
on a quiet, wooded road, with the sun glistening and a massive eagle
soaring overhead, it happened. I was awestruck. My jaw drops in such
moments.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg"><img alt="thirteen ways of looking" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-393" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg" height="293" width="199" /></a><br />
Reading <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_24?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=thirteen+ways+of+looking&sprefix=Thirteen+Ways+of+Looking%2Caps%2C385">Thirteen Ways of Looking</a></i>
by Colum McCann, yielded many such moments. When a person can write in a
way that barely seems mortal, it can send my spirit soaring. Looking
ahead, I am envisioning sailing with our son on Lake Coeur d’ Alene this
summer. There will be a moment. I know it. The wind will grab the
sails, and we will look at each other and laugh knowing that we are
having an absolute blast out on the water. I also look forward to
rafting, swimming, kayaking and boating down to dinner at Conklin’s
Resort, and dancing under the stars.<br />
Will I be sad, will I be angry, will I be depressed and discouraged? Yes. Will it matter? No.<br />
It was in the seventh grade when I took this poem by Sara Teasdale to heart. It is called Barter.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
All beautiful and splendid things,<br />
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,<br />
Soaring fire that sways and sings,<br />
And children’s faces looking up<br />
Holding wonder in a cup.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
Music like a curve of gold,<br />
Scent of pine trees in the rain,<br />
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,<br />
And for your spirit’s still delight,<br />
Holy thoughts that star the night.<br />
Spend all you have for loveliness,<br />
Buy it and never count the cost;<br />
For one white singing hour of peace<br />
Count many a year of strife well lost,<br />
And for a breath of ecstasy<br />
Give all you have been, or could be.<br />
I will read, I will write, I will study, I will spend time with old
friends and new, I will laugh until I cry, I will eat good food, and I
will get stronger with each passing day. I will devote myself to serving
others. When bliss comes along, I will be ready. It will be duly noted.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=bliss" rel="tag">bliss</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=colum-mccann" rel="tag">Colum McCann</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=ecstasy" rel="tag">ecstasy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=joy" rel="tag">joy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=lake-coeur-d-alene" rel="tag">Lake Coeur d' Alene</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=392" rel="bookmark" title="7:15 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-03T19:15:11+00:00">January 3, 2016</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-382 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-christmas category-motivationinspiration category-uncategorized tag-christmas tag-norad tag-queens-christmas-message" id="post-382">
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=382" rel="bookmark">Thoughts on Christmas</a>
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The snow is falling on a slant in big, crowded flakes over Windy
Bay. We had fog this morning, and then rain, and finally snow, all
pointing to a cozy day inside. Christmas cards and wrapping gifts can
wait. I want to think about Christmas.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg"><img alt="snowy Idaho" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-385" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg" height="176" width="286" /></a><br />
We used to do so much running around. The first year America shopped
online, I worked for Coldwater Creek on the web team. Terrified of the
Internet, people would call and ask if they were online. We would
politely have to reply that they were still on the telephone. At first,
everyone forgot their passwords, but we could look them up. “That is my
dog’s name,” they would say.<br />
<br />
As the days progressed, the anxiety and stress would increase, and
yes, sometimes the call center agents, myself included, would be on the
receiving end of a lot of harsh words and yelling. We had to ask if the
customer would care to share their email address.<br />
Most responded with, “Certainly not.”<br />
With each increasing year, online shopping became more of the norm.
During those years, we scrambled to keep up with the volume of business,
and we did everything in our power to keep the customers happy. We were
proud to work for a company founded by good people and housed in the
beautiful town of Sandpoint, Idaho.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store.jpg"><img alt="Codwater Creek Store" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-387" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store-300x83.jpg" height="83" width="300" /></a><br />
Sometimes, between calls, my fellow agents and I would commiserate.
We bonded. We talked a lot about the meaning of Christmas. It sure
didn’t seem like we were hearing it. If packages had yet to arrive, if
something did not live up to their expectations, or God forbid, the
wrong item got into the box, we had to hear about it. We would wonder
what happened to the idea of an old- fashioned Christmas with good food
and even better good cheer?<br />
We look back; we look around, and we look forward. We think about the
story. It is one of the greatest ever told. As a child, it used to make
me wonder why Joseph did not start our earlier, why did Mary have to be
dragged along if she was having a baby, why didn’t some nice person
give up their room at the Inn so that she could have a bed? Why weren’t
they better prepared? Times were different, my Mom said. She was glad
she had all of us in a hospital.<br />
On Christmas Eve, in the city of Toronto, we gathered around the
radio, listening for the first reports. They came from the military. As
the sky turned dark, regular programming would be interrupted with a
news bulletin. A sighting! Clearly visible from NORAD bases in the far
north, a sleigh, flying through the pitch black sky pulled by reindeer,
he was on his way! Santa’s journey had begun. We had the cookies and the
milk ready. Why were there two Christmas stories, I wondered?<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa.jpg"><img alt="santa" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-386" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa-300x200.jpg" height="200" width="300" /></a><br />
On Christmas Day, we looked forward to another tradition. My mother
insisted we eat breakfast in the dining room with good china and silver,
bacon, eggs, toast and fresh orange juice. It seemed to go on forever,
but when we finished eating, we gathered by the radio to hear the Queen.
She reminded us, year after year, every year of my life to date, that
we should focus on serving others. Wherever we happened to be in the
Commonwealth, she wanted to wish us all a happy Christmas with our
families and to be mindful of those in need. She was right, is right,
and will always be right.<br />
There is meaning. There is hope. There is kindness in this world, and
there is love. Stress? Who needs it? What we could use is more of the
story and more peace.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=60" rel="category">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=33" rel="category">Motivation?Inspiration</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=christmas" rel="tag">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=norad" rel="tag">NORAD</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=queens-christmas-message" rel="tag">Queen's Christmas Message</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=382" rel="bookmark" title="12:14 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-12-20T00:14:31+00:00">December 20, 2015</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-367 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-historical-fiction category-non-fiction tag-american-history tag-colonial-history tag-president-john-f-kennedy tag-thanksgiving" id="post-367">
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<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=367" rel="bookmark">Thoughts for Thanksgiving</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/going-to-the-execution.jpg"><img alt="going to the execution" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-370" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/going-to-the-execution-200x300.jpg" height="300" width="200" /></a></div>
What happens when you are interested in a particular period in time?
If you like to read, you will be drawn to books about that era. When I
was writing <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1572493488/ref=sr_1_1_twi_pap_1_olp?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232535&sr=1-1&keywords=My+American+Eden"><i>My American Eden</i>,</a>
I was tasked with researching Colonial America between the years of
1635-1660. It began when I found a tidbit in a history book about a
woman who walked into Boston with her shroud in hand. She walked to the
hanging tree twice, had the noose around her neck twice, and her face
covered with her Pastor’s handkerchief twice. A last-minute reprieve by
the Governor spared her the first time: the second resulted in death.
This story struck me as one that every American should know. Because a
law was passed banishing Quakers on pain of death, Mary Dyer challenged
it with her life. As I began researching the event, I quickly realized
that history is far from simple.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Amazon-Link-to-mae.jpg"><img alt="Amazon Link to mae" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-371" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Amazon-Link-to-mae-197x300.jpg" height="300" width="197" /></a></div>
I found that perspectives differed depending on the author. Then
something else came to light. The story tended to change over time.
Quaker historians had one perspective, British authors had another, and
then American academia added more confusion to the mix. I began to
wonder if history is based on myth or fact and wondered how to find the
truth. Official court documents, dates and times, all came up with
discrepancies. Initially, I was obsessed with every detail. My first
draft ballooned to eight hundred pages. When I learned that Mary Dyer
traveled back to England and spent seven years there, I had to accept
the challenge of understanding the English civil war. The Puritans and
the Roundheads, the rise of Oliver Cromwell, and his destruction of
Parliament were vague recollections from high school. I turned to my
favorite historian <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill">Sir Winston Churchill</a>.
It was his description of a rising merchant class gaining sufficient
power to challenge the established ruling class that piqued my interest.
The more deeply I delved into the conflict, the more understanding I
gained of what unfolded decades, and then centuries later. I learned of
that the roots of the American Civil War stretched back to the events of
the 1650s. One side, the Royalists, eventually gravitated to Virginia
and the southern United States while the Puritans sailed to Boston. The
events in New England also had an effect on the American Revolution and
the founding fathers. Mary Dyer’s protests did not go unheeded. When
Charles II was restored to the throne in 1660, he immediately passed a
law forbidding such discrimination.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/JFK-the-Unspeakable.jpg"><img alt="JFK the Unspeakable" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-372 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/JFK-the-Unspeakable-201x300.jpg" height="300" width="201" /></a></div>
As we watch history unfold, try as we might, it is often difficult to
find the truth. When asked if history would be kind to him,<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill"> Winston Churchill </a>replied
that it would indeed because he intended to write it. As a child
growing up in a military family in the post-war fifties and sixties, the
shadow of war hung over the conversations by the adults. Watching the
first reports of the news from Dallas, fifty-two years ago today, I had
nothing but questions. At that point in time, I was obsessed with the<a href="http://oxed-books/dp/0448466759/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232611&sr=1-2&keywords=nancy+drew+books"><i> Nancy Drew</i> </a>series.
Even in the midst of the emotional wallop that hit us all regarding the
assassination of the President, I sensed a murder mystery. People crave
a simple explanation, but I feel we must be sleuths. What could be
murkier than the events of November 22, 1963? One book leads to another;
facts are disputed, and some facts are indisputable. The deeper one
delves, the more confusion one is likely to find until at last the truth
emerges. Should we accept the fact that we will never know? I have
never thought so.<i><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/JFK-Unspeakable-Why-Died-Matters/dp/1439193886/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232781&sr=1-2&keywords=the+unspeaka"> The Unspeakable</a> </i>by James W. Douglass and <a href="http://alias%3dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+devil%27s+chessboard&sprefix=the+devil,stripbooks,276/"><i>The Devil’s Chessboard</i>, </a>by David Talbot have shed new light. Both books are thoroughly researched and beautifully written.<br />
The final paragraph of the speech<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_F._Kennedy"> President John F. Kennedy</a> was to deliver in Dallas on Nov. 22, 1963:<br />
We in this country, in this generation, are — by destiny rather than
choice — the watchmen on the walls of world freedom. We ask, therefore,
that we may be worthy of our power and responsibility — that we may
exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint — and that we may
achieve in our time and for all time the ancient vision of “peace on
earth, good will toward men.” That must always be our goal — and the
righteousness of our cause must always underlie our strength. For as was
written long ago: “except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh
but in vain.”<br />
SOURCE: John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum<br />
Two statues in front of the Massachusetts State House: One by Sylvia
Shaw Judson depicts Mary Dyer, and the other is Isabel Mcllvain’s
President Kennedy.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/bigger-statue-of-Mary-Dyer.jpg"><img alt="bigger statue of Mary Dyer" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-377" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/bigger-statue-of-Mary-Dyer.jpg" height="216" width="233" /></a><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/jfk-statehouse.jpg"><img alt="jfk statehouse" class=" size-full wp-image-376 alignright" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/jfk-statehouse.jpg" height="251" width="201" /></a><br />
This week we will gather with friends and family remembering those
first families who came to the New World seeking freedom. Some of us
will pray for those around the globe who are fleeing terrible
circumstances and conflict. Hopefully, we will all give thanks for the
simple things: a roof over our heads, a warm house and a bounteous feast
on the table. I hope we will all remember to cherish freedom too.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-history" rel="tag">American History</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=colonial-history" rel="tag">Colonial history</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=president-john-f-kennedy" rel="tag">President John F. Kennedy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=thanksgiving" rel="tag">Thanksgiving</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=367" rel="bookmark" title="11:57 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-22T23:57:46+00:00">November 22, 2015</time></a>. </footer>
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<article class="post-357 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-motivationinspiration tag-bono tag-geography tag-new-york tag-paris tag-shakespeare tag-u2" id="post-357">
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<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=357" rel="bookmark">The Food of Love</a>
</h1>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/brown-map-of-Paris.jpg"><img alt="brown map of Paris" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-362" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/brown-map-of-Paris.jpg" height="194" width="259" /></a></div>
My last day of high school involved an exam. The subject was
geography. My teacher, Winifred Prestwich, walked down the aisle in the
prayer hall where desks had been placed, patted my shoulder, and wished
me luck. She called me by my sister’s name, Mary. It didn’t matter. I
was used to it. The fact that my sister graduated years prior made no
difference. Miss Prestwich liked her enormously, so in calling me by her
name, it felt like a token of affection.<br />
I supposed I trembled a little as I read the exam questions. My
school, Havergal College for Young Ladies, was famous for its tough
standards. The packet was a fairly thick one. As I looked through it, I
found a blank street map of<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris"> Paris. </a>We
were to name as many streets and landmarks as possible. Each accurate
answer yielded a point, and the map was worth fifty percent of the
grade. It was never mentioned as a possibility in class. We had spent a
few weeks learning about the city planning, but we expected an essay
question on that topic. I filled in the map first. By the time I
finished, I had to race through the other questions. When I heard the
words, “Pens down,” my high school years came to a close. After spending
countless hours complaining about the uselessness of what we were
learning, and pontificating to all in sundry about what I would have
rather been studying, I now had to concede that Miss Prestwich had given
us a very practical application of knowledge. I feel at home in Paris. I
would live there in a heartbeat if I could. I can always find my way
around.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris.jpg"><img alt="Paris" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-363" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris.jpg" height="177" width="284" /></a><br />
When I heard of the recent attacks, like so many others, I felt a
great kinship with the people who live in my favorite city. It is hard
to quantify places, and I am never a fan of ranking everything in sight,
but in my mind <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris">Paris i</a>s
the at the top of the pinnacle. My love of beauty is satisfied at every
turn. The care taken with every morsel of food is so impressive that I
feel as if I can live on the inspiration for years. I am a
self-confessed Francophile. Isn’t anything one does, anything at all,
worth doing well? That is what I admire about la belle France. The
streets, washed every morning with a small flood that swooshes through,
allows shopkeepers to sweep and scrub their sidewalks leaving them fresh
and clean. The bakers are up in the dark making the daily bread.
Working your way through a loaf of sliced bread from start to finish is
unheard of in France. To everything, there is a delicate balance.<br />
Now this: Violence. Disruption. Aggression. Brutality. Hideous darkness. What is to be done?<br />
We cannot stop being hospitable. After 9/11, I thought of all the wonderful raucous times my family enjoyed in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York">New York</a>. The nights at<a href="http://www.thegarden.com/"> Madison Square Garden</a>,
the restaurants, the hotels, and the famous cab drivers; the city vowed
to carry on being New Yorkers. So I pray for Paris. I pray for it to
remain as the City of Light, and I expect to visit it again sometime
soon. I hope the cafes are never forced to close their doors again.
Church bells rang throughout the city on Sunday.<a href="http://www.u2.com/index/home"> U2 </a>had to cancel their concert. As reported in a radio interview with Irish D.J. Dave Fanning, <a href="http://www.u2.com/news/title/little-book-of-a-big-year/">Bono </a>said, “ I think music is important. I think <a href="http://www.u2.com/index/home">U2</a> has a role to play, and I can’t wait till we get back to<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris"> Paris</a> and play.”<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris-cafe.jpg"><img alt="Paris cafe" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-364" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris-cafe.jpg" height="205" width="246" /></a></div>
“If music be the food of love, play on.” <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Shakespeare">Shakespeare</a>: Twelfth Night, Act One, Scene One.</div>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-4168012378318065962016-02-15T09:01:00.000-08:002018-05-14T14:52:11.685-07:00Still Thinking<div class="site-content" id="primary">
<div id="content" role="main">
<br />
<br />
<article class="post-424 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-uncategorized" id="post-424">
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/My-Name-is-Lucy-Barton.jpg"><img alt="My Name is Lucy Barton" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-425" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/My-Name-is-Lucy-Barton-203x300.jpg" height="300" width="203" /></a></div>
It has been four days since I finished reading<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Name-Lucy-Barton-Novel/dp/1400067693/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455553547&sr=1-1&keywords=my+name+is+lucy+barton+by+elizabeth+strout"> My Name is Lucy Barton</a></i>, by Elizabeth Strout. Having enjoyed the Pulitzer Prize winner, <a href="http://izabeth-strout/dp/0812971833/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455553742&sr=1-1&keywords=olive+kitteridge"><i>Olive Kitteridge,</i></a>
I picked up this book with great anticipation. It did not disappoint –
not in any way. The reason I did not write about this book immediately
has to do with the fact that I am still thinking.<br />
What is it that keeps a reader mulling over phrases, words, ideas,
scenes and aspects about a book for days after the book is shelved? It
is most likely a by-product of tremendous skill. What is the technique
or turn of phrase that would keep resonating in the reader’s mind? A
page-turner will have me gallop through the plot, desperate to find out
what happens, and then once all loose ends are resolved, I barely give
it a second thought. In fact, those sorts of stories go into a
to-be-donated pile. There would be no reason to re-read it, and
therefore, I doubt I would even hang on to it any longer than necessary.<br />
<i>My Name is Lucy Barton</i> could be described as a quiet novel. I
applaud Random House, New York for publishing this work because there
are legions of people who dislike such stories. Any writer who attends
workshops or conferences will hear a great deal of advice about staying
away from this style. It is true that it requires a unique skill set to
do it well. It has to do with being in the mind of a created character
that has sprung to life on the page.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Elizabeth-Strout.jpg"><img alt="Elizabeth Strout" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-426" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Elizabeth-Strout-194x300.jpg" height="300" width="194" /></a></div>
Lucy Barton is confined to a hospital bed due to complications from
surgery. Her mother, with whom she has had no contact for many years,
comes to be with her. It was at the request of Lucy’s husband that she
is there, and we learn that right away. So there is tension. Lucy is
trapped, and her mother is reluctant. Ordinarily, you would not be able
to create a novel around this premise. What keeps the reader engaged is
Lucy’s innocence and child-like longing for a response from her mother.<br />
From page 55:<br />
“But it turned out I wanted something else. I wanted my mother to ask
about my life. I wanted to tell her about the life I was living now.
Stupidly-it was just stupidity- I blurted out, “Mom, I got two stories
published.” She looked at me quickly and quizzically, as if I had said
that I had grown extra toes, then looked out the window and said
nothing. “Just dumb ones,” I said, “in tiny magazines.” Still she said
nothing.”<br />
My stomach goes into knots reading this exchange. If a terrorist had
suddenly burst into the hospital room and shot both of them, the tension
would be less in this reader’s imagination. Why would her mother
continually behave in such an unloving manner? Perhaps she simply
couldn’t, or maybe she was jealous, or maybe that is just who she was,
but for whatever reason, I, as the reader, only wanted to close the gap.
This is where the story is very unquiet in my mind. Lucy is going to be
all right. We know that all along. She says she came from nothing, but
she managed to go to college, marry well, raise two daughters and become
an accomplished author. We know that she did all this with precious
little support- financial or otherwise. She did it all without becoming
bitter or hard-nosed. She values kindness and speaks of it often. That
makes her heroic in my eyes and makes me think of her as a living
entity, long after the pages are shut, and the book takes a
well-deserved place on the shelf.<br />
<br />
From:<a href="http://www.elizabethbrinton.com/" target="_blank">www.elizabethbrinton.com</a><br />
<br /></div>
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This entry was posted on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=424" rel="bookmark" title="4:38 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-02-15T16:38:09+00:00">February 15, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=424&action=edit">Edit</a></span></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><span class="edit-link"> </span></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><span class="edit-link"> </span></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><span class="edit-link"> </span> </footer>
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<article class="post-416 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-historical-fiction tag-harry-potter tag-jane-eyre tag-my-american-eden tag-romeo-and-juliet tag-scarlet-ohara tag-shakespeare tag-the-count-of-monte-christo tag-tom-sawyer" id="post-416">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=416" rel="bookmark">Finding Character</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
“Characters are not created by writers. They pre-exist and have to be found.” <a href="http://22.253.163.162/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176939&sr=1-1&keywords=elizabeth+bowen+books">Elizabeth Bowen</a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg"><img alt="200px-Elizabeth_Bowen" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-419 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg" height="277" width="200" /></a><br />
This is true. I have no authority to make such a statement, but there it
is. Actors speak of finding characters. It is much more than saying the
lines, or putting on the costumes. They try different things, talk in
front of a mirror, obsess about it, work it, and then one day they will
arrive at the set and describe how they found their character. They
speak of the precise moment when it happened. It may have sprung from
tying scarves around their heads as when Johnny Depp became Jack
Sparrow, or it could be something that happened with the walk. Somewhere
along the way, they become inhabited. That is how I would describe the
experience.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In <a href="http://www.madeleinelengle.com/">Madeline L’Engle’s</a>
case, she woke up from a nap and saw him, Charles Wallace Murray. He
was sitting in her room. Other accounts describe dreams or even visions.
In my experience, it is dialog. The character starts talking. I am only
doing the typing. When this happens, I can barely contain my
excitement. I fear that to stifle my imaginary friends would be wrong,
so I let them run on. They may have accents, wear funny clothes, or seem
a bit strange, but I assume it is not my place to question anything.
They may take the story in a new direction. They will be full of
surprises. In some cases they will take over, shove me out of the way
and tell the story themselves. That is the greatest gift. Every word
will flow like a river.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg"><img alt="madeleine_lengle_2" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-417" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg" height="292" width="200" /></a> Madeline L’Engle</div>
Years ago, a young friend who wrote songs told me that the Creator
likes creating. He said that he felt well in his soul when the tunes
came to him. It is a strange unknown impulse that drives us all. So if
what Elizabeth Bowen said is true, how do we go about this process of
finding our characters? I wish I had the answer. It would be a great
boon to all kinds of creative people if the method were that simple. In
all disciplines, it seems that getting in the mode is the key. Even
stage performances will vary from night to night, and when the magic
occurs, it will be very fleeting. Those who happened to be at that
performance, or at that game, or in that moment, will know it. The
greatest characters in all of literature did not start when the author
attempted to describe a middle-aged white man or a beautiful young girl.
I would hazard a guess that those fantastic beings arrived fully
formed. Maybe great souls have a desire to jump back into life this way.
If it isn’t happening, don’t worry because if you stick with it for
long enough, I am convinced that someone will show up.<br />
While writing<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1572493488/ref=tmm_pap_new_olp_sr?ie=UTF8&condition=new&qid=1454175710&sr=8-1"> My American Eden</a></i>,
I wanted to bring Mary Dyer’s story to life. Since she was the only
female inhabitant of Boston in 1635 that Governor Winthrop attempted to
describe in his journals, I learned that she was “comely and of no mean
estate.” Years later, on Rhode Island, the Governor wrote that she could
converse with any man, as well as any man on any topic.” That was my
start. I searched and begged for more clues. One night at The Best Food
Ever Book Club in Spokane, I was elaborating on my research to date when
a great friend said, “Mary Dyer? I am a direct descendant of Mary
Dyer.” Next I learned that the model for Sylvia Shaw Judson’s statue
commemorating this rebel saint who gave her life for the cause of
religious freedom was none other than my husband’s paternal grandmother.
The list goes on, but I still yearned to see her. To really meet her.
While obsessing about Mary and writing the first draft I had to choose
between internal dialogue, what I imagined she was thinking while alone
in her house, or show her conversing with someone. Of course, who would
have been alone in their house in 1635? I added an indentured servant.
Not even beginning to create any sort of picture, she was there. By the
fourth draft I had gone from nine hundred pages to four hundred and
fifty, and switched from third person omniscient to first person. Only
it was not Mary’s voice in my head following the discipline of the
narrative; it was Irene, the servant, the one who arrived fully formed. I
started getting a better look at Mary through her eyes.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo.jpg"><img alt="count of monte christo" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-421" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo-300x169.jpg" height="169" width="300" /></a><br />
A fully formed character could be anyone. What they are is visible and memorable. <a href="http://unt-monte-cristo-penguin-classics/dp/0140449264/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175852&sr=1-1&keywords=the+count+of+monte+cristo">The Count of Monte Christo.</a> <a href="http://mark-twain/dp/1503215679/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175917&sr=1-1&keywords=tom+sawyer">Tom Sawyer</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gone-Wind-Anniversary-Margaret-Mitchell/dp/1451635621/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176163&sr=1-1&keywords=gone+with+the+wind">Scarlet O’Hara.</a><a href="http://xn---bront-uva/dp/0141441143/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175983&sr=1-1&keywords=jane+eyre+by+charlotte+bronte"> Jane Eyre</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Harry-Potter-Paperback-Box-Books/dp/0545162076/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176032&sr=1-1&keywords=Harry+Potter">Harry Potter</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romeo-Juliet-Folger-Shakespeare-Library/dp/0743477111/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176085&sr=1-1&keywords=Romeo+and+Juliet">Romeo </a>of
the House of Montague. Portia. The list goes on and on. You can’t name a
great classic without a memorable character, or several coming to mind.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=harry-potter" rel="tag">Harry Potter</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jane-eyre" rel="tag">Jane Eyre</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=my-american-eden" rel="tag">My American Eden</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=romeo-and-juliet" rel="tag">Romeo and Juliet</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=scarlet-ohara" rel="tag">Scarlet O'Hara</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shakespeare" rel="tag">Shakespeare</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-count-of-monte-christo" rel="tag">The Count of Monte Christo</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=tom-sawyer" rel="tag">Tom Sawyer</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=416" rel="bookmark" title="6:42 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-30T18:42:04+00:00">January 30, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=416&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-400 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-self-help category-uncategorized tag-atkins tag-diet tag-dr-phil tag-french-women-dont-get-fat tag-misty-copeland tag-pat-conroy tag-the-lords-of-discipline tag-the-prince-of-tides tag-weight-watchers" id="post-400">
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<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=400" rel="bookmark">Diets Don’t Work</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
Do you know why diets don’t work? Neither do I. Diets don’t fail;
dieters do, so therefore if you don’t like failure, for heaven’s sake,
don’t go on a diet.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media4.popsugar-assets.com/files/2014/08/08/782/n/1922729/c62058b3f62b96d8_thumb_temp_image8453211407450717.xxxlarge/i/Misty-Copeland-Workout.jpg">Misty Copeland</a> <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1.jpg"><img alt="Misty-Copeland 1" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-409" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a></div>
I credit my mother for my long and tiresome history with dieting, as
it was she who would always start with the latest diet book. After she
had left this world and I had to close up her apartment, there on the
night table, right beside her bed was<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Books--Strategies-Ultimate-Solution-McGraaw/dp/B00L3OQHOK/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452705590&sr=1-6&keywords=Dr.+Phils+Strategies+for+Weight+Loss"> Dr. Phil’s Life Strategies and The Ultimate Weight Loss. </a>She
would rail against the strictures of these programs, and then get in
bed and say, “I have to read about what I get to eat tomorrow.” From the
eggs, steak and grapefruit of the sixties, to<a href="https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/?cid=SEM"> Weight Watchers</a>, to<a href="http://www.atkins.com/register?mcid=riseppcggl&gclid=CI-r9tCnp8oCFUVcfgodDKAH8g"> Atkins</a>, to<a href="http://www.southbeachdiet.com/diet/"> South Beach</a>, to<a href="http://www.westpalmbeachdietdoctor.com/"> Palm Beach, </a>you
name it, she was always game. Not being overweight, ever, and in
possession of a healthy body and mind, she was nevertheless always after
those elusive ten to fifteen pounds that seem to plague us all. At the
same time, she entertained and churned out more meals for guests than I
can count. This extended to her family, children, and grandchildren and
we do not think of her without remembering all those wonderful dinners.
As her mother came from a large Irish clan, the tradition of eating food
in season and not being too extravagant in any one direction came into
play.<br />
When I worked at Coldwater Creek, the idea of an employee cookbook
sprang to the mind of the H.R. director who wanted this to happen but
did not want to do it herself. Yours truly here volunteered to head up
the project, and a labor of love began. I decided that it would be great
to celebrate our mother’s and grandmother’s cherished recipes and put
their full names, place of birth and dates alongside those family
treasures. Sharing this task with our counterparts in West Virginia, we
gathered a compilation of culinary wisdom entitled, Coldwater Creek
Cooks. To this end, I managed to get the best pound cake recipe ever,
originating from Kentucky and served with a hot butter sauce with a
touch of Bourbon. As my son was getting married that year, I thought it
would be great to give my future daughter-in-law all the reference
material possible from the culture of his maternal line. As my daughter
headed off to college and moved from wretched dorm food to her own
apartment, she had her copy as well. How I delighted in those first
calls for instruction in basic meals. I am so proud to say that both my
children love good food, eat well and share this bond with me.<br />
Writers who love fine cuisine share a particular place in my heart.<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg"><img alt="cook_cover" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-404 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg" height="204" width="133" /></a> When<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook"> The Pat Conroy </a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">Cookbook</a>
came out, I raced home with my copy, hot off the press and read it from
cover to cover. Tasked with preparing the evening meal for his family
when his wife decided to go to law school, he began the challenge in the
way most writers do: he went straightaway to his favorite book store.
He picked up a copy of The Escoffier Cookbook and learned the basics of
French cooking which always begin with homemade stock.<br />
My culinary history has a similar origin. As a young adult, living on
my own in a stone house in the country, I came down with a nasty bout
of pneumonia and moved back home to recover. My mother, working as an
interior designer at the time, decided that if I were home all day, I
could take on the responsibility of dinner. In her collection of
cookbooks, I found one published by our favorite restaurant in Palm
Beach, Florida, called The Petite Marmite. The pictures were so
beautiful, and inspiring, that I set out to recreate them. I had to
start by making stocks that I have always believed are not only the
essence of great dishes but also of good health. In Conroy’s book, he
describes his time in Paris and also in Rome, the places where he dined
after a hard day of writing <a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/">The Lords of Discipline </a>and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_19/187-0758294-1903222?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+prince+of+tides&sprefix=The+Prince+of+Tides%2Caps%2C316">The Prince of Tides. </a>He
also peppers his chapters with tales of the region he knows so well:
the low country of South Carolina. When Mireille Guiliano created<a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/"> French Women Don’t Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure</a>,
I knew I had found the ultimate book for me. Years ago, in Paris with
my mother, we decided to uncover the secret we could see all around us,
that being, French women ate the best food in the world and seemed much
thinner than their North Americans counterparts. We thought we could
just indulge to our heart’s content, and it would all somehow balance
out. Wrong.<br />
You cannot describe the physicality of a character in exact terms. It
would read like a medical chart. Your reader will get a better picture
by depicting what they eat, how much, how often and how important it is
to them. Do they eat to live, or are they more like me, a person who
lives to eat. Are meals, described regarding grabbing a bite, or set
under an arbor in the garden and encompassing most of the afternoon? Is
food a necessary chore, or unbridled passion? Above all, what do they
eat for lunch?<br />
<br />
From <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">The Pat Conroy Cookbook:</a><br />
“I write of truffles in the Dordogne Valley in France, cilantro in
Bangkok, catfish in Alabama, scuppernong in South Carolina, Chinese food
from my years in San Francisco, and white asparagus from the first meal
my agent, Julian Bach, took me to in New York City.”<br />
<br /></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=atkins" rel="tag">Atkins</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=diet" rel="tag">Diet</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=dr-phil" rel="tag">Dr. Phil</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=french-women-dont-get-fat" rel="tag">French Women Don't Get Fat</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=misty-copeland" rel="tag">Misty Copeland</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=pat-conroy" rel="tag">Pat Conroy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-lords-of-discipline" rel="tag">The Lords of Discipline</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-prince-of-tides" rel="tag">The Prince of Tides</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=weight-watchers" rel="tag">Weight Watchers</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=400" rel="bookmark" title="6:19 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-13T18:19:10+00:00">January 13, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=400&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-392 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-self-help tag-bliss tag-colum-mccann tag-ecstasy tag-idaho tag-joy tag-lake-coeur-d-alene" id="post-392">
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<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=392" rel="bookmark">More Bliss</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/snowy-deck.jpg"><img alt="snowy deck" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-394" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/snowy-deck-225x300.jpg" height="300" width="225" /></a></div>
It was at the checkout counter of my favorite grocery store that I
received encouragement regarding this topic. Answering the question of
my new year’s resolutions, I answered, “Just one. Two words. More
bliss.” Both the cashier and the woman helping her bag my veggies and
fresh sourdough baguette applauded the concept.<br />
As far back as my recorded resolutions state, I have begun each new
year of my adult life with these two words: lose weight. What is
different this year? I would still like to continue my weight loss
journey, but that is not the leading resolution. Why not?<br />
Bliss is not something one bumps into by accident. It is also not
something one can micro manage or plan for entirely. What is is exactly?
Where do I find it? Where does it abound? I would say<a href="https://visitidaho.org/"> Idaho. </a>Windy
Bay, Lake Coeur d’ Alene; it can be found right out my door. Communing
with nature on a daily basis is the first step. Yet there is a
difference between simple enjoyment and bliss. Bliss is defined as
supreme happiness.<br />
All guilt aside, Protestant work ethic and Calvinistic upbringing
urging me to discard these thoughts in favor of everyday nose- to- the-
grindstone good works, I can say that I will keep on with those
traditions. Since I know that bliss is fleeting and short-lived, I do
not need to fear going down the drain over seeking moments of profound
joy. I can reconcile these two concepts by acknowledging that I am in
training. For this to occur everything needs to be in place.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola.jpg"><img alt="VIP gondola" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-395" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola-225x300.jpg" height="300" width="225" /></a></div>
I want to be in really good shape. To this end, my ballet, yoga, and
pilates program of my invention are essential. I need to be strong
enough to ski with my husband who is a wonder. Yesterday, <a href="http://www.silvermt.com/Outdoor-Adventures/Winter-Activities/Lift-Tickets-Season-passes?gclid=COnGlPPPkMoCFUaCfgodaEIEnA">Silver Mountain</a>
was spectacularly beautiful. While cross-country skiing, breaking trail
on a quiet, wooded road, with the sun glistening and a massive eagle
soaring overhead, it happened. I was awestruck. My jaw drops in such
moments.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg"><img alt="thirteen ways of looking" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-393" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg" height="293" width="199" /></a><br />
Reading <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_24?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=thirteen+ways+of+looking&sprefix=Thirteen+Ways+of+Looking%2Caps%2C385">Thirteen Ways of Looking</a></i>
by Colum McCann, yielded many such moments. When a person can write in a
way that barely seems mortal, it can send my spirit soaring. Looking
ahead, I am envisioning sailing with our son on Lake Coeur d’ Alene this
summer. There will be a moment. I know it. The wind will grab the
sails, and we will look at each other and laugh knowing that we are
having an absolute blast out on the water. I also look forward to
rafting, swimming, kayaking and boating down to dinner at Conklin’s
Resort, and dancing under the stars.<br />
Will I be sad, will I be angry, will I be depressed and discouraged? Yes. Will it matter? No.<br />
It was in the seventh grade when I took this poem by Sara Teasdale to heart. It is called Barter.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
All beautiful and splendid things,<br />
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,<br />
Soaring fire that sways and sings,<br />
And children’s faces looking up<br />
Holding wonder in a cup.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
Music like a curve of gold,<br />
Scent of pine trees in the rain,<br />
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,<br />
And for your spirit’s still delight,<br />
Holy thoughts that star the night.<br />
Spend all you have for loveliness,<br />
Buy it and never count the cost;<br />
For one white singing hour of peace<br />
Count many a year of strife well lost,<br />
And for a breath of ecstasy<br />
Give all you have been, or could be.<br />
I will read, I will write, I will study, I will spend time with old
friends and new, I will laugh until I cry, I will eat good food, and I
will get stronger with each passing day. I will devote myself to serving
others. When bliss comes along, I will be ready. It will be duly noted.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=bliss" rel="tag">bliss</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=colum-mccann" rel="tag">Colum McCann</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=ecstasy" rel="tag">ecstasy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=joy" rel="tag">joy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=lake-coeur-d-alene" rel="tag">Lake Coeur d' Alene</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=392" rel="bookmark" title="7:15 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-03T19:15:11+00:00">January 3, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=392&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-382 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-christmas category-motivationinspiration category-uncategorized tag-christmas tag-norad tag-queens-christmas-message" id="post-382">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=382" rel="bookmark">Thoughts on Christmas</a>
</h1>
</header>
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The snow is falling on a slant in big, crowded flakes over Windy
Bay. We had fog this morning, and then rain, and finally snow, all
pointing to a cozy day inside. Christmas cards and wrapping gifts can
wait. I want to think about Christmas.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg"><img alt="snowy Idaho" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-385" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg" height="176" width="286" /></a><br />
We used to do so much running around. The first year America shopped
online, I worked for Coldwater Creek on the web team. Terrified of the
Internet, people would call and ask if they were online. We would
politely have to reply that they were still on the telephone. At first,
everyone forgot their passwords, but we could look them up. “That is my
dog’s name,” they would say.<br />
<br />
As the days progressed, the anxiety and stress would increase, and
yes, sometimes the call center agents, myself included, would be on the
receiving end of a lot of harsh words and yelling. We had to ask if the
customer would care to share their email address.<br />
Most responded with, “Certainly not.”<br />
With each increasing year, online shopping became more of the norm.
During those years, we scrambled to keep up with the volume of business,
and we did everything in our power to keep the customers happy. We were
proud to work for a company founded by good people and housed in the
beautiful town of Sandpoint, Idaho.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store.jpg"><img alt="Codwater Creek Store" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-387" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store-300x83.jpg" height="83" width="300" /></a><br />
Sometimes, between calls, my fellow agents and I would commiserate.
We bonded. We talked a lot about the meaning of Christmas. It sure
didn’t seem like we were hearing it. If packages had yet to arrive, if
something did not live up to their expectations, or God forbid, the
wrong item got into the box, we had to hear about it. We would wonder
what happened to the idea of an old- fashioned Christmas with good food
and even better good cheer?<br />
We look back; we look around, and we look forward. We think about the
story. It is one of the greatest ever told. As a child, it used to make
me wonder why Joseph did not start our earlier, why did Mary have to be
dragged along if she was having a baby, why didn’t some nice person
give up their room at the Inn so that she could have a bed? Why weren’t
they better prepared? Times were different, my Mom said. She was glad
she had all of us in a hospital.<br />
On Christmas Eve, in the city of Toronto, we gathered around the
radio, listening for the first reports. They came from the military. As
the sky turned dark, regular programming would be interrupted with a
news bulletin. A sighting! Clearly visible from NORAD bases in the far
north, a sleigh, flying through the pitch black sky pulled by reindeer,
he was on his way! Santa’s journey had begun. We had the cookies and the
milk ready. Why were there two Christmas stories, I wondered?<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa.jpg"><img alt="santa" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-386" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa-300x200.jpg" height="200" width="300" /></a><br />
On Christmas Day, we looked forward to another tradition. My mother
insisted we eat breakfast in the dining room with good china and silver,
bacon, eggs, toast and fresh orange juice. It seemed to go on forever,
but when we finished eating, we gathered by the radio to hear the Queen.
She reminded us, year after year, every year of my life to date, that
we should focus on serving others. Wherever we happened to be in the
Commonwealth, she wanted to wish us all a happy Christmas with our
families and to be mindful of those in need. She was right, is right,
and will always be right.<br />
There is meaning. There is hope. There is kindness in this world, and
there is love. Stress? Who needs it? What we could use is more of the
story and more peace.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=60" rel="category">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=33" rel="category">Motivation?Inspiration</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=christmas" rel="tag">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=norad" rel="tag">NORAD</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=queens-christmas-message" rel="tag">Queen's Christmas Message</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=382" rel="bookmark" title="12:14 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-12-20T00:14:31+00:00">December 20, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=382&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-367 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-historical-fiction category-non-fiction tag-american-history tag-colonial-history tag-president-john-f-kennedy tag-thanksgiving" id="post-367">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=367" rel="bookmark">Thoughts for Thanksgiving</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/going-to-the-execution.jpg"><img alt="going to the execution" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-370" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/going-to-the-execution-200x300.jpg" height="300" width="200" /></a></div>
What happens when you are interested in a particular period in time?
If you like to read, you will be drawn to books about that era. When I
was writing <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1572493488/ref=sr_1_1_twi_pap_1_olp?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232535&sr=1-1&keywords=My+American+Eden"><i>My American Eden</i>,</a>
I was tasked with researching Colonial America between the years of
1635-1660. It began when I found a tidbit in a history book about a
woman who walked into Boston with her shroud in hand. She walked to the
hanging tree twice, had the noose around her neck twice, and her face
covered with her Pastor’s handkerchief twice. A last-minute reprieve by
the Governor spared her the first time: the second resulted in death.
This story struck me as one that every American should know. Because a
law was passed banishing Quakers on pain of death, Mary Dyer challenged
it with her life. As I began researching the event, I quickly realized
that history is far from simple.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Amazon-Link-to-mae.jpg"><img alt="Amazon Link to mae" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-371" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Amazon-Link-to-mae-197x300.jpg" height="300" width="197" /></a></div>
I found that perspectives differed depending on the author. Then
something else came to light. The story tended to change over time.
Quaker historians had one perspective, British authors had another, and
then American academia added more confusion to the mix. I began to
wonder if history is based on myth or fact and wondered how to find the
truth. Official court documents, dates and times, all came up with
discrepancies. Initially, I was obsessed with every detail. My first
draft ballooned to eight hundred pages. When I learned that Mary Dyer
traveled back to England and spent seven years there, I had to accept
the challenge of understanding the English civil war. The Puritans and
the Roundheads, the rise of Oliver Cromwell, and his destruction of
Parliament were vague recollections from high school. I turned to my
favorite historian <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill">Sir Winston Churchill</a>.
It was his description of a rising merchant class gaining sufficient
power to challenge the established ruling class that piqued my interest.
The more deeply I delved into the conflict, the more understanding I
gained of what unfolded decades, and then centuries later. I learned of
that the roots of the American Civil War stretched back to the events of
the 1650s. One side, the Royalists, eventually gravitated to Virginia
and the southern United States while the Puritans sailed to Boston. The
events in New England also had an effect on the American Revolution and
the founding fathers. Mary Dyer’s protests did not go unheeded. When
Charles II was restored to the throne in 1660, he immediately passed a
law forbidding such discrimination.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/JFK-the-Unspeakable.jpg"><img alt="JFK the Unspeakable" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-372 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/JFK-the-Unspeakable-201x300.jpg" height="300" width="201" /></a></div>
As we watch history unfold, try as we might, it is often difficult to
find the truth. When asked if history would be kind to him,<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill"> Winston Churchill </a>replied
that it would indeed because he intended to write it. As a child
growing up in a military family in the post-war fifties and sixties, the
shadow of war hung over the conversations by the adults. Watching the
first reports of the news from Dallas, fifty-two years ago today, I had
nothing but questions. At that point in time, I was obsessed with the<a href="http://oxed-books/dp/0448466759/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232611&sr=1-2&keywords=nancy+drew+books"><i> Nancy Drew</i> </a>series.
Even in the midst of the emotional wallop that hit us all regarding the
assassination of the President, I sensed a murder mystery. People crave
a simple explanation, but I feel we must be sleuths. What could be
murkier than the events of November 22, 1963? One book leads to another;
facts are disputed, and some facts are indisputable. The deeper one
delves, the more confusion one is likely to find until at last the truth
emerges. Should we accept the fact that we will never know? I have
never thought so.<i><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/JFK-Unspeakable-Why-Died-Matters/dp/1439193886/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232781&sr=1-2&keywords=the+unspeaka"> The Unspeakable</a> </i>by James W. Douglass and <a href="http://alias%3dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+devil%27s+chessboard&sprefix=the+devil,stripbooks,276/"><i>The Devil’s Chessboard</i>, </a>by David Talbot have shed new light. Both books are thoroughly researched and beautifully written.<br />
The final paragraph of the speech<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_F._Kennedy"> President John F. Kennedy</a> was to deliver in Dallas on Nov. 22, 1963:<br />
We in this country, in this generation, are — by destiny rather than
choice — the watchmen on the walls of world freedom. We ask, therefore,
that we may be worthy of our power and responsibility — that we may
exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint — and that we may
achieve in our time and for all time the ancient vision of “peace on
earth, good will toward men.” That must always be our goal — and the
righteousness of our cause must always underlie our strength. For as was
written long ago: “except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh
but in vain.”<br />
SOURCE: John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum<br />
Two statues in front of the Massachusetts State House: One by Sylvia
Shaw Judson depicts Mary Dyer, and the other is Isabel Mcllvain’s
President Kennedy.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/bigger-statue-of-Mary-Dyer.jpg"><img alt="bigger statue of Mary Dyer" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-377" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/bigger-statue-of-Mary-Dyer.jpg" height="216" width="233" /></a><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/jfk-statehouse.jpg"><img alt="jfk statehouse" class=" size-full wp-image-376 alignright" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/jfk-statehouse.jpg" height="251" width="201" /></a><br />
This week we will gather with friends and family remembering those
first families who came to the New World seeking freedom. Some of us
will pray for those around the globe who are fleeing terrible
circumstances and conflict. Hopefully, we will all give thanks for the
simple things: a roof over our heads, a warm house and a bounteous feast
on the table. I hope we will all remember to cherish freedom too.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-history" rel="tag">American History</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=colonial-history" rel="tag">Colonial history</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=president-john-f-kennedy" rel="tag">President John F. Kennedy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=thanksgiving" rel="tag">Thanksgiving</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=367" rel="bookmark" title="11:57 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-22T23:57:46+00:00">November 22, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=367&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-357 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-motivationinspiration tag-bono tag-geography tag-new-york tag-paris tag-shakespeare tag-u2" id="post-357">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=357" rel="bookmark">The Food of Love</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/brown-map-of-Paris.jpg"><img alt="brown map of Paris" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-362" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/brown-map-of-Paris.jpg" height="194" width="259" /></a></div>
My last day of high school involved an exam. The subject was
geography. My teacher, Winifred Prestwich, walked down the aisle in the
prayer hall where desks had been placed, patted my shoulder, and wished
me luck. She called me by my sister’s name, Mary. It didn’t matter. I
was used to it. The fact that my sister graduated years prior made no
difference. Miss Prestwich liked her enormously, so in calling me by her
name, it felt like a token of affection.<br />
I supposed I trembled a little as I read the exam questions. My
school, Havergal College for Young Ladies, was famous for its tough
standards. The packet was a fairly thick one. As I looked through it, I
found a blank street map of<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris"> Paris. </a>We
were to name as many streets and landmarks as possible. Each accurate
answer yielded a point, and the map was worth fifty percent of the
grade. It was never mentioned as a possibility in class. We had spent a
few weeks learning about the city planning, but we expected an essay
question on that topic. I filled in the map first. By the time I
finished, I had to race through the other questions. When I heard the
words, “Pens down,” my high school years came to a close. After spending
countless hours complaining about the uselessness of what we were
learning, and pontificating to all in sundry about what I would have
rather been studying, I now had to concede that Miss Prestwich had given
us a very practical application of knowledge. I feel at home in Paris. I
would live there in a heartbeat if I could. I can always find my way
around.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris.jpg"><img alt="Paris" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-363" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris.jpg" height="177" width="284" /></a><br />
When I heard of the recent attacks, like so many others, I felt a
great kinship with the people who live in my favorite city. It is hard
to quantify places, and I am never a fan of ranking everything in sight,
but in my mind <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris">Paris i</a>s
the at the top of the pinnacle. My love of beauty is satisfied at every
turn. The care taken with every morsel of food is so impressive that I
feel as if I can live on the inspiration for years. I am a
self-confessed Francophile. Isn’t anything one does, anything at all,
worth doing well? That is what I admire about la belle France. The
streets, washed every morning with a small flood that swooshes through,
allows shopkeepers to sweep and scrub their sidewalks leaving them fresh
and clean. The bakers are up in the dark making the daily bread.
Working your way through a loaf of sliced bread from start to finish is
unheard of in France. To everything, there is a delicate balance.<br />
Now this: Violence. Disruption. Aggression. Brutality. Hideous darkness. What is to be done?<br />
We cannot stop being hospitable. After 9/11, I thought of all the wonderful raucous times my family enjoyed in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York">New York</a>. The nights at<a href="http://www.thegarden.com/"> Madison Square Garden</a>,
the restaurants, the hotels, and the famous cab drivers; the city vowed
to carry on being New Yorkers. So I pray for Paris. I pray for it to
remain as the City of Light, and I expect to visit it again sometime
soon. I hope the cafes are never forced to close their doors again.
Church bells rang throughout the city on Sunday.<a href="http://www.u2.com/index/home"> U2 </a>had to cancel their concert. As reported in a radio interview with Irish D.J. Dave Fanning, <a href="http://www.u2.com/news/title/little-book-of-a-big-year/">Bono </a>said, “ I think music is important. I think <a href="http://www.u2.com/index/home">U2</a> has a role to play, and I can’t wait till we get back to<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris"> Paris</a> and play.”<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris-cafe.jpg"><img alt="Paris cafe" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-364" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris-cafe.jpg" height="205" width="246" /></a></div>
“If music be the food of love, play on.” <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Shakespeare">Shakespeare</a>: Twelfth Night, Act One, Scene One.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=33" rel="category">Motivation?Inspiration</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=bono" rel="tag">Bono</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=geography" rel="tag">geography</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=new-york" rel="tag">New York</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=paris" rel="tag">Paris</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shakespeare" rel="tag">Shakespeare</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=u2" rel="tag">U2</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=357" rel="bookmark" title="1:30 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-17T01:30:08+00:00">November 17, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=357&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-351 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-anne-of-green-gables tag-elena-ferrante tag-friendship tag-l-m-montgomery" id="post-351">
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=351" rel="bookmark">Good Books for Damp Days</a>
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Elena-Ferrante.jpg"><img alt="Elena Ferrante" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-352" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Elena-Ferrante.jpg" height="293" width="188" /></a></div>
<br />
It is raining and damp on Windy Bay today. The lake is still and
apart from the odd shot fired now and again, we hear almost nothing,
save the delicious sound of raindrops falling on a metal roof. After a
long walk and discussion about driving to town to see a movie, we opted,
as we so often do, for a cozy afternoon with our books. My goal was to
finish this month’s selection for The Best Food Ever Book Club.<br />
If we had first come to see Elena Greco and Lila Cerullo, the two main characters of Elena Ferrante’s <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=my+brilliant+friend+elena+ferrante&sprefix=My+B%2Carts-crafts%2C622">My Brilliant Friend</a>,</i>
as young women, it would have been our loss. By describing the
friendship of two little girls with all of its inherent passion and
intensity we, as readers, never lose sight of those children. This
device, whether intentional or not, gives the book much of its power.<br />
Set in a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of Naples, we learn of a
society struggling to cope with post-war conditions in Italy. As the
girls observe events in the neighborhood, we see the volatile and
frightening conditions in which they live. Girls are neither highly
valued nor are kept very safe. It is this anxiety that creates a
never-ending tension in the book.<br />
As in most tales of girlhood friendship, there is a divergence in
their respected paths. One will be continuing her education, and the
other will have to work in the family shoe repair shop. As fate would
have it, the girl with the greatest ability is the one who is stymied.<br />
Knowing the rivalries, the competition and the gut- wrenching power
these emotions have with both girls, the split is painful to imagine.
Perhaps readers with a memory of such times and similar decisions made
regarding the fate of sisters and neighbors, feel this more keenly. I
will wait until the Best Food Ever Book Club discusses this work to see
if anyone agrees with me. Perhaps I will share a personal story. It
happened in a similar fashion. Sent to a private school, and then to
compound matters, moving to a new house, drove a wedge between my best
friend from childhood and me. She went on to new friends as did I, and
we were not able to maintain our former bond.<br />
Even if the parting of the ways had not been centered around school, I
was reminded of other factors that seem to break those incredible ties
of friendship one feels in elementary school, and how something along
the way always seems to come between cherished friends. If it isn’t
school, it is a boyfriend, or lack thereof, or some change that often
splits them apart. After reading L.M. Montgomery’s<i><a href="http://p/1503214133/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1447085794&sr=1-2&keywords=anne+of+green+gables"> Anne of Green Gables</a></i>
so many times over, and at least once per decade throughout the course
of my life, my last go-round brought me to the understanding of the
diverging paths between Anne and her friend Diana. With mouths to feed
and a farm to run, Diana’s father decrees that she will not go on to
further her education while Anne receives a scholarship. There is no
remedy, no matter what the intention. Neither girl will be the same.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Anne-of-Green-Gables.jpg"><img alt="Anne of Green Gables" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-353" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Anne-of-Green-Gables.jpg" height="250" width="202" /></a><br />
Elena Ferrante does a brilliant job of zeroing in on the truth of
these girl’s circumstances. Neither one is safe. Not entirely, and the
women who should be protecting them seem unobservant, distant, and
oblivious. For how many centuries were girls and women told to accept
their lot in life without complaint. For how long did we have the merest
of choices over our destinies? While I would not call <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=my+brilliant+friend+elena+ferrante&sprefix=My+B%2Carts-crafts%2C622"><i>My Brilliant Friend</i> </a>a feminist novel, it certainly stirred those emotions.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=my+brilliant+friend+elena+ferrante&sprefix=My+B%2Carts-crafts%2C622"><i>My Brilliant Friend</i> </a>is
the first in a series of four books. Whether I continue, or leave off
here remains in the hands of my book club. Knowing some have already
galloped on through, I expect to hear some heavy lobbying.</div>
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=anne-of-green-gables" rel="tag">Anne of Green Gables</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=elena-ferrante" rel="tag">Elena Ferrante</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=friendship" rel="tag">Friendship</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=l-m-montgomery" rel="tag">L.M. Montgomery</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=351" rel="bookmark" title="4:20 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-09T16:20:35+00:00">November 9, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=351&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-348 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-narrative-non-fiction tag-advice tag-colum-mccann tag-young-writers" id="post-348">
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=348" rel="bookmark">Fill Your Lungs With Language</a>
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<br />
<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
Colum McCann’s Letter to a Young Writer</h3>
<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-8697696933339036553">
<div dir="ltr">
In the 24th in a series of posts on 2015 books entered for The Story Prize, Colum McCann, author of <a href="http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780812996722?aff=ldark">Thirteen Ways of Looking</a> (Random House), shares some advice.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioVtnV4qJwgNcZYCZtBRr6tP-hy8ZwAc6O267yflLDGl0XslCUJtqczG-dfgxj4OrfzmQK-zPKK_vVy29a4s3FNcG6Rie3VWfP_DwzJ6iHFdzo4JeNrtEr922MsaCCH1VCXcK9uqbbyExd/s1600/McCann+13.tiff"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioVtnV4qJwgNcZYCZtBRr6tP-hy8ZwAc6O267yflLDGl0XslCUJtqczG-dfgxj4OrfzmQK-zPKK_vVy29a4s3FNcG6Rie3VWfP_DwzJ6iHFdzo4JeNrtEr922MsaCCH1VCXcK9uqbbyExd/s400/McCann+13.tiff" /></a><br />
Do the things that do not compute. Be earnest. Be devoted. Be
subversive of ease. Read aloud. Risk yourself. Do not be afraid of
sentiment even when others call it sentimentality. Be ready to get
ripped to pieces: It happens. Permit yourself anger. Fail. Take pause.
Accept the rejections. Be vivified by collapse. Try resuscitation. Have
wonder. Bear your portion of the world. Find a reader you trust. Trust
them back. Be a student, not a teacher, even when you teach. Don’t
bullshit yourself. If you believe the good reviews, you must believe the
bad. Still, don’t hammer yourself. Do not allow your heart to harden.
Face it, the cynics have better one-liners than we do. Take heart: they
can never finish their stories. Have trust in the staying power of what
is good. Enjoy difficulty. Embrace mystery. Find the universal in the
local. Put your faith in language—character will follow and plot, too,
will eventually emerge. Push yourself further. Do not tread water. It is
possible to survive that way, but impossible to write. Transcend the
personal. Prove that you are alive. We get our voice from the voices of
others. Read promiscuously. Imitate. Become your own voice. Sing. Write
about that which you want to know. Better still, write towards that
which you don’t know. The best work comes from outside yourself. Only
then will it reach within. Restore what has been devalued by others.
Write beyond despair. Make justice from reality. Make vision from the
dark. The considered grief is so much better than the unconsidered. Be
suspicious of that which gives you too much consolation. Hope and belief
and faith will fail you often. So what? Share your rage. Resist.
Denounce. Have stamina. Have courage. Have perseverance. The quiet lines
matter as much as those which make noise. Trust your blue pen, but
don’t forget the red one. Allow your fear. Don’t be didactic. Make an
argument for the imagined. Begin with doubt. Be an explorer, not a
tourist. Go somewhere nobody else has gone, preferably towards beauty,
hard beauty. Fight for repair. Believe in detail. Unique your language. A
story begins long before its first word. It ends long after its last.
Don’t panic. Trust your reader. Reveal a truth that isn’t yet there. At
the same time, entertain. Satisfy the appetite for seriousness and joy.
Dilate your nostrils. Fill your lungs with language. A lot can be taken
from you—even your life—but not your stories about your life. So this,
then, is a word, not without love, to a young writer: Write.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhFQ9Z1bZg4hdKXuVhA2uxuEb2n8pMkFcOTr222chyPy9sSuovS_7mpv7KvN4Ha92RLsoWtE6arRlyn4t8I94OMTmq0_KgsmryLmflY1ZWM3Fk55OAV2-R20IjkZyc_I7FvlkegdCRgpH/s1600/blue+red.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhFQ9Z1bZg4hdKXuVhA2uxuEb2n8pMkFcOTr222chyPy9sSuovS_7mpv7KvN4Ha92RLsoWtE6arRlyn4t8I94OMTmq0_KgsmryLmflY1ZWM3Fk55OAV2-R20IjkZyc_I7FvlkegdCRgpH/s200/blue+red.jpg" /></a></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=25" rel="category">Narrative Non-Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=advice" rel="tag">advice</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=colum-mccann" rel="tag">Colum McCann</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=young-writers" rel="tag">young writers</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=348" rel="bookmark" title="5:19 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-06T17:19:48+00:00">November 6, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=348&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-337 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-narrative-non-fiction tag-american-pharoah tag-figure-skating tag-motivationinspiration tag-patrick-chan tag-victor-espinoza" id="post-337">
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=337" rel="bookmark">Serve the Work</a>
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<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Victor-Espinoza.jpg"><img alt="Victor Espinoza" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-343 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Victor-Espinoza-300x169.jpg" height="169" width="300" /></a>At
a recent luncheon with fellow writers, the conversation turned to the
nature of artistic temperament. We have all read articles about the
connection between Genius and mental illness. We have also read and
heard accounts of profoundly nasty moves made by some who are regarded
as innovative, brilliant, immortal and gifted. What is the connection?<br />
The nature of mania can be what is often called a brainstorm. With
all circuits firing at breakneck speed, some have harnessed this
heightened awareness and let their paint brush or their typewriters or
quill pens, take record some of these rapid fire thoughts.<br />
Any state or mood of increased consciousness would never yield great
work in and of itself. The initial flow may be prolific and intense, but
it could also be a great mess, yielding nothing of use to anyone. The
ride on the back of a bucking bronco may be thrilling, but it is
altogether too short. So a second talent is needed; one that allows for
the discipline of picking oneself up once the inevitable crash seems to
follow. Through those days, slow, painstaking effort and focus is needed
to add layers and subtract all that is superfluous to produce a
beautifully crafted work of art.<br />
What is the artistic temperament? Lord Byron wrote: “We of the craft
are all crazy…. all are more or less touched.” Is it a medical
condition, a fine madness, or is it something brought on by the nature
of the creative process? While most would feel the former is the most
likely, I am tending more towards the latter. The forces of the world
around us, seem to conspire in every shape and form to pull us away from
the solitary work and into what Virginia Woolf described as the “tramp
and trudge of life.”<br />
Who lives on a street where the neighbors would discourage attendance at
a potluck party in favor solitary confinement in a studio? Is the
excessive sensitivity and irritability, as one definition stated, a
by-product of what is required to keep the galloping herd at bay? This
is what I wonder.<br />
The romantic myth of the suffering artist and its link to creativity
as a kind of requirement for genius is to some extent, a bit overblown.
Plenty of successful working artists and writers live a steady and
rather quiet life, where family duties are wedded to productivity and
acclaim. It is not necessary to have a train wreck of personal
relationships, followed by an early death in a sad hotel room, to be
declared a genius. It is often the perception.<br />
Part of the conflict and tension one reads about and is attributed to
the artistic temperament, could also be tied to the anxiety inherent in
wanting recognition, acclaim and financial security. If it constantly
eludes a person who is truly original, sticks their neck out in dramatic
fashion, takes huge risks and displays a lack of restraint to do so,
and goes completely unrecognized in their lifetime, would not that fear
and uncertainty contribute to a less compliant nature? Possibly.<br />
I saw true artistry this weekend. A horse and a figure skater put me right over the moon. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/11/01/sports/american-pharoah-ends-career-with-win-at-breeders-cup.html">American Pharoah </a> winning his last race in the The Breeder’s Cup, and<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y0DW6h-bBQM"> Patrick Chan’s </a>flawless performance in SCI showed us what devotion, hard work, and focus can accomplish.<br />
<span class="embed-youtube" style="display: block; text-align: center;"></span><br /></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=25" rel="category">Narrative Non-Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-pharoah" rel="tag">American Pharoah</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=figure-skating" rel="tag">Figure Skating</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=motivationinspiration" rel="tag">Motivation/Inspiration</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=patrick-chan" rel="tag">Patrick Chan</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=victor-espinoza" rel="tag">Victor Espinoza</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=337" rel="bookmark" title="4:18 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-01T16:18:01+00:00">November 1, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=337&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-17389644434423520612016-01-31T08:02:00.001-08:002016-01-31T08:02:31.282-08:00Finding Character<div class="entry-content">
“Characters are not created by writers. They pre-exist and have to be found.” <a href="http://385721250/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176939&sr=1-1&keywords=elizabeth+bowen+books">Elizabeth Bowen</a><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg"><img alt="200px-Elizabeth_Bowen" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-419 aligncenter" height="277" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/200px-Elizabeth_Bowen.jpg" width="200" /></a><br /> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This is true. I have no authority to make such a statement, but there it
is. Actors speak of finding characters. It is much more than saying the
lines, or putting on the costumes. They try different things, talk in
front of a mirror, obsess about it, work it, and then one day they will
arrive at the set and describe how they found their character. They
speak of the precise moment when it happened. It may have sprung from
tying scarves around their heads as when Johnny Depp became Jack
Sparrow, or it could be something that happened with the walk. Somewhere
along the way, they become inhabited. That is how I would describe the
experience.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In <a href="http://www.madeleinelengle.com/">Madeline L’Engle’s</a>
case, she woke up from a nap and saw him, Charles Wallace Murray. He
was sitting in her room. Other accounts describe dreams or even visions.
In my experience, it is dialog. The character starts talking. I am only
doing the typing. When this happens, I can barely contain my
excitement. I fear that to stifle my imaginary friends would be wrong,
so I let them run on. They may have accents, wear funny clothes, or seem
a bit strange, but I assume it is not my place to question anything.
They may take the story in a new direction. They will be full of
surprises. In some cases they will take over, shove me out of the way
and tell the story themselves. That is the greatest gift. Every word
will flow like a river.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg"><img alt="madeleine_lengle_2" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-417" height="292" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/madeleine_lengle_2.jpg" width="200" /></a> Madeline L’Engle</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Years ago, a young friend who wrote songs told me that the Creator
likes creating. He said that he felt well in his soul when the tunes
came to him. It is a strange unknown impulse that drives us all. So if
what Elizabeth Bowen said is true, how do we go about this process of
finding our characters? I wish I had the answer. It would be a great
boon to all kinds of creative people if the method were that simple. In
all disciplines, it seems that getting in the mode is the key. Even
stage performances will vary from night to night, and when the magic
occurs, it will be very fleeting. Those who happened to be at that
performance, or at that game, or in that moment, will know it. The
greatest characters in all of literature did not start when the author
attempted to describe a middle-aged white man or a beautiful young girl.
I would hazard a guess that those fantastic beings arrived fully
formed. Maybe great souls have a desire to jump back into life this way.
If it isn’t happening, don’t worry because if you stick with it for
long enough, I am convinced that someone will show up.<br />
<br />
While writing<em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1572493488/ref=tmm_pap_new_olp_sr?ie=UTF8&condition=new&qid=1454175710&sr=8-1"> My American Eden</a></em>,
I wanted to bring Mary Dyer’s story to life. Since she was the only
female inhabitant of Boston in 1635 that Governor Winthrop attempted to
describe in his journals, I learned that she was “comely and of no mean
estate.” Years later, on Rhode Island, the Governor wrote that she could
converse with any man, as well as any man on any topic.” That was my
start. I searched and begged for more clues. One night at The Best Food
Ever Book Club in Spokane, I was elaborating on my research to date when
a great friend said, “Mary Dyer? I am a direct descendant of Mary
Dyer.” Next I learned that the model for Sylvia Shaw Judson’s statue
commemorating this rebel saint who gave her life for the cause of
religious freedom was none other than my husband’s paternal grandmother.
The list goes on, but I still yearned to see her. To really meet her.
While obsessing about Mary and writing the first draft I had to choose
between internal dialogue, what I imagined she was thinking while alone
in her house, or show her conversing with someone. Of course, who would
have been alone in their house in 1635? I added an indentured servant.
Not even beginning to create any sort of picture, she was there. By the
fourth draft I had gone from nine hundred pages to four hundred and
fifty, and switched from third person omniscient to first person. Only
it was not Mary’s voice in my head following the discipline of the
narrative; it was Irene, the servant, the one who arrived fully formed. I
started getting a better look at Mary through her eyes.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo.jpg"><img alt="count of monte christo" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-421" height="169" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/count-of-monte-christo-300x169.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
A fully formed character could be anyone. What they are is visible and memorable. <a href="http://unt-monte-cristo-penguin-classics/dp/0140449264/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175852&sr=1-1&keywords=the+count+of+monte+cristo">The Count of Monte Christo.</a> <a href="http://mark-twain/dp/1503215679/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175917&sr=1-1&keywords=tom+sawyer">Tom Sawyer</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gone-Wind-Anniversary-Margaret-Mitchell/dp/1451635621/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176163&sr=1-1&keywords=gone+with+the+wind">Scarlet O’Hara.</a><a href="http://-bront%c3%ab/dp/0141441143/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454175983&sr=1-1&keywords=jane+eyre+by+charlotte+bronte"> Jane Eyre</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Harry-Potter-Paperback-Box-Books/dp/0545162076/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176032&sr=1-1&keywords=Harry+Potter">Harry Potter</a>. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romeo-Juliet-Folger-Shakespeare-Library/dp/0743477111/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1454176085&sr=1-1&keywords=Romeo+and+Juliet">Romeo </a>of
the House of Montague. Portia. The list goes on and on. You can’t name a
great classic without a memorable character, or several coming to mind.<br />
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=harry-potter" rel="tag">Harry Potter</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=jane-eyre" rel="tag">Jane Eyre</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=my-american-eden" rel="tag">My American Eden</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=romeo-and-juliet" rel="tag">Romeo and Juliet</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=scarlet-ohara" rel="tag">Scarlet O'Hara</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shakespeare" rel="tag">Shakespeare</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-count-of-monte-christo" rel="tag">The Count of Monte Christo</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=tom-sawyer" rel="tag">Tom Sawyer</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=416" rel="bookmark" title="6:42 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-30T18:42:04+00:00">January 30, 2016</time></a></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-30T18:42:04+00:00"> </time></footer><footer class="entry-meta"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-30T18:42:04+00:00">From: <a href="http://www.elizabethbrinton.com/" target="_blank">www.elizabethbrinton.com </a></time></footer><aside class="widget jetpack_subscription_widget" id="blog_subscription-3"><form accept-charset="utf-8" action="#" id="subscribe-blog-blog_subscription-3" method="post">
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-15468239092753197102016-01-13T11:50:00.001-08:002016-01-13T11:52:46.727-08:00Diets Don't Work<div class="site-content" id="primary">
<div id="content" role="main">
<br />
<article class="post-400 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-self-help category-uncategorized tag-atkins tag-diet tag-dr-phil tag-french-women-dont-get-fat tag-misty-copeland tag-pat-conroy tag-the-lords-of-discipline tag-the-prince-of-tides tag-weight-watchers" id="post-400">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<br />
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
Do you know why diets don’t work? Neither do I. Diets don’t fail;
dieters do, so therefore if you don’t like failure, for heaven’s sake,
don’t go on a diet.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media4.popsugar-assets.com/files/2014/08/08/782/n/1922729/c62058b3f62b96d8_thumb_temp_image8453211407450717.xxxlarge/i/Misty-Copeland-Workout.jpg">Misty Copeland</a> <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1.jpg"><img alt="Misty-Copeland 1" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-409" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Misty-Copeland-1-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
I credit my mother for my long and tiresome history with dieting, as
it was she who would always start with the latest diet book. After she
had left this world and I had to close up her apartment, there on the
night table, right beside her bed was<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Books--Strategies-Ultimate-Solution-McGraaw/dp/B00L3OQHOK/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452705590&sr=1-6&keywords=Dr.+Phils+Strategies+for+Weight+Loss"> Dr. Phil’s Life Strategies and The Ultimate Weight Loss. </a>She
would rail against the strictures of these programs, and then get in
bed and say, “I have to read about what I get to eat tomorrow.” From the
eggs, steak and grapefruit of the sixties, to<a href="https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/?cid=SEM"> Weight Watchers</a>, to<a href="http://www.atkins.com/register?mcid=riseppcggl&gclid=CI-r9tCnp8oCFUVcfgodDKAH8g"> Atkins</a>, to<a href="http://www.southbeachdiet.com/diet/"> South Beach</a>, to<a href="http://www.westpalmbeachdietdoctor.com/"> Palm Beach, </a>you
name it, she was always game. Not being overweight, ever, and in
possession of a healthy body and mind, she was nevertheless always after
those elusive ten to fifteen pounds that seem to plague us all. At the
same time, she entertained and churned out more meals for guests than I
can count. This extended to her family, children, and grandchildren and
we do not think of her without remembering all those wonderful dinners.
As her mother came from a large Irish clan, the tradition of eating food
in season and not being too extravagant in any one direction came into
play.<br />
When I worked at Coldwater Creek, the idea of an employee cookbook
sprang to the mind of the H.R. director who wanted this to happen but
did not want to do it herself. Yours truly here volunteered to head up
the project, and a labor of love began. I decided that it would be great
to celebrate our mother’s and grandmother’s cherished recipes and put
their full names, place of birth and dates alongside those family
treasures. Sharing this task with our counterparts in West Virginia, we
gathered a compilation of culinary wisdom entitled, Coldwater Creek
Cooks. To this end, I managed to get the best pound cake recipe ever,
originating from Kentucky and served with a hot butter sauce with a
touch of Bourbon. As my son was getting married that year, I thought it
would be great to give my future daughter-in-law all the reference
material possible from the culture of his maternal line. As my daughter
headed off to college and moved from wretched dorm food to her own
apartment, she had her copy as well. How I delighted in those first
calls for instruction in basic meals. I am so proud to say that both my
children love good food, eat well and share this bond with me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="cook_cover" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-404 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/cook_cover.jpg" height="204" width="133" /></a></div>
<br />
Writers who love fine cuisine share a particular place in my heart. When<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook"> The Pat Conroy </a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">Cookbook</a>
came out, I raced home with my copy, hot off the press and read it from
cover to cover. Tasked with preparing the evening meal for his family
when his wife decided to go to law school, he began the challenge in the
way most writers do: he went straightaway to his favorite book store.
He picked up a copy of The Escoffier Cookbook and learned the basics of
French cooking which always begin with homemade stock.<br />
My culinary history has a similar origin. As a young adult, living on
my own in a stone house in the country, I came down with a nasty bout
of pneumonia and moved back home to recover. My mother, working as an
interior designer at the time, decided that if I were home all day, I
could take on the responsibility of dinner. In her collection of
cookbooks, I found one published by our favorite restaurant in Palm
Beach, Florida, called The Petite Marmite. The pictures were so
beautiful, and inspiring, that I set out to recreate them. I had to
start by making stocks that I have always believed are not only the
essence of great dishes but also of good health. In Conroy’s book, he
describes his time in Paris and also in Rome, the places where he dined
after a hard day of writing <a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/">The Lords of Discipline </a>and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_19/187-0758294-1903222?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+prince+of+tides&sprefix=The+Prince+of+Tides%2Caps%2C316">The Prince of Tides. </a>He
also peppers his chapters with tales of the region he knows so well:
the low country of South Carolina. When Mireille Guiliano created<a href="http://frenchwomendontgetfat.com/"> French Women Don’t Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure</a>,
I knew I had found the ultimate book for me. Years ago, in Paris with
my mother, we decided to uncover the secret we could see all around us,
that being, French women ate the best food in the world and seemed much
thinner than their North Americans counterparts. We thought we could
just indulge to our heart’s content, and it would all somehow balance
out. Wrong.<br />
You cannot describe the physicality of a character in exact terms. It
would read like a medical chart. Your reader will get a better picture
by depicting what they eat, how much, how often and how important it is
to them. Do they eat to live, or are they more like me, a person who
lives to eat. Are meals, described regarding grabbing a bite, or set
under an arbor in the garden and encompassing most of the afternoon? Is
food a necessary chore, or unbridled passion? Above all, what do they
eat for lunch?<br />
<br />
From <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Conroy-Cookbook-Recipes-Stories/dp/0385532717/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452706791&sr=1-1&keywords=the+pat+conroy+cookbook">The Pat Conroy Cookbook:</a><br />
“I write of truffles in the Dordogne Valley in France, cilantro in
Bangkok, catfish in Alabama, scuppernong in South Carolina, Chinese food
from my years in San Francisco, and white asparagus from the first meal
my agent, Julian Bach, took me to in New York City.”<br />
<br /></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=atkins" rel="tag">Atkins</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=diet" rel="tag">Diet</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=dr-phil" rel="tag">Dr. Phil</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=french-women-dont-get-fat" rel="tag">French Women Don't Get Fat</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=misty-copeland" rel="tag">Misty Copeland</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=pat-conroy" rel="tag">Pat Conroy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-lords-of-discipline" rel="tag">The Lords of Discipline</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=the-prince-of-tides" rel="tag">The Prince of Tides</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=weight-watchers" rel="tag">Weight Watchers</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=400" rel="bookmark" title="6:19 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-13T18:19:10+00:00">January 13, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link">from <a href="http://www.elizabethbrinton.com/">www.elizabethbrinton.com</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-392 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 category-self-help tag-bliss tag-colum-mccann tag-ecstasy tag-idaho tag-joy tag-lake-coeur-d-alene" id="post-392">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=392" rel="bookmark">More Bliss</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/snowy-deck.jpg"><img alt="snowy deck" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-394" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/snowy-deck-225x300.jpg" height="300" width="225" /></a></div>
It was at the checkout counter of my favorite grocery store that I
received encouragement regarding this topic. Answering the question of
my new year’s resolutions, I answered, “Just one. Two words. More
bliss.” Both the cashier and the woman helping her bag my veggies and
fresh sourdough baguette applauded the concept.<br />
As far back as my recorded resolutions state, I have begun each new
year of my adult life with these two words: lose weight. What is
different this year? I would still like to continue my weight loss
journey, but that is not the leading resolution. Why not?<br />
Bliss is not something one bumps into by accident. It is also not
something one can micro manage or plan for entirely. What is is exactly?
Where do I find it? Where does it abound? I would say<a href="https://visitidaho.org/"> Idaho. </a>Windy
Bay, Lake Coeur d’ Alene; it can be found right out my door. Communing
with nature on a daily basis is the first step. Yet there is a
difference between simple enjoyment and bliss. Bliss is defined as
supreme happiness.<br />
All guilt aside, Protestant work ethic and Calvinistic upbringing
urging me to discard these thoughts in favor of everyday nose- to- the-
grindstone good works, I can say that I will keep on with those
traditions. Since I know that bliss is fleeting and short-lived, I do
not need to fear going down the drain over seeking moments of profound
joy. I can reconcile these two concepts by acknowledging that I am in
training. For this to occur everything needs to be in place.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola.jpg"><img alt="VIP gondola" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-395" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola-225x300.jpg" height="300" width="225" /></a></div>
I want to be in really good shape. To this end, my ballet, yoga, and
pilates program of my invention are essential. I need to be strong
enough to ski with my husband who is a wonder. Yesterday, <a href="http://www.silvermt.com/Outdoor-Adventures/Winter-Activities/Lift-Tickets-Season-passes?gclid=COnGlPPPkMoCFUaCfgodaEIEnA">Silver Mountain</a>
was spectacularly beautiful. While cross-country skiing, breaking trail
on a quiet, wooded road, with the sun glistening and a massive eagle
soaring overhead, it happened. I was awestruck. My jaw drops in such
moments.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg"><img alt="thirteen ways of looking" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-393" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg" height="293" width="199" /></a><br />
Reading <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_24?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=thirteen+ways+of+looking&sprefix=Thirteen+Ways+of+Looking%2Caps%2C385">Thirteen Ways of Looking</a></i>
by Colum McCann, yielded many such moments. When a person can write in a
way that barely seems mortal, it can send my spirit soaring. Looking
ahead, I am envisioning sailing with our son on Lake Coeur d’ Alene this
summer. There will be a moment. I know it. The wind will grab the
sails, and we will look at each other and laugh knowing that we are
having an absolute blast out on the water. I also look forward to
rafting, swimming, kayaking and boating down to dinner at Conklin’s
Resort, and dancing under the stars.<br />
Will I be sad, will I be angry, will I be depressed and discouraged? Yes. Will it matter? No.<br />
It was in the seventh grade when I took this poem by Sara Teasdale to heart. It is called Barter.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
All beautiful and splendid things,<br />
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,<br />
Soaring fire that sways and sings,<br />
And children’s faces looking up<br />
Holding wonder in a cup.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
Music like a curve of gold,<br />
Scent of pine trees in the rain,<br />
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,<br />
And for your spirit’s still delight,<br />
Holy thoughts that star the night.<br />
Spend all you have for loveliness,<br />
Buy it and never count the cost;<br />
For one white singing hour of peace<br />
Count many a year of strife well lost,<br />
And for a breath of ecstasy<br />
Give all you have been, or could be.<br />
I will read, I will write, I will study, I will spend time with old
friends and new, I will laugh until I cry, I will eat good food, and I
will get stronger with each passing day. I will devote myself to serving
others. When bliss comes along, I will be ready. It will be duly noted.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=64" rel="category">Self Help</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=bliss" rel="tag">bliss</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=colum-mccann" rel="tag">Colum McCann</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=ecstasy" rel="tag">ecstasy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=idaho" rel="tag">Idaho</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=joy" rel="tag">joy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=lake-coeur-d-alene" rel="tag">Lake Coeur d' Alene</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=392" rel="bookmark" title="7:15 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2016-01-03T19:15:11+00:00">January 3, 2016</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=392&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-382 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-christmas category-motivationinspiration category-uncategorized tag-christmas tag-norad tag-queens-christmas-message" id="post-382">
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=382" rel="bookmark">Thoughts on Christmas</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
The snow is falling on a slant in big, crowded flakes over Windy
Bay. We had fog this morning, and then rain, and finally snow, all
pointing to a cozy day inside. Christmas cards and wrapping gifts can
wait. I want to think about Christmas.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg"><img alt="snowy Idaho" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-385" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg" height="176" width="286" /></a><br />
We used to do so much running around. The first year America shopped
online, I worked for Coldwater Creek on the web team. Terrified of the
Internet, people would call and ask if they were online. We would
politely have to reply that they were still on the telephone. At first,
everyone forgot their passwords, but we could look them up. “That is my
dog’s name,” they would say.<br />
<br />
As the days progressed, the anxiety and stress would increase, and
yes, sometimes the call center agents, myself included, would be on the
receiving end of a lot of harsh words and yelling. We had to ask if the
customer would care to share their email address.<br />
Most responded with, “Certainly not.”<br />
With each increasing year, online shopping became more of the norm.
During those years, we scrambled to keep up with the volume of business,
and we did everything in our power to keep the customers happy. We were
proud to work for a company founded by good people and housed in the
beautiful town of Sandpoint, Idaho.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store.jpg"><img alt="Codwater Creek Store" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-387" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store-300x83.jpg" height="83" width="300" /></a><br />
Sometimes, between calls, my fellow agents and I would commiserate.
We bonded. We talked a lot about the meaning of Christmas. It sure
didn’t seem like we were hearing it. If packages had yet to arrive, if
something did not live up to their expectations, or God forbid, the
wrong item got into the box, we had to hear about it. We would wonder
what happened to the idea of an old- fashioned Christmas with good food
and even better good cheer?<br />
We look back; we look around, and we look forward. We think about the
story. It is one of the greatest ever told. As a child, it used to make
me wonder why Joseph did not start our earlier, why did Mary have to be
dragged along if she was having a baby, why didn’t some nice person
give up their room at the Inn so that she could have a bed? Why weren’t
they better prepared? Times were different, my Mom said. She was glad
she had all of us in a hospital.<br />
On Christmas Eve, in the city of Toronto, we gathered around the
radio, listening for the first reports. They came from the military. As
the sky turned dark, regular programming would be interrupted with a
news bulletin. A sighting! Clearly visible from NORAD bases in the far
north, a sleigh, flying through the pitch black sky pulled by reindeer,
he was on his way! Santa’s journey had begun. We had the cookies and the
milk ready. Why were there two Christmas stories, I wondered?<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa.jpg"><img alt="santa" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-386" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa-300x200.jpg" height="200" width="300" /></a><br />
On Christmas Day, we looked forward to another tradition. My mother
insisted we eat breakfast in the dining room with good china and silver,
bacon, eggs, toast and fresh orange juice. It seemed to go on forever,
but when we finished eating, we gathered by the radio to hear the Queen.
She reminded us, year after year, every year of my life to date, that
we should focus on serving others. Wherever we happened to be in the
Commonwealth, she wanted to wish us all a happy Christmas with our
families and to be mindful of those in need. She was right, is right,
and will always be right.<br />
There is meaning. There is hope. There is kindness in this world, and
there is love. Stress? Who needs it? What we could use is more of the
story and more peace.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=60" rel="category">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=33" rel="category">Motivation?Inspiration</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=christmas" rel="tag">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=norad" rel="tag">NORAD</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=queens-christmas-message" rel="tag">Queen's Christmas Message</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=382" rel="bookmark" title="12:14 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-12-20T00:14:31+00:00">December 20, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=382&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-367 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-historical-fiction category-non-fiction tag-american-history tag-colonial-history tag-president-john-f-kennedy tag-thanksgiving" id="post-367">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=367" rel="bookmark">Thoughts for Thanksgiving</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/going-to-the-execution.jpg"><img alt="going to the execution" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-370" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/going-to-the-execution-200x300.jpg" height="300" width="200" /></a></div>
What happens when you are interested in a particular period in time?
If you like to read, you will be drawn to books about that era. When I
was writing <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1572493488/ref=sr_1_1_twi_pap_1_olp?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232535&sr=1-1&keywords=My+American+Eden"><i>My American Eden</i>,</a>
I was tasked with researching Colonial America between the years of
1635-1660. It began when I found a tidbit in a history book about a
woman who walked into Boston with her shroud in hand. She walked to the
hanging tree twice, had the noose around her neck twice, and her face
covered with her Pastor’s handkerchief twice. A last-minute reprieve by
the Governor spared her the first time: the second resulted in death.
This story struck me as one that every American should know. Because a
law was passed banishing Quakers on pain of death, Mary Dyer challenged
it with her life. As I began researching the event, I quickly realized
that history is far from simple.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Amazon-Link-to-mae.jpg"><img alt="Amazon Link to mae" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-371" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Amazon-Link-to-mae-197x300.jpg" height="300" width="197" /></a></div>
I found that perspectives differed depending on the author. Then
something else came to light. The story tended to change over time.
Quaker historians had one perspective, British authors had another, and
then American academia added more confusion to the mix. I began to
wonder if history is based on myth or fact and wondered how to find the
truth. Official court documents, dates and times, all came up with
discrepancies. Initially, I was obsessed with every detail. My first
draft ballooned to eight hundred pages. When I learned that Mary Dyer
traveled back to England and spent seven years there, I had to accept
the challenge of understanding the English civil war. The Puritans and
the Roundheads, the rise of Oliver Cromwell, and his destruction of
Parliament were vague recollections from high school. I turned to my
favorite historian <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill">Sir Winston Churchill</a>.
It was his description of a rising merchant class gaining sufficient
power to challenge the established ruling class that piqued my interest.
The more deeply I delved into the conflict, the more understanding I
gained of what unfolded decades, and then centuries later. I learned of
that the roots of the American Civil War stretched back to the events of
the 1650s. One side, the Royalists, eventually gravitated to Virginia
and the southern United States while the Puritans sailed to Boston. The
events in New England also had an effect on the American Revolution and
the founding fathers. Mary Dyer’s protests did not go unheeded. When
Charles II was restored to the throne in 1660, he immediately passed a
law forbidding such discrimination.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/JFK-the-Unspeakable.jpg"><img alt="JFK the Unspeakable" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-372 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/JFK-the-Unspeakable-201x300.jpg" height="300" width="201" /></a></div>
As we watch history unfold, try as we might, it is often difficult to
find the truth. When asked if history would be kind to him,<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill"> Winston Churchill </a>replied
that it would indeed because he intended to write it. As a child
growing up in a military family in the post-war fifties and sixties, the
shadow of war hung over the conversations by the adults. Watching the
first reports of the news from Dallas, fifty-two years ago today, I had
nothing but questions. At that point in time, I was obsessed with the<a href="http://oxed-books/dp/0448466759/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232611&sr=1-2&keywords=nancy+drew+books"><i> Nancy Drew</i> </a>series.
Even in the midst of the emotional wallop that hit us all regarding the
assassination of the President, I sensed a murder mystery. People crave
a simple explanation, but I feel we must be sleuths. What could be
murkier than the events of November 22, 1963? One book leads to another;
facts are disputed, and some facts are indisputable. The deeper one
delves, the more confusion one is likely to find until at last the truth
emerges. Should we accept the fact that we will never know? I have
never thought so.<i><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/JFK-Unspeakable-Why-Died-Matters/dp/1439193886/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232781&sr=1-2&keywords=the+unspeaka"> The Unspeakable</a> </i>by James W. Douglass and <a href="http://alias%3dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+devil%27s+chessboard&sprefix=the+devil%2cstripbooks%2c276/"><i>The Devil’s Chessboard</i>, </a>by David Talbot have shed new light. Both books are thoroughly researched and beautifully written.<br />
The final paragraph of the speech<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_F._Kennedy"> President John F. Kennedy</a> was to deliver in Dallas on Nov. 22, 1963:<br />
We in this country, in this generation, are — by destiny rather than
choice — the watchmen on the walls of world freedom. We ask, therefore,
that we may be worthy of our power and responsibility — that we may
exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint — and that we may
achieve in our time and for all time the ancient vision of “peace on
earth, good will toward men.” That must always be our goal — and the
righteousness of our cause must always underlie our strength. For as was
written long ago: “except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh
but in vain.”<br />
SOURCE: John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum<br />
Two statues in front of the Massachusetts State House: One by Sylvia
Shaw Judson depicts Mary Dyer, and the other is Isabel Mcllvain’s
President Kennedy.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/bigger-statue-of-Mary-Dyer.jpg"><img alt="bigger statue of Mary Dyer" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-377" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/bigger-statue-of-Mary-Dyer.jpg" height="216" width="233" /></a><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/jfk-statehouse.jpg"><img alt="jfk statehouse" class=" size-full wp-image-376 alignright" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/jfk-statehouse.jpg" height="251" width="201" /></a><br />
This week we will gather with friends and family remembering those
first families who came to the New World seeking freedom. Some of us
will pray for those around the globe who are fleeing terrible
circumstances and conflict. Hopefully, we will all give thanks for the
simple things: a roof over our heads, a warm house and a bounteous feast
on the table. I hope we will all remember to cherish freedom too.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-history" rel="tag">American History</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=colonial-history" rel="tag">Colonial history</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=president-john-f-kennedy" rel="tag">President John F. Kennedy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=thanksgiving" rel="tag">Thanksgiving</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=367" rel="bookmark" title="11:57 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-22T23:57:46+00:00">November 22, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=367&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-357 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-motivationinspiration tag-bono tag-geography tag-new-york tag-paris tag-shakespeare tag-u2" id="post-357">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=357" rel="bookmark">The Food of Love</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/brown-map-of-Paris.jpg"><img alt="brown map of Paris" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-362" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/brown-map-of-Paris.jpg" height="194" width="259" /></a></div>
My last day of high school involved an exam. The subject was
geography. My teacher, Winifred Prestwich, walked down the aisle in the
prayer hall where desks had been placed, patted my shoulder, and wished
me luck. She called me by my sister’s name, Mary. It didn’t matter. I
was used to it. The fact that my sister graduated years prior made no
difference. Miss Prestwich liked her enormously, so in calling me by her
name, it felt like a token of affection.<br />
I supposed I trembled a little as I read the exam questions. My
school, Havergal College for Young Ladies, was famous for its tough
standards. The packet was a fairly thick one. As I looked through it, I
found a blank street map of<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris"> Paris. </a>We
were to name as many streets and landmarks as possible. Each accurate
answer yielded a point, and the map was worth fifty percent of the
grade. It was never mentioned as a possibility in class. We had spent a
few weeks learning about the city planning, but we expected an essay
question on that topic. I filled in the map first. By the time I
finished, I had to race through the other questions. When I heard the
words, “Pens down,” my high school years came to a close. After spending
countless hours complaining about the uselessness of what we were
learning, and pontificating to all in sundry about what I would have
rather been studying, I now had to concede that Miss Prestwich had given
us a very practical application of knowledge. I feel at home in Paris. I
would live there in a heartbeat if I could. I can always find my way
around.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris.jpg"><img alt="Paris" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-363" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris.jpg" height="177" width="284" /></a><br />
When I heard of the recent attacks, like so many others, I felt a
great kinship with the people who live in my favorite city. It is hard
to quantify places, and I am never a fan of ranking everything in sight,
but in my mind <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris">Paris i</a>s
the at the top of the pinnacle. My love of beauty is satisfied at every
turn. The care taken with every morsel of food is so impressive that I
feel as if I can live on the inspiration for years. I am a
self-confessed Francophile. Isn’t anything one does, anything at all,
worth doing well? That is what I admire about la belle France. The
streets, washed every morning with a small flood that swooshes through,
allows shopkeepers to sweep and scrub their sidewalks leaving them fresh
and clean. The bakers are up in the dark making the daily bread.
Working your way through a loaf of sliced bread from start to finish is
unheard of in France. To everything, there is a delicate balance.<br />
Now this: Violence. Disruption. Aggression. Brutality. Hideous darkness. What is to be done?<br />
We cannot stop being hospitable. After 9/11, I thought of all the wonderful raucous times my family enjoyed in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York">New York</a>. The nights at<a href="http://www.thegarden.com/"> Madison Square Garden</a>,
the restaurants, the hotels, and the famous cab drivers; the city vowed
to carry on being New Yorkers. So I pray for Paris. I pray for it to
remain as the City of Light, and I expect to visit it again sometime
soon. I hope the cafes are never forced to close their doors again.
Church bells rang throughout the city on Sunday.<a href="http://www.u2.com/index/home"> U2 </a>had to cancel their concert. As reported in a radio interview with Irish D.J. Dave Fanning, <a href="http://www.u2.com/news/title/little-book-of-a-big-year/">Bono </a>said, “ I think music is important. I think <a href="http://www.u2.com/index/home">U2</a> has a role to play, and I can’t wait till we get back to<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris"> Paris</a> and play.”<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris-cafe.jpg"><img alt="Paris cafe" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-364" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Paris-cafe.jpg" height="205" width="246" /></a></div>
“If music be the food of love, play on.” <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Shakespeare">Shakespeare</a>: Twelfth Night, Act One, Scene One.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=33" rel="category">Motivation?Inspiration</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=bono" rel="tag">Bono</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=geography" rel="tag">geography</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=new-york" rel="tag">New York</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=paris" rel="tag">Paris</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=shakespeare" rel="tag">Shakespeare</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=u2" rel="tag">U2</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=357" rel="bookmark" title="1:30 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-17T01:30:08+00:00">November 17, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=357&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-351 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-anne-of-green-gables tag-elena-ferrante tag-friendship tag-l-m-montgomery" id="post-351">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=351" rel="bookmark">Good Books for Damp Days</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Elena-Ferrante.jpg"><img alt="Elena Ferrante" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-352" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Elena-Ferrante.jpg" height="293" width="188" /></a></div>
<br />
It is raining and damp on Windy Bay today. The lake is still and
apart from the odd shot fired now and again, we hear almost nothing,
save the delicious sound of raindrops falling on a metal roof. After a
long walk and discussion about driving to town to see a movie, we opted,
as we so often do, for a cozy afternoon with our books. My goal was to
finish this month’s selection for The Best Food Ever Book Club.<br />
If we had first come to see Elena Greco and Lila Cerullo, the two main characters of Elena Ferrante’s <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=my+brilliant+friend+elena+ferrante&sprefix=My+B%2Carts-crafts%2C622">My Brilliant Friend</a>,</i>
as young women, it would have been our loss. By describing the
friendship of two little girls with all of its inherent passion and
intensity we, as readers, never lose sight of those children. This
device, whether intentional or not, gives the book much of its power.<br />
Set in a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of Naples, we learn of a
society struggling to cope with post-war conditions in Italy. As the
girls observe events in the neighborhood, we see the volatile and
frightening conditions in which they live. Girls are neither highly
valued nor are kept very safe. It is this anxiety that creates a
never-ending tension in the book.<br />
As in most tales of girlhood friendship, there is a divergence in
their respected paths. One will be continuing her education, and the
other will have to work in the family shoe repair shop. As fate would
have it, the girl with the greatest ability is the one who is stymied.<br />
Knowing the rivalries, the competition and the gut- wrenching power
these emotions have with both girls, the split is painful to imagine.
Perhaps readers with a memory of such times and similar decisions made
regarding the fate of sisters and neighbors, feel this more keenly. I
will wait until the Best Food Ever Book Club discusses this work to see
if anyone agrees with me. Perhaps I will share a personal story. It
happened in a similar fashion. Sent to a private school, and then to
compound matters, moving to a new house, drove a wedge between my best
friend from childhood and me. She went on to new friends as did I, and
we were not able to maintain our former bond.<br />
Even if the parting of the ways had not been centered around school, I
was reminded of other factors that seem to break those incredible ties
of friendship one feels in elementary school, and how something along
the way always seems to come between cherished friends. If it isn’t
school, it is a boyfriend, or lack thereof, or some change that often
splits them apart. After reading L.M. Montgomery’s<i><a href="http://p/1503214133/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1447085794&sr=1-2&keywords=anne+of+green+gables"> Anne of Green Gables</a></i>
so many times over, and at least once per decade throughout the course
of my life, my last go-round brought me to the understanding of the
diverging paths between Anne and her friend Diana. With mouths to feed
and a farm to run, Diana’s father decrees that she will not go on to
further her education while Anne receives a scholarship. There is no
remedy, no matter what the intention. Neither girl will be the same.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Anne-of-Green-Gables.jpg"><img alt="Anne of Green Gables" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-353" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Anne-of-Green-Gables.jpg" height="250" width="202" /></a><br />
Elena Ferrante does a brilliant job of zeroing in on the truth of
these girl’s circumstances. Neither one is safe. Not entirely, and the
women who should be protecting them seem unobservant, distant, and
oblivious. For how many centuries were girls and women told to accept
their lot in life without complaint. For how long did we have the merest
of choices over our destinies? While I would not call <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=my+brilliant+friend+elena+ferrante&sprefix=My+B%2Carts-crafts%2C622"><i>My Brilliant Friend</i> </a>a feminist novel, it certainly stirred those emotions.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=my+brilliant+friend+elena+ferrante&sprefix=My+B%2Carts-crafts%2C622"><i>My Brilliant Friend</i> </a>is
the first in a series of four books. Whether I continue, or leave off
here remains in the hands of my book club. Knowing some have already
galloped on through, I expect to hear some heavy lobbying.</div>
</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=anne-of-green-gables" rel="tag">Anne of Green Gables</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=elena-ferrante" rel="tag">Elena Ferrante</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=friendship" rel="tag">Friendship</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=l-m-montgomery" rel="tag">L.M. Montgomery</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=351" rel="bookmark" title="4:20 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-09T16:20:35+00:00">November 9, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=351&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-348 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-narrative-non-fiction tag-advice tag-colum-mccann tag-young-writers" id="post-348">
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<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=348" rel="bookmark">Fill Your Lungs With Language</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
Colum McCann’s Letter to a Young Writer</h3>
<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-8697696933339036553">
<div dir="ltr">
In the 24th in a series of posts on 2015 books entered for The Story Prize, Colum McCann, author of <a href="http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780812996722?aff=ldark">Thirteen Ways of Looking</a> (Random House), shares some advice.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioVtnV4qJwgNcZYCZtBRr6tP-hy8ZwAc6O267yflLDGl0XslCUJtqczG-dfgxj4OrfzmQK-zPKK_vVy29a4s3FNcG6Rie3VWfP_DwzJ6iHFdzo4JeNrtEr922MsaCCH1VCXcK9uqbbyExd/s1600/McCann+13.tiff"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioVtnV4qJwgNcZYCZtBRr6tP-hy8ZwAc6O267yflLDGl0XslCUJtqczG-dfgxj4OrfzmQK-zPKK_vVy29a4s3FNcG6Rie3VWfP_DwzJ6iHFdzo4JeNrtEr922MsaCCH1VCXcK9uqbbyExd/s400/McCann+13.tiff" /></a><br />
Do the things that do not compute. Be earnest. Be devoted. Be
subversive of ease. Read aloud. Risk yourself. Do not be afraid of
sentiment even when others call it sentimentality. Be ready to get
ripped to pieces: It happens. Permit yourself anger. Fail. Take pause.
Accept the rejections. Be vivified by collapse. Try resuscitation. Have
wonder. Bear your portion of the world. Find a reader you trust. Trust
them back. Be a student, not a teacher, even when you teach. Don’t
bullshit yourself. If you believe the good reviews, you must believe the
bad. Still, don’t hammer yourself. Do not allow your heart to harden.
Face it, the cynics have better one-liners than we do. Take heart: they
can never finish their stories. Have trust in the staying power of what
is good. Enjoy difficulty. Embrace mystery. Find the universal in the
local. Put your faith in language—character will follow and plot, too,
will eventually emerge. Push yourself further. Do not tread water. It is
possible to survive that way, but impossible to write. Transcend the
personal. Prove that you are alive. We get our voice from the voices of
others. Read promiscuously. Imitate. Become your own voice. Sing. Write
about that which you want to know. Better still, write towards that
which you don’t know. The best work comes from outside yourself. Only
then will it reach within. Restore what has been devalued by others.
Write beyond despair. Make justice from reality. Make vision from the
dark. The considered grief is so much better than the unconsidered. Be
suspicious of that which gives you too much consolation. Hope and belief
and faith will fail you often. So what? Share your rage. Resist.
Denounce. Have stamina. Have courage. Have perseverance. The quiet lines
matter as much as those which make noise. Trust your blue pen, but
don’t forget the red one. Allow your fear. Don’t be didactic. Make an
argument for the imagined. Begin with doubt. Be an explorer, not a
tourist. Go somewhere nobody else has gone, preferably towards beauty,
hard beauty. Fight for repair. Believe in detail. Unique your language. A
story begins long before its first word. It ends long after its last.
Don’t panic. Trust your reader. Reveal a truth that isn’t yet there. At
the same time, entertain. Satisfy the appetite for seriousness and joy.
Dilate your nostrils. Fill your lungs with language. A lot can be taken
from you—even your life—but not your stories about your life. So this,
then, is a word, not without love, to a young writer: Write.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhFQ9Z1bZg4hdKXuVhA2uxuEb2n8pMkFcOTr222chyPy9sSuovS_7mpv7KvN4Ha92RLsoWtE6arRlyn4t8I94OMTmq0_KgsmryLmflY1ZWM3Fk55OAV2-R20IjkZyc_I7FvlkegdCRgpH/s1600/blue+red.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhFQ9Z1bZg4hdKXuVhA2uxuEb2n8pMkFcOTr222chyPy9sSuovS_7mpv7KvN4Ha92RLsoWtE6arRlyn4t8I94OMTmq0_KgsmryLmflY1ZWM3Fk55OAV2-R20IjkZyc_I7FvlkegdCRgpH/s200/blue+red.jpg" /></a></div>
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<article class="post-337 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-narrative-non-fiction tag-american-pharoah tag-figure-skating tag-motivationinspiration tag-patrick-chan tag-victor-espinoza" id="post-337">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=337" rel="bookmark">Serve the Work</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Victor-Espinoza.jpg"><img alt="Victor Espinoza" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-343 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Victor-Espinoza-300x169.jpg" height="169" width="300" /></a>At
a recent luncheon with fellow writers, the conversation turned to the
nature of artistic temperament. We have all read articles about the
connection between Genius and mental illness. We have also read and
heard accounts of profoundly nasty moves made by some who are regarded
as innovative, brilliant, immortal and gifted. What is the connection?<br />
The nature of mania can be what is often called a brainstorm. With
all circuits firing at breakneck speed, some have harnessed this
heightened awareness and let their paint brush or their typewriters or
quill pens, take record some of these rapid fire thoughts.<br />
Any state or mood of increased consciousness would never yield great
work in and of itself. The initial flow may be prolific and intense, but
it could also be a great mess, yielding nothing of use to anyone. The
ride on the back of a bucking bronco may be thrilling, but it is
altogether too short. So a second talent is needed; one that allows for
the discipline of picking oneself up once the inevitable crash seems to
follow. Through those days, slow, painstaking effort and focus is needed
to add layers and subtract all that is superfluous to produce a
beautifully crafted work of art.<br />
What is the artistic temperament? Lord Byron wrote: “We of the craft
are all crazy…. all are more or less touched.” Is it a medical
condition, a fine madness, or is it something brought on by the nature
of the creative process? While most would feel the former is the most
likely, I am tending more towards the latter. The forces of the world
around us, seem to conspire in every shape and form to pull us away from
the solitary work and into what Virginia Woolf described as the “tramp
and trudge of life.”<br />
Who lives on a street where the neighbors would discourage attendance at
a potluck party in favor solitary confinement in a studio? Is the
excessive sensitivity and irritability, as one definition stated, a
by-product of what is required to keep the galloping herd at bay? This
is what I wonder.<br />
The romantic myth of the suffering artist and its link to creativity
as a kind of requirement for genius is to some extent, a bit overblown.
Plenty of successful working artists and writers live a steady and
rather quiet life, where family duties are wedded to productivity and
acclaim. It is not necessary to have a train wreck of personal
relationships, followed by an early death in a sad hotel room, to be
declared a genius. It is often the perception.<br />
Part of the conflict and tension one reads about and is attributed to
the artistic temperament, could also be tied to the anxiety inherent in
wanting recognition, acclaim and financial security. If it constantly
eludes a person who is truly original, sticks their neck out in dramatic
fashion, takes huge risks and displays a lack of restraint to do so,
and goes completely unrecognized in their lifetime, would not that fear
and uncertainty contribute to a less compliant nature? Possibly.<br />
I saw true artistry this weekend. A horse and a figure skater put me right over the moon. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/11/01/sports/american-pharoah-ends-career-with-win-at-breeders-cup.html">American Pharoah </a> winning his last race in the The Breeder’s Cup, and<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y0DW6h-bBQM"> Patrick Chan’s </a>flawless performance in SCI showed us what devotion, hard work, and focus can accomplish.<br />
<span class="embed-youtube" style="display: block; text-align: center;"></span><br /></div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=25" rel="category">Narrative Non-Fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-pharoah" rel="tag">American Pharoah</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=figure-skating" rel="tag">Figure Skating</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=motivationinspiration" rel="tag">Motivation/Inspiration</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=patrick-chan" rel="tag">Patrick Chan</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=victor-espinoza" rel="tag">Victor Espinoza</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=337" rel="bookmark" title="4:18 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-01T16:18:01+00:00">November 1, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=337&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-326 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-motivationinspiration category-uncategorized tag-canada tag-justin-trudeau tag-liberal-party" id="post-326">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=326" rel="bookmark">An Inspiring Leader Takes the Stage</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Justin Trudeau, now Prime Minister
of Canada, found inspiration on an early morning paddle on the Bow River
in Calgary before the debate.</div>
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Justin-paddling.jpg"><img alt="Justin paddling" class=" size-medium wp-image-328 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Justin-paddling-300x197.jpg" height="197" width="300" /></a><br />
I am filled with hope today. Why? I feel inspired.<br />
What exactly is inspiration? I started to think about this when an old
friend signed a note to me by saying, stay inspired. It is a daily
quest, to be sure. Without going out and looking for it, I can come up
empty. The blank page, now the white screen, gets the better of me, and
no work gets done on either my novel in progress, <i>Four Stanley Cups and a Funeral,</i> or on my website. When this happens, I have not let anyone down, save myself. However, without self-respect where are we?<br />
Inspiration seems to be gaining in popularity if you look at my
Facebook page. Twitter runs hot and cold, but there are no shortages of
inspirational tidbits there too. There are days when no platitudes seem
to work, and I have to try harder. Others, like today, see me out in the
thick woods marveling at the fall colors and circling ravens of Windy
Bay. Why is there a spring in my step? Good news and glad tidings are
sweeping down like a clean, north wind from Canada.<br />
Whether you missed the election drama, or followed it day by day,
last night, a victory occurred for a political party with a dynamic
young leader. However, that is not all that took place. A contentious
battle veered down the dark alley of the politics of discrimination.
Divide and conquer was the failed strategy of the ruling, Conservative
Party. Canadians rejected it soundly. That gives me hope.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/justin-trudeau.jpg"><img alt="justin trudeau" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-330" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/justin-trudeau.jpg" height="195" width="259" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
We all know better. We all had grandmothers
who taught us good manners. We all had grandfathers who introduced us
to right and wrong. We know what is called hate speech when we hear it.
So why do we keep sinking into this abyss? It is the advice of political
strategists. They feel it works. I am hopeful today that some may feel
that it does not. It could backfire. It could come back to bite you</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My grandfather told me that his father raised him on one simple statement from the Bible: “Yea as you sew, so shall ye reap.”<br />
It is that simple. The man dispensing this advice was a new-age poet and
journalist about one hundred years ahead of his time. He taught yoga
classes and was a vegetarian. He believed in peace, and he worked to
move his country beyond narrow-minded Victorian divisions to a model
“free from discrimination of race, class, color or creed.” John Oliver
said that the pervasive feeling in Canada of an election lasting
seventy-eight days being way too long, was “absolutely adorable.” In
this country, we still have a long, long way to go. What becomes tedious
is not the exchange of ideas, it is what my grandmother would have
called the unpleasantness. Do we really need this as part of the fabric
of democracy, or is it rather a stain on our collective soul? Should we
not look to leaders who provide inspiration? I am not all that
interested in a person’s fears. Why would I even want to hear about
them? Why should I be afraid? Why should I cast a vote because of my
fears?</div>
I looked up antonyms for the word inspire: Bore, deaden, depress,
discourage, dishearten, and here is the best one of all- lull. Lull into
a stupor comes to mind.<br />
According to Webster’s, inspiration drives us to create. That is why
it is worth seeking. That is why it is a hallmark of true leadership.<br />
The sky is a bright blue today. The sun is glistening in the bay. The
leaves are shimmering on the trees. Inspiration is everywhere. When our
time to vote comes at last, I want to feel a sense of hope. I want to
feel as if we have turned a corner. I want to feel that we are serving
the better angels of our nature. We still have a long way to go. It
will be a tough portage.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=33" rel="category">Motivation?Inspiration</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=1" rel="category">Uncategorized</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=canada" rel="tag">Canada</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=justin-trudeau" rel="tag">Justin Trudeau</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=liberal-party" rel="tag">Liberal Party</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=326" rel="bookmark" title="7:33 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-10-20T19:33:43+00:00">October 20, 2015</time></a>. <span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-admin/post.php?post=326&action=edit">Edit</a></span> </footer>
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<article class="post-316 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-narrative-non-fiction category-uncategorized tag-algonquin-park tag-canada tag-canoe tag-outdoor-pursuits" id="post-316">
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=316" rel="bookmark">Enduring Love</a>
</h1>
</header>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Canoe-Country.jpg"><img alt="Canoe Country" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-318" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Canoe-Country-200x300.jpg" height="300" width="200" /></a></div>
Just in time to take the boats out of the water, Roy MacGregor’s <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Canoe-Country-Making-Roy-MacGregor/dp/0307361411/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1444422615&sr=1-1&keywords=roy+macgregor"><i>Canoe Country: The Making</i> of </a><i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Canoe-Country-Making-Roy-MacGregor/dp/0307361411/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1444422615&sr=1-1&keywords=roy+macgregor">Canada</a></i>,
arrived on my doorstep. The glorious fall we have enjoyed on Windy Bay
is more lovely than ever. Rain, sweet, heavenly rain, has made our
parched woods practically sing with joy. Sitting on our deck with the
last rays of summer keeping me warm, I was deliriously happy reading one
of my favorite authors. Since there is so much to do this time of year
in the garden, I had to ration my reading time, but the book got the
better of me, and I took to picking it up at every break. Thanks to Roy
MacGregor, my Christmas shopping is going to be a snap. Every canoe
lover on my list will unwrap this treasure. Books written about canoes
are few and far between, but we tend to see the same ones in homes of
our friends.<br />
The book, infused with passion, also carries a wealth of historical information.<br />
From the back cover:<br />
“The canoe made Canada. No canoe, no exploration of this
second-largest country on earth. No canoe, no fur trade to open up the
colony-then-country to commerce and settlement. No dugout, no birchbark
canoe, no kayak, no umiak, then perhaps no survival for the for the
various Aboriginal peoples who first inhabited this largely inhospitable
and often frozen territory.”<br />
Since I was lucky enough to spend my summers canoeing, and traveling
on long canoe trips, I can attest to how utterly bonded the traveler
becomes with his craft. When you think of the simplicity of the vessel,
the adaptability of the voyageur, the mastery of the skills required to
endure the journey, it is a wonder. The canoe is much more than a means
to an end; it is a thing of inestimable beauty.<br />
<br />
MacGregor writes of the transition from birchbark to cedar strip with
chilling accuracy. It was gratifying to me to read that his research
was thorough, and all credit due was given to David Thompson. As in all
inventions, necessity brought us this development. As Thompson traveled
west, he found birchbark to be scarce. Hence the cedar strip which while
disputed seems to have been created out here in the northwest.<br />
From Page 194:<br />
“Thompson’s assignment from his superiors at the North West Trading
Company, fourteen years later, was to cross the Continental Divide and
establish trade with native tribes west of the Rockies. He and his party
passed the winter of 1807 to 1808 at “Kootenae House,” the trading post
they had built by a creek that ran into the Columbia.”<br />
From Thompson’s journals, edited by Sean T. Peake and featured on page 204:<br />
“We had to turn out thoughts to some other material, and Cedar wood
being the lightest and most pliable for a canoe, we split out thin
boards of Cedar wood of about six inches in breadth and builded a Canoe
of twenty-five feet in length by fifty inches in breadth, of the same
form of a common Canoe, which proved to be equally light and much
stronger than Birch Rind.”<br />
Beyond the practical and natural, there is also something mystical
about a journey by canoe. I am not making preposterous claims alone
here; I have heard this voiced so many times and have read enough
accounts to consider it a common experience. It begins as a child when
you set off in high spirits and boundless enthusiasm only to hit a wall
in about say, twenty minutes, where you suddenly feel that old, are we
there yet, impatience. There is a bit of a breakdown that occurs. You
can’t get out, you can’t get comfortable, your knees hurt, you are
hungry, and you are thirsty, and we have to do this for the next eight
hours? One has to learn patience, and one has to learn to be calm, and
one has to pass the time in silly conversations or find a song where
everyone knows the words, or surely you think you will run mad. After
time, the canoe becomes quiet. Words are not needed now, and only the
next bend, the next portage or thoughts of a warm fire and a good meal
are all that seem to be on your mind. What happened to all the cares,
the concerns, the endless thought patterns? They start to slip away, and
the contemplation of whirlpools around the dip of your paddle take
center stage.<br />
From Page 93 where the journals of Susanna Moodie are quoted:<br />
“She claims to have felt a magic spell upon our spirits. Every
object was new to us. We felt as if we were the first discoverers of
every beautiful flower and stately tree that attracted our attention,
and we gave names to fantastic rocks and fairy isles.”<br />
What used to transport me into the stratosphere of my highly
excitable teen years was the knowledge that I had everything I needed.
By the second week of canoeing, I did not want to return to
civilization. I reveled in the simplicity of our world, and I could not
get enough of exploration. I have been a happy wanderer, and I hope
Canadians and Americans who love the outdoors will cherish this book.<br />
Pictured below is the author on a canoe trip in Ontario, Canada.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/me-by-harry.bmp"><img alt="me by harry" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-320" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/me-by-harry.bmp" height="1018" width="727" /></a></div>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-8779459380905308612016-01-03T11:24:00.000-08:002016-01-03T11:24:29.883-08:00More Bliss<div class="entry-content">
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It was at the checkout counter of my favorite grocery store that I
received encouragement regarding this topic. Answering the question of
my new year’s resolutions, I answered, “Just one. Two words. More
bliss.” Both the cashier and the woman helping her bag my veggies and
fresh sourdough baguette applauded the concept.<br />
As far back as my recorded resolutions state, I have begun each new
year of my adult life with these two words: lose weight. What is
different this year? I would still like to continue my weight loss
journey, but that is not the leading resolution. Why not?<br />
Bliss is not something one bumps into by accident. It is also not
something one can micro manage or plan for entirely. What is is exactly?
Where do I find it? Where does it abound? I would say Idaho. Windy Bay,
Lake Coeur d’ Alene; it can be found right out my door. Communing with
nature on a daily basis is the first step. Yet there is a difference
between simple enjoyment and bliss. Bliss is defined as supreme
happiness.<br />
All guilt aside, Protestant work ethic and Calvinistic upbringing
urging me to discard these thoughts in favor of everyday nose- to- the-
grindstone good works, I can say that I will keep on with those
traditions. Since I know that bliss is fleeting and short-lived, I do
not need to fear going down the drain over seeking moments of profound
joy. I can reconcile these two concepts by acknowledging that I am in
training. For this to occur everything needs to be in place.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola.jpg"><img alt="VIP gondola" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-395" height="300" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/VIP-gondola-225x300.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
I want to be in really good shape. To this end, my ballet, yoga, and
pilates program of my invention are essential. I need to be strong
enough to ski with my husband who is a wonder. Yesterday, Silver
Mountain was spectacularly beautiful. While cross-country skiing,
breaking trail on a quiet, wooded road, with the sun glistening and a
massive eagle soaring overhead, it happened. I was awestruck. My jaw
drops in such moments.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg"><img alt="thirteen ways of looking" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-393" height="293" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/thirteen-ways-of-looking.jpg" width="199" /></a><br />
Reading <em>Thirteen Ways of Looking</em> by Colum McCann, yielded
many such moments. When a person can write in a way that barely seems
mortal, it can send my spirit soaring. Looking ahead, I am envisioning
sailing with our son on Lake Coeur d’ Alene this summer. There will be a
moment. I know it. The wind will grab the sails, and we will look at
each other and laugh knowing that we are having an absolute blast out on
the water. I also look forward to rafting, swimming, kayaking and
boating down to dinner at Conklin’s Resort, and dancing under the stars.<br />
Will I be sad, will I be angry, will I be depressed and discouraged? Yes. Will it matter? No.<br />
It was in the seventh grade when I took this poem by Sara Teasdale to heart. It is called Barter.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
All beautiful and splendid things,<br />
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,<br />
Soaring fire that sways and sings,<br />
And children’s faces looking up<br />
Holding wonder in a cup.<br />
Life has loveliness to sell,<br />
Music like a curve of gold,<br />
Scent of pine trees in the rain,<br />
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,<br />
And for your spirit’s still delight,<br />
Holy thoughts that star the night.<br />
Spend all you have for loveliness,<br />
Buy it and never count the cost;<br />
For one white singing hour of peace<br />
Count many a year of strife well lost,<br />
And for a breath of ecstasy<br />
Give all you have been, or could be.<br />
I will read, I will write, I will study, I will spend time with old
friends and new, I will laugh until I cry, I will eat good food, and I
will get stronger with each passing day. I will devote myself to serving
others. When bliss comes along, I will be ready. It will be duly noted.<br />
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-76304266550620752242015-12-20T06:53:00.000-08:002015-12-20T06:53:50.507-08:00Thoughts on Christmas
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The snow is falling on a slant in big, crowded flakes over Windy
Bay. We had fog this morning, and then rain, and finally snow, all
pointing to a cozy day inside. Christmas cards and wrapping gifts can
wait. I want to think about Christmas.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg"><img alt="snowy Idaho" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-385" height="176" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/snowy-Idaho.jpg" width="286" /></a><br />
We used to do so much running around. The first year America shopped
online, I worked for Coldwater Creek on the web team. Terrified of the
Internet, people would call and ask if they were online. We would
politely have to reply that they were still on the telephone. At first,
everyone forgot their passwords, but we could look them up. “That is my
dog’s name,” they would say.<br />
<br />
As the days progressed, the anxiety and stress would increase, and
yes, sometimes the call center agents, myself included, would be on the
receiving end of a lot of harsh words and yelling. We had to ask if the
customer would care to share their email address.<br />
Most responded with, “Certainly not.”<br />
With each increasing year, online shopping became more of the norm.
During those years, we scrambled to keep up with the volume of business,
and we did everything in our power to keep the customers happy. We were
proud to work for a company founded by good people and housed in the
beautiful town of Sandpoint, Idaho.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store.jpg"><img alt="Codwater Creek Store" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-387" height="83" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Codwater-Creek-Store-300x83.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
Sometimes, between calls, my fellow agents and I would commiserate.
We bonded. We talked a lot about the meaning of Christmas. It sure
didn’t seem like we were hearing it. If packages had yet to arrive, if
something did not live up to their expectations, or God forbid, the
wrong item got into the box, we had to hear about it. We would wonder
what happened to the idea of an old- fashioned Christmas with good food
and even better good cheer?<br />
We look back; we look around, and we look forward. We think about the
story. It is one of the greatest ever told. As a child, it used to make
me wonder why Joseph did not start our earlier, why did Mary have to be
dragged along if she was having a baby, why didn’t some nice person
give up their room at the Inn so that she could have a bed? Why weren’t
they better prepared? Times were different, my Mom said. She was glad
she had all of us in a hospital.<br />
On Christmas Eve, in the city of Toronto, we gathered around the
radio, listening for the first reports. They came from the military. As
the sky turned dark, regular programming would be interrupted with a
news bulletin. A sighting! Clearly visible from NORAD bases in the far
north, a sleigh, flying through the pitch black sky pulled by reindeer,
he was on his way! Santa’s journey had begun. We had the cookies and the
milk ready. Why were there two Christmas stories, I wondered?<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa.jpg"><img alt="santa" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-386" height="200" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/santa-300x200.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
On Christmas Day, we looked forward to another tradition. My mother
insisted we eat breakfast in the dining room with good china and silver,
bacon, eggs, toast and fresh orange juice. It seemed to go on forever,
but when we finished eating, we gathered by the radio to hear the Queen.
She reminded us, year after year, every year of my life to date, that
we should focus on serving others. Wherever we happened to be in the
Commonwealth, she wanted to wish us all a happy Christmas with our
families and to be mindful of those in need. She was right, is right,
and will always be right.<br />
There is meaning. There is hope. There is kindness in this world, and
there is love. Stress? Who needs it? What we could use is more of the
story and more peace.<br />
<br />
From<a href="http://www.elizabethbrinton.com/" target="_blank"> www.elizabethbrinton.com </a><br />
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=60" rel="category">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=33" rel="category">Motivation/Inspiration</a>, and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=christmas" rel="tag">Christmas</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=norad" rel="tag">NORAD</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=queens-christmas-message" rel="tag">Queen's Christmas Message</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=382" rel="bookmark" title="12:14 am"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-12-20T00:14:31+00:00">December 20, 2015</time></a>. </footer>Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-55683516361198804322015-11-23T06:44:00.000-08:002015-11-23T07:34:58.077-08:00Thoughts for Thanksgiving<div class="site-content" id="primary">
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<article class="post-367 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-historical-fiction category-non-fiction tag-american-history tag-colonial-history tag-president-john-f-kennedy tag-thanksgiving" id="post-367">
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/going-to-the-execution.jpg"><img alt="going to the execution" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-370" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/going-to-the-execution-200x300.jpg" height="300" width="200" /></a></div>
What happens when you are interested in a particular period in time?
If you like to read, you will be drawn to books about that era. When I
was writing <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1572493488/ref=sr_1_1_twi_pap_1_olp?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232535&sr=1-1&keywords=My+American+Eden"><i>My American Eden</i>,</a>
I was tasked with researching Colonial America between the years of
1635-1660. It began when I found a tidbit in a history book about a
woman who walked into Boston with her shroud in hand. She walked to the
hanging tree twice, had the noose around her neck twice, and her face
covered with her Pastor’s handkerchief twice. A last-minute reprieve by
the Governor spared her the first time: the second resulted in death.
This story struck me as one that every American should know. Because a
law was passed banishing Quakers on pain of death, Mary Dyer challenged
it with her life. As I began researching the event, I quickly realized
that history is far from simple.<br />
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I found that perspectives differed depending on the author. Then
something else came to light. The story tended to change over time.
Quaker historians had one perspective, British authors had another, and
then American academia added more confusion to the mix. I began to
wonder if history is based on myth or fact and wondered how to find the
truth. Official court documents, dates and times, all came up with
discrepancies. Initially, I was obsessed with every detail. My first
draft ballooned to eight hundred pages. When I learned that Mary Dyer
traveled back to England and spent seven years there, I had to accept
the challenge of understanding the English civil war. The Puritans and
the Roundheads, the rise of Oliver Cromwell, and his destruction of
Parliament were vague recollections from high school. I turned to my
favorite historian <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill">Sir Winston Churchill</a>.
It was his description of a rising merchant class gaining sufficient
power to challenge the established ruling class that piqued my interest.
The more deeply I delved into the conflict, the more understanding I
gained of what unfolded decades, and then centuries later. I learned of
that the roots of the American Civil War stretched back to the events of
the 1650s. One side, the Royalists, eventually gravitated to Virginia
and the southern United States while the Puritans sailed to Boston. The
events in New England also had an effect on the American Revolution and
the founding fathers. Mary Dyer’s protests did not go unheeded. When
Charles II was restored to the throne in 1660, he immediately passed a
law forbidding such discrimination.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/JFK-the-Unspeakable.jpg"><img alt="JFK the Unspeakable" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-372 aligncenter" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/JFK-the-Unspeakable-201x300.jpg" height="300" width="201" /></a></div>
As we watch history unfold, try as we might, it is often difficult to
find the truth. When asked if history would be kind to him,<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill"> Winston Churchill </a>replied
that it would indeed because he intended to write it. As a child
growing up in a military family in the post-war fifties and sixties, the
shadow of war hung over the conversations by the adults. Watching the
first reports of the news from Dallas, fifty-two years ago today, I had
nothing but questions. At that point in time, I was obsessed with the<a href="http://oxed-books/dp/0448466759/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232611&sr=1-2&keywords=nancy+drew+books"><i> Nancy Drew</i> </a>series.
Even in the midst of the emotional wallop that hit us all regarding the
assassination of the President, I sensed a murder mystery. People crave
a simple explanation, but I feel we must be sleuths. What could be
murkier than the events of November 22, 1963? One book leads to another;
facts are disputed, and some facts are indisputable. The deeper one
delves, the more confusion one is likely to find until at last the truth
emerges. Should we accept the fact that we will never know? I have
never thought so.<i><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/JFK-Unspeakable-Why-Died-Matters/dp/1439193886/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1448232781&sr=1-2&keywords=the+unspeaka"> The Unspeakable</a> </i>by James W. Douglass and <a href="http://alias%3dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+devil%27s+chessboard&sprefix=the+devil%2cstripbooks%2c276/"><i>The Devil’s Chessboard</i>, </a>by David Talbot have shed new light. Both books are thoroughly researched and beautifully written.<br />
The final paragraph of the speech<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_F._Kennedy"> President John F. Kennedy</a> was to deliver in Dallas on Nov. 22, 1963:<br />
We in this country, in this generation, are — by destiny rather than
choice — the watchmen on the walls of world freedom. We ask, therefore,
that we may be worthy of our power and responsibility — that we may
exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint — and that we may
achieve in our time and for all time the ancient vision of “peace on
earth, good will toward men.” That must always be our goal — and the
righteousness of our cause must always underlie our strength. For as was
written long ago: “except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh
but in vain.”<br />
SOURCE: John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum<br />
Two statues in front of the Massachusetts State House: One by Sylvia
Shaw Judson depicts Mary Dyer, and the other is Isabel Mcllvain’s
President Kennedy.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/bigger-statue-of-Mary-Dyer.jpg"><img alt="bigger statue of Mary Dyer" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-377" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/bigger-statue-of-Mary-Dyer.jpg" height="216" width="233" /></a><a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/jfk-statehouse.jpg"><img alt="jfk statehouse" class=" size-full wp-image-376 alignright" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/jfk-statehouse.jpg" height="251" width="201" /></a><br />
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This week we will gather with friends and family remembering
those first families who came to the New World seeking freedom. Some of
us will pray for those around the globe who are fleeing terrible
circumstances and conflict. Hopefully, we will all give thanks for the
simple things: a roof over our heads, a warm house and a bounteous feast
on the table. I hope we will all remember to cherish freedom too.<br />
<br />
From: <a href="http://www.elizabethbrinton.com/" target="_blank"> www.elizabethbrinton.com</a><br />
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=54" rel="category">Historical Fiction</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?cat=55" rel="category">Non-fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=american-history" rel="tag">American History</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=colonial-history" rel="tag">Colonial history</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=president-john-f-kennedy" rel="tag">President John F. Kennedy</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?tag=thanksgiving" rel="tag">Thanksgiving</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/?p=367" rel="bookmark" title="11:57 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-22T23:57:46+00:00">November 22, 2015</time></a>. </footer>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2373153629680460013.post-10891838520730108032015-11-12T09:11:00.001-08:002015-11-23T06:45:19.153-08:00Good Books for Damp Days<div class="site-content" id="primary">
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<article class="post-351 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-fiction-2 tag-anne-of-green-gables tag-elena-ferrante tag-friendship tag-l-m-montgomery" id="post-351">
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/?p=351" rel="bookmark">Good Books for Damp Days</a>
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<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Elena-Ferrante.jpg"><img alt="Elena Ferrante" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-352" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Elena-Ferrante.jpg" height="293" width="188" /></a></div>
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It is raining and damp on Windy Bay today. The lake is still and
apart from the odd shot fired now and again, we hear almost nothing,
save the delicious sound of raindrops falling on a metal roof. After a
long walk and discussion about driving to town to see a movie, we opted,
as we so often do, for a cozy afternoon with our books. My goal was to
finish this month’s selection for The Best Food Ever Book Club.<br />
If we had first come to see Elena Greco and Lila Cerullo, the two main characters of Elena Ferrante’s <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=my+brilliant+friend+elena+ferrante&sprefix=My+B%2Carts-crafts%2C622">My Brilliant Friend</a>,</i>
as young women, it would have been our loss. By describing the
friendship of two little girls with all of its inherent passion and
intensity we, as readers, never lose sight of those children. This
device, whether intentional or not, gives the book much of its power.<br />
Set in a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of Naples, we learn of a
society struggling to cope with post-war conditions in Italy. As the
girls observe events in the neighborhood, we see the volatile and
frightening conditions in which they live. Girls are neither highly
valued nor are kept very safe. It is this anxiety that creates a
never-ending tension in the book.<br />
As in most tales of girlhood friendship, there is a divergence in
their respected paths. One will be continuing her education, and the
other will have to work in the family shoe repair shop. As fate would
have it, the girl with the greatest ability is the one who is stymied.<br />
Knowing the rivalries, the competition and the gut- wrenching power
these emotions have with both girls, the split is painful to imagine.
Perhaps readers with a memory of such times and similar decisions made
regarding the fate of sisters and neighbors, feel this more keenly. I
will wait until the Best Food Ever Book Club discusses this work to see
if anyone agrees with me. Perhaps I will share a personal story. It
happened in a similar fashion. Sent to a private school, and then to
compound matters, moving to a new house, drove a wedge between my best
friend from childhood and me. She went on to new friends as did I, and
we were not able to maintain our former bond.<br />
Even if the parting of the ways had not been centered around school, I
was reminded of other factors that seem to break those incredible ties
of friendship one feels in elementary school, and how something along
the way always seems to come between cherished friends. If it isn’t
school, it is a boyfriend, or lack thereof, or some change that often
splits them apart. After reading L.M. Montgomery’s<i><a href="http://p/1503214133/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1447085794&sr=1-2&keywords=anne+of+green+gables"> Anne of Green Gables</a></i>
so many times over, and at least once per decade throughout the course
of my life, my last go-round brought me to the understanding of the
diverging paths between Anne and her friend Diana. With mouths to feed
and a farm to run, Diana’s father decrees that she will not go on to
further her education while Anne receives a scholarship. There is no
remedy, no matter what the intention. Neither girl will be the same.<br />
<a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Anne-of-Green-Gables.jpg"><img alt="Anne of Green Gables" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-353" src="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Anne-of-Green-Gables.jpg" height="250" width="202" /></a><br />
Elena Ferrante does a brilliant job of zeroing in on the truth of
these girl’s circumstances. Neither one is safe. Not entirely, and the
women who should be protecting them seem unobservant, distant, and
oblivious. For how many centuries were girls and women told to accept
their lot in life without complaint. For how long did we have the merest
of choices over our destinies? While I would not call <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=my+brilliant+friend+elena+ferrante&sprefix=My+B%2Carts-crafts%2C622"><i>My Brilliant Friend</i> </a>a feminist novel, it certainly stirred those emotions.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_4?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=my+brilliant+friend+elena+ferrante&sprefix=My+B%2Carts-crafts%2C622"><i>My Brilliant Friend</i> </a>is
the first in a series of four books. Whether I continue, or leave off
here remains in the hands of my book club. Knowing some have already
galloped on through, I expect to hear some heavy lobbying.</div>
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This entry was posted in <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/?cat=6" rel="category">fiction</a> and tagged <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/?tag=anne-of-green-gables" rel="tag">Anne of Green Gables</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/?tag=elena-ferrante" rel="tag">Elena Ferrante</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/?tag=friendship" rel="tag">Friendship</a>, <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/?tag=l-m-montgomery" rel="tag">L.M. Montgomery</a> on <a href="http://elizabethbrinton.com/wp/?p=351" rel="bookmark" title="4:20 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2015-11-09T16:20:35+00:00">November 9, 2015</time></a>. </footer>
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Elizabeth Smythe Brintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13264412565136799110noreply@blogger.com0