ACADEMY. After explaining about the long time plate tectonics had to wait until it finally got accepted by the mainstream geology science, Bryson ends the chapter with the following comment:

Interestingly, oil company geologists had known for years that if you wanted to find oil you had to allow for precisely the sort of surface movements that were implied by plate tectonics. But oil geologists didn’t write academic papers; they just found oil.

ROSSI. Quina és l’expressió que mai no fan servir ni en Biaggi, ni en Sete, ni en Lorenzo? Vale.

SALUTACIONS. Quant més sonor el bes, més fals el sentiment?

FREEDOM What philosophical thesis do you think it most important to disseminate? > Freedom. It sounds trite, but without it, what’s the point of life? Almost everything else is incidental to the basic right of a newborn human being to grow up to enjoy life on this planet limited only by the moderation required to mutually accommodate others (Brett Lock, from the normblog profiles).

Si hi estàs d’acord, ets un liberal clàssic.

THE IMPORTANT PAPER WHICH WAS…

When the crust reached the end of its journey at the boundary with continents, it plunged back into the Earth in a process known as subduction. That explained where all the sediment went. It was being returned to the bowels of the Earth. It also explained why ocean floors everywhere were so comparatively youthful. None had ever been found to be older than about 175 million years, which was a puzzle because continental rocks were often billions of years old. Now Hess could see why. Ocean rocks lasted only as long as it took them to travel to shore. It was a beautiful theory that explained a great deal. Hess elaborated his ideas in an important paper, which was almost universally ignored.

Bryson of course.

“Grace has a grand laughter in it.”

- Marilynne Robinson [Gilead]

I’m not sure how God does this; I can’t exactly remember why I came to be reading any novel, let alone Gilead whilst on Sabbatical. But there it was in my pile of books, so I read it. I used to read novels at school, because I had to, and yes, I did enjoy some; but not really the English ones. If there was any that appealed it was the French short story, the conte or nouvelle. Not exactly the same as the English novel, not as long as the roman either. Perhaps this was because, like much of the French film genre, they are written with a sort of predetermined purpose – to be able to say at the end “… and so boys and girls, that is why we should always/never…” It looks for a kind of ‘nicely tied together’ ending, whether you agree with it or not, which in a certain way helps to focus on the reader in a “…so what are you going to do about this?” kind of way.

I always liked this type of completeness, and so whether it was Maupassant, Aymé, or even the avant-garde film-maker Buñuel I preferred all of their story-telling technique especially to tedious, long winded descriptive tomes of prose (e.g Dickens!) which may well have had good ethics intended by them, but always seemed pompous, condescending and indiscreet in comparison to Tournier for example.

As a result, if I was not reading something Biblical or theological, I would not be generally reading an English novel. I really enjoy travel writings, and so have read most if not all of Bill Bryson, Paul Theroux and a few others; I like historical biography, so I have read lots by and about Churchill, Disraeli, US Presidents and the like, not to mention hundreds of Christian biographies and histories of course. I have recently got into reading anything by Niall Ferguson who writes socio-economic histories which have often been turned into Channel 4 Documentaries; Empire, Colosus, War of the Worlds, and The Ascent of Money are all brilliant in my humble estimation. I read biographies & autobiographies, especially Christian missionaries and leaders like Wesley (e.g. his Journal), Moody, Wilberforce and indeed anything by John Pollock, but also modern leaders such as Chuck Colson, Jimmy Carter, Margaret Thatcher, Ronald Reagan, Chris Patten, Brian Mawhinney; I’m reading Barack Obama’s Dreams from my Father at the moment.

There are rare occasions when I have read things which come very close to novels, for example the Year in Provence series, Driving over Lemons (also the sequel the title of which I forget, but it was about a parrot I think) and I remember reading only a few years ago a work called English Passengers – but this was an historical novel, the fiction was secondary to recounting to you the story of English colonization of Australia and Tasmania, set in the context of English, or more precisely Manx seamanship in the 1800s. Then I have also enjoyed many of the Lake Wobegon series and other books by Garrison Keillor but his writings are so humorous they are best heard read aloud to you, like stand-up comedy – especially in his low smooth mid-western accent – since they are really originally designed for radio or spin-offs of this genre.

Gilead is the story of a man, a family and a community in the mid-west USA largely set in the 1950s. It is convincingly written in the first person of the elderly pastor John Ames, who, like his father and grandfather before him, leads the small community of the Congregational church in the small town of Gilead, Iowa. The story unwinds in the form of a letter written by the aging pastor, who was widowed childless, has remarried now and become a father late in life. The reason for this missive is Ames’s failing health; he desires to leave an account of himself for this son who will never really know him. His greatest regret is that he hasn’t much to leave them, in worldly terms -

“Your mother told you I’m writing your begats, and you seemed very pleased with the idea. Well, then. What should I record for you?”

I won’t spoil it for you by recounting the whole tale, for it is gorgeously written, and it is not at all surprising that the author Marilynne Robinson won the prestigious Pulitzer Prize for it.

The Washington Post said of Gilead that it is “so serenely beautiful, and written in a prose so gravely measured and thoughtful, that one feels touched with grace just to read it.”

It is a sumptuous story which stretches the emotions; we are laughing one moment, crying the next; touched by an unexpected mercy, then horrified by a heinous act; wooed by pure sweet love on one page, shocked and shamed by the human potential for stubbornness and bitterness on the verso. It is achingly beautiful. We adore such tales, books, movies, and dramas. These are rare awesome pleasures – to be gently but firmly exhorted to venture towards the seeming extremities of one’s affections and sensibilities, what the French might call attendrissement, and then to be compelled to look further.

Gilead is a retelling of the Prodigal Son parable in a fuller, more complex, twentieth century guise. But there I will leave it for I am in danger of giving the game away and I do want many of you to get hold of a copy and appreciate it for yourself.

However it may well be that it was simply just written for me.

For, together with other things I was reading, listening to, and watching, along with talking all this through with Judith (who also read Gilead and other books I was reading), through this means the Lord tenderized my heart so he could prepare me to receive his fresh grace again. I am so grateful that he did it this way. Else I might have wasted the rest of my time away, and not seen what God wanted to do in me first, before anything he might want to do through me.

It was so good to get away and see the wonders God is indeed doing all over the world. But first I am persuaded that he desires to do wonders in my heart. Yours too!

En estos días se ha publicado un libro sobre la figura de Shakespeare. No es un libro de eruditos pero si un libro que acerca a la mayoría de las personas la figura, personalidad y vida del amigo William. Lo ha publicado RBA Libros y en sus casi 200 páginas podemos disfrutar una a una (yo lo he hecho) con una idea general pero bien documentada de cómo era la vida en la Inglaterra de finales del XVI y principios del XVII, el mundo del teatro en Londres, las primeras ediciones de las obras de Shakespeare o los pocos detalles que conocemos de su propia vida. A un precio de 16 euros la oportunidad de empezar a interesarse por el genial bardo. He aquí la reseña de la propia editorial en su página web:

Bill Bryson, célebre en todo el mundo por su Una breve historia de casi todo, aborda ahora un enigma mayúsculo: la personalidad de William Shakespeare. De Hamlet, Otelo, el rey Lear y Macbeth conocemos mucho, pero del ser humano que los concibió apenas sabemos nada. Armado de un sano sentido común y de su admirado don comunicativo, Bryson examina datos, suposiciones y mitos para trazar una semblanza lo más precisa posible del dramaturgo y poeta de Stratford upon Avon. El resultado es una fascinante indagación en la vida (hasta donde alcanza la certidumbre) y el tiempo de Shakespeare. Bryson evoca la Inglaterra isabelina, con el azote de la peste, su expansionismo imperialista, la emergente capital londinense y los usos y costumbres del mundo teatral. Y en este marco histórico, que depara sorpresas notables y proporciona un marco muy enriquecedor para el lector actual de Shakespeare, surge la figura del poeta. Bryson no omite ninguno de los aspectos más controvertidos acerca de él: apariencia física, extracción social, autoría de las obras, vida familiar, supuesta homosexualidad, relación con los poderosos y con el público… Y todo ello sin caer nunca en la pedantería académica. Muy al contrario, el estilo ágil y ameno, salpicado de muchos elementos humorísticos, y la voluntad de componer un texto conciso y directo nos brindan una lectura apasionante, que además de informativa y rigurosa constituye una divertida guía a uno de los mayores misterios de la literatura universal.

Now that I have finished my fourth helping of the entire The West Wing series, I have decided to devote my spare time to reading the numerous books I have but have not read (or completed) yet.

They are:

Bill Bryson – Down Under (finished 15/10/09)
J.D. Salinger – The Catcher in the Rye
Joseph Heller – Catch 22
Barack Obama – The Audacity of Hope
Chuck Palahniuk – Fight Club
Bill Bryson – Made in America
Mil Millington – Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About

They are the ones which immediately leap from my bookcase screaming “read me now dammit!”, and once I do I’m then going to make a start on the classics. As someone with a History degree which contains heavy doses of American history, I feel I have a shockingly poor knowledge of the great books. I have never read Hemingway, Twain, Faulkner, or any of the great American writers.

As Josiah Bartlet once said, modern history is just another name for television. It’s shameful that I have a history degree yet I have barely read a book first published before 1945.

But what to read first?

Here is Royce, mastering the water fountain…

Bryson (affectionately known as “Cripple”) had his cast taken off today and his arm was X-ray’d.  Not only did it smell, but it wasn’t healed yet.  3 more weeks.  This time it is green. But now the joke is that he doesn’t have any friends to sign it.  HA!

No, they all have friends – at church and in the neighborhood.

And then there is THE cat.  The previous owners had 3 cats and ‘accidently’ left one.  It keeps getting in the garage and other places.  The other day it got in the garage as I was cleaning it and went up stairs and hid.  Merritt was in there with me.  I said, “That’s it.  I am going to KILL that cat!” and I pulled out a pocket knife and went up stairs.  Merritt yelled, “Dad, wait!  I want to watch you kill the cat!”  Where did the innocence go?

This cemetery is located in the Dilton Quadrangle.  E. on US 70, right on Mt. Herman Road.  Just north of Prosperity Church off Mt. Herman Road and down a dirt road beside a house.  Photographed by:  Patsy Paterson   2pats2cats@comcast.net

The cemetery as it appeared on May 24, 2009

Willie Akins   July 18, 1980

Carl L. Alexander   World War II

April 28, 1923 – July 31, 1970

Jesse J. Alexander   June 9, 1887 – July 9, 1975

Mary S. Alexander   May 18, 1902 – Nov. 9, 1987

Odie Alexander   US Army   Vietnam

Oct. 28, 1938 – Dec. 23, 1984

Thomas A. Alexander   SSgt   US Army   World War II

June 4, 1921 – March 19, 1976

Fred Almond   1931 – 1957

Roscoe Almond   1887 – 1955

Mattie B. Avent   Dec. 26, 1890 – May 6, 1971

Samuel K. Avent, Sr.   July 12, 1886 – Dec. 9, 1984

Lizzie Biard   1864 – 1923

James Bass   1883 – 1973

Sallie E. Bass   1883 – 1949

Juanita Lyons Bass   June 12, 1944 – Oct. 19, 2002

Alonzo Beard   1889 – 1967

Clara J. Beard   1913 – 2008

Donald Beard    June  2006 – June 2002  ???

Emma Beard   April 18, 1917 – July 23, 1982

James Beard   Sept. 8, 1908 – Nov. 8, 1977

Marjorie L. Beard   Jan. 10, 1916 – March 13, 1983

Ora W. Beard   1891 – 1956

Sim Beard   March 2, 1929 – Jan. 23, 1954

Tennie S. Beard   1893 – 1976

Hattie Mae Brown   1895 – 1953

Ora Mae Brown   Jan. 3, 1930 – May 29, 2002

Willie Brown   1875 – 1948

Ella Bryson   March 7, 1917 – April 6, 1944

Java Bryson   Aug. 8, 1905 – June 18, 1980

Mary Etta Bryson   May 30, 1908 – March 29, 1968

William Bryson   April 23, 1876 – Dec. 29, 1951

Willie E. Camp

Jesse Carney   World War I

June 29, 1889 – Sept. 9, 1947

Beatrice Ward Fleming   Jan. 24, 1900 – Sept. 11, 1943

Birdie Fleming   1874 – 1944

Evie H. Franklin   1888 – 1948

Lewis Franklin   1874 – 1949

Lewis Franklin, Jr.   July 3, 1913 – Jan. 24, 1988

Ella Mae Garrett   June 17, 1926 – Aug. 30, 1950

George Garrett   Sept. 15, 1887 – Feb. 21, 1931

Viola Garrett   Feb. 25, 1i892 – Jan. 13, 1952

James Goodman   May 25, 1911 – Sept. 10, 1983

Ruthie Goodman   Aug. 21, 1912 – Oct. 27, 1990

W. M. Goodman   March 16, 1895 – Oct. 24, 1951

Channie Grissom   1889 – 1947

Earlean Rucker Grissom   June 30, 1904 – Feb. 21, 1949

Joe F. Grissom   Jan. 22, 1993

Ella Mae G. Guthrie   June 12, 1912 – June 6, 1969

Annie Beard Haynes   Dec. 16, 1932 – April 3, 1977

J. D. Haynes   World War II

March 3, 1925 – Dec. 24, 1956

Mary F. Haynes   Nov. 1, 1938 – Aug. 8, 1995

Thomas Haynes  Jan. 17, 1997

Walter Haynes   World War II

Fannie Henderson   1870 – 1958

William Henderson   1862 – 1954

Samuel Jarmon   Aug. 16, 1882 – July 28, 1926

Ella S. Jones   March 29, 1874 – Nov. 13, 1960

Georgia Mai Jones   June 6, 1924 – Sept. 15, 2002

Willie C. Jones   April 5, 1917 – April 3, 1992

L. Viola Jones   1904 – 1979

Mollie Leigh Jones   Sept. 5, 1884 – July 14, 1977

Salina Jones   1877 – 1965

Susie M. Avent Jones   Feb. 24, 1920 – Dec. 21, 1993

Louvenia Jordan   1913 – 1965

Vera Kimbro   Jan. 30, 1982

Acie Lee James   Sept. 23, 1918 – May 11, 1954 

Catherine Leigh   1880 – 1944

Henry Leigh   Aug. 27, 1893 – Dec. 29, 1922 

Sarah Leigh   July 18, 1863 – no death date

Simon Leigh   Oct. 16, 1859 – March 6, 1927

William Leigh   1902 – 1943

Arizona Lyons   May 29, 1903 – Nov. 25, 1968

Sarah Lyons   March 26, 1907 – Feb. 25, 1982

Burnice Lyons   March 9, 1941 – Dec. 2, 1979

Dora Mae Lyons   March 31, 1923 – Jan. 5, 1969

Samuel M. Lyons   March 24, 1934 – Oct. 18, 1990

Twin Boys of Sam & Pam Lyons   May 31, 1977

Prince A. Majors   April 18, 1844 – July 23, 1924

Sarah Martin   Nov. 15, 1904 – June 12, 1986

James McAdoo   1966 – 2005

Nathaniel P. McAdoo   June 15, 1965 – March 11, 1992

Corine Person Almond McCroskey   Sept. 7, 1915 – June 18, 1993

Elizabeth McCroskey   1930 – 1978

Jesse Patton   1908 – 1962

Larry Cordell Peebles   Dec. 5, 1952 – Dec. 25, 2006

Martha Price   1875 – 1975

Rev. Robert Lee Price   1905 – 1996

Angie R. Rankins   1938 – 2007 

Jessie B. Scales   Dec. 16, 1910 – June 5, 1946

Etter Sims   Feb. 23, 1875 – Dec. 5, 1938

James K. Sims   World War II

Jan. 15, 1913 – June 8, 1953

Robert Sims   Jan. 9, 1904 – Sept. 13, 1932

Roy Sims   Nov. 18, 1918 – Dec. 9, 1938

Alford Smith   World War II

Dec. 11, 1921 – Dec. 21, 19??

David R. Smith  US Army  Korea

April 3, 1926 – June 28, 1972

George Smith  March 1, 1894 – March 3, 1944

Emma L. Smith   Feb. 12, 1921 – April 9, 1994

Fannie Smith   Dec. 18, 1888 – Jan. 21, 1989

Hendricks W. Smith   Dec. 24, 1900 – July 6, 1932

Lockie M. Smith   Nov. 13, 1901 – Aug. 30, 1958

William Stansley

Charles Todd  1862 – 1918

Hattie Todd   1865 – 1942

Dana L. Veals   1884 – 1946

Marion D. Veals   1879 – 1946

Dennie Veals, Jr.   PFC  US Army   Korea

Jan. 12, 1928 – Oct. 2, 1993

Janice Lenore Veals   Sept. 24, 1956 – March 30, 1970

Mary Jane Veals   June 12, 1931 – Aug. 26, 2001

James H. Watkins   April 6, 1994

Hattie Watkins   May 15, 1996

Howard Willie Webb   Feb. 2, 1939 – May 29, 1984

Willie Beatrice Wellington   May 5, 1911 – April 29, 1984

Lillian Dell Woods   May 29, 1933 – Nov. 19, 1975

Listed in the Rutherford County Cemetery Book but not seen:

Roxy Alexander   Aug. 15, 1965

Mammie L. Bass   July 31, 1971

Fezzie Beard   June 3, 1956

Pete Beard   Sept. 22, 1957

Tommie Lee Beard   April 10, 1904 – Sept. 22, 1944

Pattie Mae Brown   1893 – 1963

Henry Davis   Nov. 20, 1972

Helen Garrett   April 22, 1962

Catherine Glanton   1880 – 1944

C. H. Glanton   no dates

David Glanton   1904 – 1904

L. G. Glanton   no dates

R. G. Glanton   no dates

W. G. Glanton   no dates

George Goodman   June 17, 1974

Roberta Goodman   Sept. 21, 1973

Joe Grissom   Sept. 2, 1952

Beatrice Haynes   March 20, 1974

Dave Haynes   1867 – 1963

Henry Haynes   Sept. 20, 1974

Irene Haynes   Oct. 9, 1964

Jerome Haynes   Aug. 25, 1968

Virgil Haynes   May 29, 1958

Josie R. Hathaway   July 10, 1973

Jesse Lyons   Aug. 6, 1970

Baby Boy McAdoo   Sept. 5, 1968

Charlie Price   May 4, 1954

George W. Price   Sept. 27, 1896 – Sept. 29, 1974

Ollie Price   Jan. 24, 1972

Fred Randolph   June 4, 1959

Baby Sherita Rucker   1971 – 1971

Ethel Strickland   Feb. 21, 1954

Sally S. Strickland   June 7, 1961

George Smith   March 1, 1894 – March 3, 1944

Robert L. Smith   Nov. 27, 1974

Willie Smith   1923 – 1962

Alzena E. Veals   March 11, 1957

Dennis Veals, Sr.   Aug. 23, 1971

E. R. Lane Veals   Sept. 8, 1961

Bryson is a handsome (some say goofy-looking), fluffy collie mix who’s about 6 months old but is well on his way to becoming a polite, responsible canine citizen. Don’t let his scruffy appearance deter you– he isn’t as mischievous as he looks, really. Just very, very endearing and very well behaved.

He’s wonderfully affectionate, but not needy, does not jump, and sits readily when you ask him to. He also is curious about new things, like my camera, but he is fine when you tell him to leave it alone.

As you can see, he’s great at paying attention, and I predict he’ll be a star in obedience school. He’s also a Gold Star dog, passing his temperament test with flying colors. He’s not going to need a lot of exercise or anything special (though he enjoys walks and toys)– I suspect he will be just as fine being a mellow, lazy dog who snoozes on the sofa and gets up when he needs to.

Isn’t he handsome? If you’re looking for a wonderfully relaxing, funny, and absolutely charming companion in your life, come visit Bryson in Kennel 45. For more information, contact doginfo@apsofdurham.org

Bienvenido. Y felicidades. Estoy encantado de que pudieses conseguirlo. Llegar hasta aquí no fue fácil. Lo sé. Y hasta sospecho que algo más difícil de lo que tú crees.

En primer lugar, para que estés ahora aquí, tuvieron que agruparse de algún modo, de una forma compleja y extrañamente servicial, trillones de átomos errantes. Es una disposición tan especializada y tan particular que nunca se ha intentado antes y que sólo existirá esta vez. Durante los próximos muchos años—tenemos esa esperanza—, estas pequeñas partículas participarán sin queja en todos los miles de millones de habilidosass tareass cooperativas necesarias para mantenerte intacto y permitir que experimentes ese estado tan agradable, pero tan a menudo infravalorado, que se llama existencia.

Aquest és l’inici d’un llibre que s’ha de definir senzillament com a apassionant. Es tracta d’Una breve historia de casi todo, de Bill Bryson, un escriptor nascut als Estats Units però que ha desenvolupat la major part de la seva carrera periodística al Regne Unit (sobretot als diaris The Times i The Independent). És un reconegut escriptor de llibres de viatges i sobre la llengua anglesa, amb un estil sempre amè i força divertit, el que afavoreix que la seva lecrura sigui molt agradable. Una breve historia de casi todo no és pas una excepció a aquest fet: el llibre és una perfecta demostració de la curiositat de l’autor per entendre tot el que pugui del món que l’envolta i, al mateix temps, explicar-li de manera clara al seu lector.

La portada del llibre

El llibre va arribar a les meves mans com un regal de Nadal (gràcies un altre cop, Anna) fa quatre anys. Des de llavors, l’he llegit sencer dos cops, i puc dir que sempre he après coses que no sabia, me les he mirat d’una altra manera, he recordat alguna dada curiosa però oblidada, i m’he fet un tip de riure amb les excentricitats d’alguns dels genis que han construit el nostre coneixement. Les  seves més de 500 pàgines són un compendi de tot el saber científic que tenim avui en dia, que abarca des del Big Bang fins als inicis de la civilització, i finalment s’aventura a imaginar quin pot ser el futur que li espera a la Humanitat. La idea d’escriure aquesta història, tal i com explica l’autor a la introducció, va sorgir d’un dels seus avorridíssims llibres de text de l’escola. Va intentar llegir-lo des de la primera pàgina, i es va trobar que no li explicava COM es sabia tot allò que explicava. M’imagino que, com a mi, això és exactament el que us passa a molts de vosaltres.

Així doncs, Bryson va decidir passar tres anys de la seva vida llegint, recorrent el món, preguntant als experts… El resultat d’aquests tres anys és un recorregut fascinant per totes les disciplines científiques: el saber adquirit en geologia, biologia, química o física desfila per les pàgines del llibre d’una manera sorprenentment entenedora. El llibre ens explica com (la gran pregunta) hem passat d’un coneixement intuïtiu, esotèric, del món, a la ciència actual. Ens permet veure com cadascuna d’aquestes ciències ha passat per una època daurada (o una successió d’aquestes), que ha permés avançar moltíssim en aquell camp, fins que finalment ha quedat estancada i una altra disciplina li ha pres el lloc de “ciència de moda”. I aquest relleu constant (tot i que una mica injust) és el que ens ha permés arribar on som. Tot això, a més a més, es presenta amanit amb un bon nombre d’anècdotes o curiositats que ens permetrien guanyar bastants formatgets al Trivial. Sabíeu que si tinguéssim el nombre d’Avogadro (6,023 x 10^23) de llaunes de refresc podríem cobrir tot el planeta fins a 230 km d’alçada? Us imaginàveu que tot el Parc Nacional de Yellowstone (amb una superfície de 8983 km quadrats, i situat al NO dels Estats Units) és una enorme caldera volcànica? No us n’explico més, però al llibre podeu aprendre moltes més dades com aquestes.

Aquí us deixo la recomanació, doncs. És un llibre ideal perquè us el regalin, o encara millor, per regalar-lo. Agradarà a tothom, als de lletres i als de ciències. Als literats, perquè aporta realment tota la informació de base científica que moltes vegades fa falta avui en dia, i que potser no van poder disfrutar a l’escola (un dia parlarem d’això…). Als científics, perquè els permetrà conèixer millor tots els camps de la ciència que queden més lluny d’allò que han estudiat directament. La història del nostre coneixement, la nostra història és, com deia abans, apassionant.

Si el llegiu, o l’heu llegit, què en penseu? Us ha agradat? Compartiu la meva opinió? Coneixeu altres llibres similars? Espero comentaris.

El llibre l’edita RBA, i aquí en teniu la fitxa. Em sembla que no està editat en català, però sí que hi ha disponible la versió abreviada Una història realment breu de gairebé tot.

Here are some BYOM style pics of Bryson, fellow retail worker/supporter of TRUEST/skateboarder. He’s a super cool guy with lots of ideas and energy and when I told him about the the idea of TRUEST and the thought behind it, he was all for it, and it all just sort of went from there. Hopefully we’ll be getting in some sick pictures of Bryson and everyone in action sporting the gear.

Bryson in Giraffe tee with broken board.

This is right before he broke the board landing a trick.

And a huge thanks to Chris W. for all the great pictures!

Stay tuned for more to come.

In my humble opinion, most of the problems we face today stem from one simple assumption; the assumption that the index finger needs to always point to something. That it has to point at someone else, or at ourselves or the sky above. All our thoughts, actions and interactions are based on this undisputed axiom. We prepare hard for the exams and wait for the results. We either wait eagerly for a good result or brace ourselves for a bad one. How do we prepare for an exam which yields no result ? Why do we have to assume that since our morals are right and tangible, they are built on  values that should be right?

Most of the times when things go wrong, we look at means to either fix them or forget them . When we realize that we were wrong, we use the trusty old index finger. Either the situation forced us to commit something undesirable, or it was the fault of someone else, or if we are magnanimous enough, it was our fault.

 But there is no purpose in events. There is no good/bad. There is nothing to point at and call it a fault. Because, there is no fault.Sadness after all, is just a different degree of happiness. Discovering that life is ambiguous is the true path to inner peace. No amount of planning can prepare us for the future as we have not conquered the dimensions to predict the future.

Sometimes, things are just there. Sometimes a dark alley is what it is.. a dark alley. Ambiguity is by far the greatest absolute in life. As insignificant as life may seem at the moment, in the true sense of ambiguity, it is also special. To quote Bill Bryson :

“The atoms that congenially flocked together to make life on earth are the same ones that refused to do it elsewhere.”

Kate Langenburg/A&E Groove

Today I would like to spend some time talking about one of my favorite authors — Bill Bryson. He is the king of hilarious, witty travel writing that always holds your attention, whether you want to go to his travel spot or not.

This book serves as a great little getaway to Australia without actually going!

Recently, I have been reading In a Sunburned Country, an older novel (written in 2000) but still lovely to wrap your thoughts around. In this story, Bryson sets loose on the sunny, unbearably hot continent of Australia, tackling its dangerous animals, friendly people, and of course, its pubs.

The great thing about this book is that it is a mixture of facts and pleasurable storytelling. All of it is nonfiction, but the way in which Bryson writes it really makes it come alive. He puts himself in the action and then relates facts about which part of Australia he is in. And the factoid parts never get boring — he often throws in his own little witticisms on the subjects, which are most always very funny.

Perhaps some of my favorite parts in this book occur when the travel writer finds himself at odds with one of Australia’s deadly creatures. There are plenty of them! Right from the beginning of the book, he is swimming in Portuguese man-o-war infested waters. He also purchases various books with great subjects like crocodile encounters and killer creatures to read on his trip.

At the end of each day, you can usually count on Bryson retiring in some small pub, observing the Australians around him with great interest. Some of the people he meets during his travels are quite entertaining characters, to say the least.

The storytelling done here is most pleasant because Bryson does it with such ease. You really feel like you’re getting a good look (even though it’s only an overview) of the entire continent. The same can be said for his other books. There is definitely no one else out there quite like Bill Bryson.

Where will he take us next?

Planck was often unlucky in life. His beloved first wife died early in 1909, and the younger of his two sons was killed in the First World War. He also had twin daughters whom he adored. One died giving birth. The surviving twin went to look after the baby and fell in love with her sister’s husband. They married and two years later she died in childbirth. In 1944, when Planck was eighty-five, an Allied bomb fell on his house and he lost everything —papers,diaries, a lifetime of accumulations. The following year his surviving son was caught in a conspiracy to assassinate Hitler and executed.

From Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything

If the cover doesn't lure you in, the prose is bound to hook you, eventually.

I’m about half way through Bill Bryson’s Notes from a Small Island, book number one on my summer reading list, and, having purchased it for two reasons, it seems to have lived up to both, somewhat.

Reason one for the purchase: reviews of my first Stephen Clarke novel said he was Britain’s very own Bill Bryson. Now, I really enjoyed Clarke’s A Year in the Merde, perhaps because I was just ending my sixth week of vacationing in France as I started the novel and could sympathize quite readily with its protagonist (well, minus the bit about snagging a French mistress).  It seemed, then, that if Clarke was held in such esteem as this Bill Bryson character, then Bryson’s work ought to be spectacular.

The second reason explains why I chose Notes from a Small Island, as opposed to the more American Bryson book, A Walk in the Woods.  I’m going to be visiting the titular island in a few months, since it’s only a hop skip and a jump from Gaul, and I believe I have a standing invitation for a personal tour of London-town.  So it’s only right of me to try and understand the British before I pay them a visit.

What I am finding, in fact, is that I’m coming to understand Americans much more than the British Bryson is purportedly writing about – it reminds me of my last two trips to Europe, where I came back with a much better understanding of America, and still somewhat confused about the French.  Bryson’s book is a testament to learning through comparison, as every tidbit of British trivia arrives through American eyes.  Whether it’s finding the grass at Versailles to actually be much greener, or suffering a bout of homesickness wishing for buffalo wings and cheddar cheese (how the French can ever make a taco without cheddar still apalls me), I think I get what Bryson’s saying: [Insert country here] is great, so long as you’ve got some place else to compare it to.

As for Bryson’s book itself: the writing is witty, the plot somewhat tedious.  I get it – it’s rainy on that small island.  So you spent a couple of days (ok, most of your trip) rather wet.  Luckily Bryson limits weatherly descriptions to a paragraph per chapter (two paragraphs, max), and fills the majority of his book with quirky stories ranging from the Duke of Marlborough’s magical toothbrush to the (fake) authentic Roman ruins hidden under tarp and brush.

One complaint might be that the book dates itself: way back in 1995, Bryson began complaining about Cellphone Man, and his incessant rambling on the machine attached to his ear.  Bryson goes further to compare his current journey to the first visit he paid to each of these places, sometime in the 1970s, while dreading the impact of the presence of Korean companies in the UK in the distant future of 2010.

I want to know: does Milton Keynes still have deserted pedestrian pathways that meander about and an incredibly confusing street grid?  Must I still confirm thrice that I am, in fact, on a train to Barnstaple?  Will I still be showered with advice on how I ought to have left yesterday to get from Surrey to Cornwall?

A contemporary source confirms, yes, yes and yes.

About two weeks ago, my oldest son and I got for a mini shoot. He needed some head shots for his portfolio and I needed some photos to add to mine. So it was a win-win situation for the both of us. I enjoyed spending a little time with him, as I always do.

We headed out to one of Fort Worth’s nature trails. It was a pretty overcast day, with the sun peeking out from behind the clouds every now and then. But I think we pulled off a few decent shots. Here are a few of them.

While taking this photo a heard very loud, and not to mention feriocious barking in the distance behind me. I quickly snap the photo, since Bryson wasn’t flinching at all, and turned to look behind me. In a fenced in yard behind me was the biggest rottweiler I’d ever seen in my life! I know it weighed a good 150 pounds easily! So needless to say, we didn’t venture any further. We called it a wrap and headed back to the car.

And one last shot back at my place…

“I do not know why I go on. I do not search for truth. I do not believe in it. But I believe in something. Maybe simply in the beauty of the world which I wander or in the will to live itself.” – Unknown

Capri

First I have to note that Capri is pronounced “KAAH-pri” not “Ka-PREE”. I had to mentally reverse this constantly before opening my mouth, because I wanted to say Capri like the pants.

Inside the Boat

Arlene, our roommate Jen, and I all head to the island of Capri. It was a bit overcast in the morning, but luckily the sun came out and it ended up being a beautiful day! It is spendy to get to Capri because of the boat ride, but well worth it. The “boat” that takes us to the island is more like a mini airplane inside. We were expecting a small shuttle-boat but instead were on this giant ferry meets airplane with a bazillion seats inside. I have to trust that all those seats are necessary in the peak tourist season, because at the moment, it seems completely unnecessary.

Upon arrival, we decide to take one of the small, normal boats around the island. It took us first to the famous “Blue Grotto.” Our  main boat is anchored and we exit into a little rowboat where we are asked to sit on the floor of the boat. The three of us cram into the back section of the rowboat (another girl in the front) and the rower sits in the middle. We soon learn this is necessary because the cave entrance-way into the blue grotto is only a few feet high. After some tetris-like maneuvering, we are all comfortable enough and in we go! The rower leans all the way back on us to save his head as we enter, and we nearly crash into a boat exiting, but all is forgotten the second we look around inside the cave. The water is a brilliant, glowing blue caused by the sunlight passing into the cave though the water. I learn this used to be Roman Emperor Tiberius’ private swimming pool. Like an idiot, I still had my sunglasses on, so I was amazed for a second time once the rower told me to take them off! Wow…even more brilliant blue! We row around for a few minutes admiring the magical water while “O Sole Mio” is sung to us and soon we are back out into the main sea and onto the original boat.

Blue Grotto

The hour long boat ride around Capri is a fantastic way to see the island. We see a couple more grottos (green & white, but nothing like the blue grotto) and the rest of the natural beauty that is Capri. The water everywhere is a beautiful turquoise.

Boat ride around Capri

After docking back at the pier we decide to wander. Here is where the story goes bad strange unexpected…well, I don’t know how to describe it! We see a sign that says “City Centre” and decide that is where we shall head. Following the arrows, we quickly learn that the city center is at the top of the island. This means we are walking uphill, through the while picturesque, also torturous, stone walkway to the center for about thirty minutes. Oh no. I am so miserable and hot. We were expecting this pleasant, relaxing day in Capri and here we are under the hot (formerly pleasant) sun hiking uphill for what felt like forever! Even Bill Bryson agrees, “Neither [of my guidebooks] so much as hinted that Capri town was miles away up a vertical mountainside. I looked around for a bus or a taxi or even a burro, bu there was nothing, so with a practiced sigh I tuned and began the long trek up. It was a taxing climb, mollified by some attractive villas and sea views. [...] a mile or so along, some steep and twisting steps had been hewn out of the undergrowth and they appeared to offer a more direct, if rather more precipitate, route to Capri town. I have never seen such endless steps. They just went on and on. They were closed in by the whitewashed walls of villas on both sides and overhung by tumbling fragrant shrubs – highly fetching, but after about the three hundredth step I was gasping and sweating so much that the beauty was entirely lost on me. [...] it looked as if the summit might be just ahead, but then I would round a turning to be confronted by another expanse of steps and yet another receding view of town. I stumbled on…”

Lilics

Finally we arrive (thank you God) and window shop the trendy, expensive stores filled with jewelry, crystal, clothing, swimwear, and accessories. The view from the city center was fantastic as it overlooked the whole island and the sea. Well, its the LEAST that I expect after that unexpected workout. Haha. We grab lunch and discover we have time to explore. We read in Jen’s guidebook that  here we can find Villa Jovis, the remains of Tiberius’ palace he created after fleeing Rome to escape assassination. The book states that Tiberius enjoyed secret pleasures in this palace. Huh? They can’t be that secret if a couple thousand years later it is in a guidebook, can they?

Grrr...

For nearly an hour we follow these tricky little signs up, yes up, more picturesque, winding roads to try to find Villa Jovis. The signs began at the City Center, but only provided the name and an arrow. We constantly thought we must have arrived, but looking around and seeing no palace, we intelligently assumed we had not. The arrow signs were now being accompanied with informative signs about Villa Jovis, so we think, “Ok, if they are telling us about the place…surely we are here now.” Nope, not quite.

This continued and continued. We did enjoy ourselves along the way. The walkways through Capri took us past a plethora of beautiful homes and gardens. The weather was perfect and we could look down upon the island and the sea the whole way. I could smell the lilacs the framed many of the home’s entrance-ways. I could also smell the lemon trees all over, so the walk was quite pleasant besides the thoughts that we may never reach the palace…which ultimately we never did! We got SO close. We saw some ruins… but not the right ruins. Finally we came to a clearing, in which no more of the teasing arrows would even point our way. We looked up ahead and saw, at the very peak of the island…Villa Jovis. It was at least another 20 minutes away and at this time, we had to turn around to catch the boat back. Ah, what could’ve been.

Ruins...but alas not Villa Jovis

On the walk back down, we treated ourselves to gelato, and ultimately had to run the final stretch to make the boat. On the boat ride back we all instantly crashed. All that uphill walking!

Back in Sorrento, we wandered the shopping streets and we grabbed a nice dinner. Back in the hostel, which was very quiet tonight, we hung with a couple new friends also staying in the hostel, Ian & Tori, grabbed a table and enjoyed our bottles of wine. Ian, Tori, & I unexpectedly stayed up until sunrise listening to music on Ian’s laptop, reminiscing our youth. Ian even danced the “Cupid Shuffle” for me!

Tomorrow will be our final night in Sorrento…after visiting Pompeii during the day.

View from the top of Capri

… She hopes that Cover To Cover helps inspire her to complete those pesky school-reads.

Name: Audrey
Your 2009 goal: 25
Favorite authors: J.R.R. Tolkien, Bill Bryson, Shakespeare (do plays count?) Still figuring out the rest. I think Oscar Wilde as well.
Favorite books: Anthem, Lamb, All by Tolkien, All by Shakespeare, Harry Potter, The book about Shakespeare by Billy Bryson, the usual.
Favorite time/setting/circumstance to read: I read before I go to sleep. Or when I have free time.
Other: Most of the books I read are for class, but I like most of them. I also hardly finish them. I want to. Hopefully this will stimulate me to actually finish them at some point in time.

Name: Kathryn
Your 2009 goal: 60
Favorite authors: Jane Austen, Oscar Wilde, Paulo Coehlo, Bill Bryson, Jen Lancaster (she has written three memoirs/humor books – absolutely hysterical), Kate Chopin, Patricia Cornwell, Emily Giffin, Borges…the list goes on and on, but these are the ones I always come back to
Favorite books: I’m a Stranger Here Myself by Bill Bryson (always always always makes me laugh), Pride and Prejudice, The Alchemist
Favorite time/setting/circumstance to read: I can’t fall asleep without unwinding with a book, and I usually spend my evening commute reading – but my favorite time to read is spending a lazy day at home, curled up in my bed, preferably with the rain hitting the window, completely absorbed in a book!
Other: I’m excited to be part of the group and to see what everyone else is reading!

Name: Jose
Your 2009 goal: 50
Favorite authors: HST, William Saroyan, Roth, John O’Brien, Cormac McCarthy, Nicol Smith, Exley, Russell Hoban, Breece D’J Pancake
Favorite books: Days of Life and Death and Escape to the Moon, Where Strange Roads Go Down, Bridge of San Luis Rey, Elementary Particles, The Road
Favorite time/setting/circumstance to read: I travel for work, so I read on planes, in hotels, in airports and while waiting for the rental car.

Name: Gina aka Cacia Y. Pepe
Your 2009 goal: 30+
Favorite authors: Raymond Carver, Dodie Bellamy, Hunter S. Thompson, F. Scott Fitzgerald, John Steinbeck, Anne Waldman, Malcolm Gladwell, Harryette Mullen
Favorite books: Gonzo: The Life Of Hunter S. Thompson, Cunt-ups, Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas, The Great Gatsby, Of Mice And Men, Outliers, Jesus Guitar, Fight Club, Choke, Academonia
Favorite time/setting/circumstance to read: I like to read when I’m relaxed. I like to read when there is nothing good on T.V.. I like to read when I walk during my break at work. I like to read with my legs dangled across my boyfriend on the back couch, while he reads. I like to read when I wake up late on a Sunday morning, and pick up my book from next to my bed. I like to read when I’m in bed, ready to sleep, and my eyes just aren’t that tired yet. I like to read when I’m at my Aunt Lou’s cabin, swinging in her hammock, on a clean crisp day. I like to read on the beach and get little clumps of sand stuck in the pages. I like to read during long road trips. I like to read while friends’ bands practice their music. I wish I could always read…
Other: This is my year of Hunter. He has about 15 books that it will be possible for me to obtain. I plan on rotating every other book with a Hunter S Thompson book, until I have finished them all. He is my new idol, and I have become slightly obsessed with him. I would also like to read everything by Dodie Bellamy. After meeting her this summer, and staying in correspondence with her since then, I would like to divulge my brain into her work as much as possible.