MAOIE Christmas

Maomao has been a great distraction for me these past few weeks. I'm trying hard to get her to love me and she's trying hard to remind me that she's still a little bit wild inside. I have to remember that Mao lost a companion too when Sam died. Recently, she's become more social with us, as if trying to own us but on her terms. One way she shows me is by attacking me whenever I whistle. She hates whistling but only bites me. I used to think she was mad that I whistle but now I think that when she rakes my foot with her claws or clamps onto my eyebrow with her teeth, she's simply trying to train ME. Christmas carols are especially offensive to her. It doesn't matter whether it's Michael Buble on my iTunes or Tony Bennett on television, she immediately comes over to me and sinks her still kitten-sharp teeth into my skin whenever she hears it. People say, "Why do you whistle if you know she's going to react like that?" I think I'm trying to see if it's just a fluke or if I am really interacting with her. All of my pets have always communicated with me in some way. Mao keeps me at paw's length but I can tell that as long as we are "talking," we have a bond. I think it's sort of cute, in a way.  I just have to keep the Neosporin handy, that's all. This Christmas, our house is dark and my heart is heavy. But inside, I'm trying my best to coax a small black cat out from the underneath and maybe...just maybe, into my empty arms. Merry Christmas.

Climbing Back Up

 

Overcoming grief is a little like climbing out of a very deep, dark hole. A part of you doesn't want to make the effort to ascend because it's an affirmation, an acceptance that everything has changed. It's like resurfacing, but missing one of your arms. I don't feel whole. Some might say that's the definition of depression. Whatever it is, I am definitely not in the holiday mood. This Christmas, there's a hole in my heart. And at least for now, I want to keep it that way. I miss you, Sammy.

Sam

Tristan's My Sam 

June 10, 1999 - November 28, 2011

RIP Sweet, beautiful Sam. Our hearts are broken into a million pieces. We will love you and hold you in our hearts forever. 

"It's not that I am lonely for you. I am mutilated. 
For you were a part of me."  ~ Author unknown.

Why I've Never Spanked My Child

 This story is great. It perfectly exemplifies why I've never spanked my child.

 "When I was about twenty years old, I met an old pastor's wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn't believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking--the first in his life. And she told him he would have to go outside and find a switch for her to hit him with. The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, 'Mama, I couldn't find a switch, but here's a rock you can throw at me.' All of the sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child's point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone. The mother took the boy onto her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. Because violence begins in the nursery--one can raise children into violence." 

From a peace prize acceptance speech given by Astrid Lindgren, author of Pippi Longstocking

Sickening

Too little, too late. Today, Ohio Governor John Kasich signed an executive order cracking down on the ownership of exotic animals like those killed in Zanesville this week. This story made me physically ill. Why  Terry Thompson was allowed to buy so many wild animals that he obviously could not afford to keep is bewildering and maddening. Ohio, like many other states, has some of the laxest regulations on the keeping of exotic animals as pets. While this horrifying incident has forced lawmakers into hotshotting legislation to keep this from happening again, it's obviously too late for the wild animals who were shot because they were being wild animals. Of course, blame should be placed on the idiot whose greed placed these creatures where they should never have been, but since he's conveniently dead too, then the onus should be on lawmakers whose job it is to protect us from our own stupidity. When I saw the pictures of these beautiful creatures, dead and stacked up on the lawn like bags of mulch, I seriously wanted to throw up. And even though experts from the Columbus Zoo and the a statement from the Humane Society of the U.S. assured us that shooting to kill was the proper course of action, given the lack of daylight and the frightened state of the animals, in order to protect humans, I was still not comforted. How could this have happened? Of course, had it occurred here in Texas, residents would have interpreted warnings of exotic animals on the loose as a call to arms and grandmothers and children would have joined in on some "good huntin'." Sometimes I am truly ashamed of my own species. It's no wonder the stories of bear attacks, mountain lion maulings and shark bites have increased in frequency in the news lately. Maybe it's God or Nature, or whoever you believe in, trying to tell us to leave the animals where they are and quit destroying them and their homes. I am sickened by what humans have done to other animals (yes, we are animals too) just because we CAN. There's no reason anymore for having circuses and zoos either. I don't need to go see a panther or an elephant in person to know that one exists. We have a new thing called "the internet" where you can see videos and pictures in high definition color of these creatures where they should be: in the wild. Seeing one chained up in a small enclosure decorated to look like the wild environment they belong in does not fool me into thinking I've seen one in the wild. Leave the animals were they belong and quit bothering them. Greed and ignorance will destroy creatures we are supposed to share this planet with, not manipulate for profit. I hope this nightmare strangles all businesses that profit from the existence of exotic animals, including circuses and some zoos. And don't even get me started on idiots who hunt for entertainment who I believe should meet their adversaries on equal grounds. Bear hunting may not be so much "fun" if the hunter were enclosed with the 7-foot tall grizzly with 8-inch daggers on his paws. THAT, I'd pay to see.

Black is the New Black

What Secret Asian Girl is (Finally) Reading: The Help

After two attempts, and threatened by a 400+ customer waiting list, I finally checked out The Help by Katherine Stockett,...and read it. No reason not to, other than being too busy. Once I got into it, it only took me a few days. No surprise that I really liked it. It's not the best historical fiction novel I've ever read, but it was easily read and emotional without being weepy. I did cry during the movie, which closely followed the book, only leaving out a few side stories. I love the plight of the underdog and, with a few exceptions, there's no more trod upon than the African-American woman, especially pre-1970. This is a story about strong women, both black and white, who had the courage to go against the tide, fearing not only the wrath of their fellow citizens but also the disdain of their peers. Although the heroism of this story is often aimed at Aibileen, the nose-to-the-grindstone maid who found strength in just taking one step forward each day after the death of her son, or Minnie, the smart-mouthed maid who struggled with knowing when to stop talking back or Skeeter, the reluctant Southern belle who saw injustice and dared to speak of it, I saw the most courage elsewhere. The bravest character, to me, was Celia Foote, a woman who, unlike the others, didn't enjoy the comfort of fitting in anywhere, but who continued to stand at the door of the party hoping to be invited in. While the others found sympathy in their friends or at home, Celia stood alone in her hooker clothes and fake boobs, not really sure why she was shunned. In the end, Celia became a stronger woman while losing the least. I closed the last page on this book wondering what happened to Skeeter and the others as the 1960's ended. The rest of the world changed but, as so often happens, not for those whose lives might be affected most. I'm also surprised at how white people have embraced this book, since it paints a not-so-flattering picture of how some attitudes were - and, in my opinion, continue to be. As a woman living in the South, I still see women who won't change their hairstyle without the expressed permission of their husband, or who decline lunch invitations because they have to rush home to fix a meal for their spouse. I'm curious about those women, and why they devalue themselves or need permission from someone else to live their lives. I can't decide if I'm more a Skeeter, who is unafraid to write what I think or a Minnie who speaks before thinking. Probably a combination of both. The fact that both these women can even be thought of as combined is a testament to how far we've come...and how far we have yet to go. I'd like to think I share both but I will tell you this: I have never burned my chicken.

Pure Fantasy

Wildfires - Labor Day 2011

Montgomery County wildfires, 3 days old, as seen 
from my neighborhood.

Back to School

The start of another school year brings back memories - of my own, and also of sending Tristan off to a new year, each one more dreaded than the last. I wonder if, in retrospect, he will look back upon those times as I do and think, 
"Those were the easy years."

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading: Caleb's Crossing

While I may have put off reading Caleb's Crossing because I was intimidated by its Pulitzer Prize-winning author, Geraldine Brooks, the novel's fascinating story drew me back in and I'm really glad. It's about Caleb Cheeshahteamuck, the first Native American to graduate from Harvard. What makes it unusual is the year: 1665. It's told from the perspective of a minister's daughter, Bethia, whose own quest for knowledge and desire to attend a school - any school, much less Harvard, will go unanswered. Not even progressive thinking at a soon-to-be major university will bypass the limitations imposed on her sex at this time in history. Acknowledging this, Bethia befriends Caleb and encourages him to explore her society's culture, religion and comparatively vast resources. She tells Caleb that by becoming educated, he can help his own people in ways that he can't imagine. He agrees, realizing that setting aside his Indian upbringing in favor of an uncertain future puts his own culture -and his personal safety - at risk. I found the story to be inspirational and uplifting, especially since Caleb Cheeshahteamuck was indeed a real person, a member of the Wampanoag tribe living on the American eastern seaboard in the 17th century, who did graduate from Harvard in 1665. The other characters, except for well-known scholars and leaders of the time, are fictional. Bethia's character adds a measure of irony as her aid and support for Caleb's (and other's) dream eclipsed her own dream of a formal education, which she was forced to gain by stealthy means: she took on the position of an indentured servant to help pay for her brother's schooling and continued to work there even after her brother realized that school was not his forté and left. By choosing a menial job in the Buttery, Bethia found she could listen to lectures through the walls of the next door classroom. She ends up every bit as educated and knowledgeable as the men in her life but sadly, is neither recognized nor compensated for it. As a woman, her options remain limited, but she is savvy enough to know that by supporting Caleb, and others like him, she improves the world for her children. This is one of the few books I've read that made me cry at the end, as much for the characters lives as for the conclusion of the story. I wondered, as I read the book, if the "Crossing," part of the title referred to Caleb's trip from the safety and innocence of his island to the intimidating world of foreign education and all the global implications of knowing what you didn't before or if it meant his returning to the roots from which he was born and accepting the part of you that will always be there - and to which you will always return - even when you know there are other possibilities.  I think the term "Crossing" does not necessarily imply going to a better place but perhaps to an inescapable realization of your true self. All the other stuff is fanfare and flourishes.  Wonderful read.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

Ham Solo

No reason...just made me laugh.

Last Shuttle Launch

In the late summer of 1971, I went to Hawaii with my uncle (who worked for NASA) my aunt, and my sister. My uncle was working on the recovery mission for Apollo 15, which was set to splash down into the Pacific in August and my sister and I were going to visit our grandparents who lived on Oahu. I remember being unimpressed by the fact that a space orbiter, containing astronauts David Scott, James Irwin and Alfred Worden, had just spent 3 days on the surface of the moon and was making a pinpoint crash into the ocean. It seemed....normal. I was homesick (in Hawaii, for God's sake) and missed my new puppy, Popi. Even though I spent my 10th birthday (in Hawaii, for God's sake) I was sad. Well, I never said I wasn't an idiot. The full impact of being a part of space history was inexorably lost on me. Inexorably, yes...but not irretrievably. A few hours ago, the very last shuttle to be launched into space left the launchpad in Cape Canaveral, Florida. A beautiful sight, one that, strangely, has become commonplace. I watched it with tears in my eyes. With the economy (and ideology) being what it is today, it may be a very long time before we see its like again. We lack the resources but also the clear vision for our long-term survival. Our short-term survival has become the focus. And understandably so. But there's so much more to explore out there. At what point do we look at what we have left and prepare for the day when what we have is no longer enough? Then where do we go? I guess that's up to politicians and purse-string holders. I've seen many, many rocket launches in my life - each one full of the dreams of so many, to "slip the surly bonds of earth...to touch the face of God." I've taken most of them for granted. Forty years later, 10 days from my 50th birthday...today, I  watched the last one I will probably ever see in my life. I wonder about all the unanswered questions and if we've sacrificed our future because of our short-sightedness. I guess I'll never find out. God speed, Atlantis.

Back to Work

Sunset

The first measurable rain in 5 months produced 
this sunset last night.

Interesting Film

Zero 

A stop-motion film by Christopher and Kristine Kezelos. 
So many issues.

Does Over Parenting = Unhappy Adults?

Lou Brooks

In terms of parenting, on a scale of 1-10, I consider myself a 14. I'm not bragging or patting myself on the back, though, because I'm beginning to realize that I (and so many of my friends who competed for Queen Mom) may have made a grave mistake. A recent article in The Atlantic suggests that over concentration on making your kids happy may doom them to unhappiness later in life. The article, "How to Land Your Kid in Therapy," is making headlines and I think there may be something to it. I know that whenever something is popular or desired (whether it be perfect parenting or Martha Stewart's lifestyle), there is someone out there who is chomping at the bit to bring it down, usually by producing data or quasi-proof that everyone is wrong. My instinct was usually that the critic was one of those people who likes to say, "All you people are going in the wrong direction. You're idiots." Sometimes that's true, but it's not just this article that has had me thinking this way. Little background: I have one child. One child with whom I was home for twelve years. He was the focus of my undistracted attention, which was also partly to blame for the demise of my marriage - but that's another story. I wasn't just room mom, I was PTO president. Sometimes he would say to me, "Can't you just be a regular mom?" But I didn't hear him. I mean, I heard his words, but I thought that if volunteering a few hours a month at school was good, then winning recognition for over 100 hours per year was better. And I wasn't alone. Most of my friends did the same -- I just took it one step further. I had snacks waiting for him daily when he came home, prepared with multi-colored bread I drove all over to find. I created paparazzi events when he boarded the bus on the first day of school, baked homemade croissants for my fellow parents at the bus stop, planned summer field trips for his friends and enrolled him in gymnastics, which ended up taking up 24 hours per week in practice and $6k per year in tuition and travel. He had a choice...sort of. It became his life and he didn't really know any better. But I did. I fell into the trap of getting sucked into extracurricular things that consume your life as a child and as a family. As his successes at gym grew, the rest of his life faltered. But I wanted him to be happy, or what I perceived it to be, even if it meant excluding everything else. I cheered him on, as I always had, at school and at competitions and I hoped it would be enough. 

When he had his almost inevitable sports-ending injury, everything came to a screeching stop. There was nothing to fall back on. He was a kid who had heard applause most of his life for things he could no longer do. At school, he stood out because of me, because I was a constant presence. He struggled with generating his own value...and it was my fault. It's not just my kid. I see his friends, who have also never known disappointment; who've never pumped their own gas, or had to work for a car or did anything without the safety net of their overprotective parents. They don't know failure or struggle or hunger - and not just hunger for food - hunger for something that they have to work for. There's no satisfaction in getting anything because they haven't earned anything. Everything is handed to them by parents like me, well-intentioned parents who want better for their kids. They go to schools where they are applauded for going to the bathroom, given bonus points for sharing, and trophies just for showing up. Individual accomplishment - as well as natural talent - is marginalized when everyone gets a trophy, why don't we see that? And so, we release these woefully unprepared kids out into the world and wonder why they're so unhappy. They had amazing childhoods, supportive parents, days filled with pool parties and summer vacations. Why are they so sad? Could it be because real bosses don't welcome you with snacks and sandwiches made with rainbow colored bread? There's no applause when you turn in your project at work and you don't get a trophy just for coming in to work every day. 

For my child, reality hit home a bit early. The divorce forced him into seeing the world a lot differently. He's had a job since he was 15, lives at home but pays for his insurance, car, gas and some groceries. It was a shock at first but I think he's proud of his growth...and so am I. We speak of it often, how he sees his friends as unhappy and how shocked he is at how naive they are. There but for the grace of God... He still struggles with disappointment and some sadness but I'm lucky that he's a very self-aware young man who understands why he feels this way. He says he's sorry that he had to give up that kind of life but says he wouldn't have had it any other way. He pities his friends who have yet to see the light of self-sufficiency and wonders how it will affect them when they're out on their own. I look at my mistakes and see new parents making those same mistakes and want to warn them but I suppose epiphanies are self-actuated. As parents, we do our jobs as best we can and cross our fingers that they'll be okHe makes mistakes, some spectacularly stupid ones, and I've learned to let him fall. It's crucial that he learns to pick himself up on his own. And when he does, I acknowledge, but I don't applaud.

Happy Father's Day!

It's funny, when I think of my dad, I remember the times when he would thump me on the forehead and say, "You're a 'pohaku head.' No common sense." In Hawaiian, I think it means 'hard-headed, like a stone.' I now look at it as a term of endearment but at the time, it just hurt. Ouch. Happy Father's Day, Daddy.  Miss you.

Happy 12th Birthday to Sam

Happy birthday sweet Sam!! 
You are the perfect puppy....sweet, smart, loyal and true. 
I'm so happy you're here, beautiful boy!

Slow

Goodbye Oprah

They call it television history. The end of an era. As cheesy as it sounds, I will miss Oprah. The show was one of those staples, like coming home from school and always having a snack waiting for you. No matter what kind of day you had, it was nice to count on someone always there, talking about something you may or may not find interesting but nevertheless always familiar. And familiar is comforting. It bears repeating that she was like a good friend who everybody goes to for advice because she seems to know what she's doing. You felt like you could walk up to her on the street and say, "So I was thinking about what you said the other day..."  Of course, you can't, mostly because her bodyguards would beat you down to the street. She's Oprah. In the past few years it seemed that she'd become a caricature of herself, believing in her own "persona." Sometimes she made me mad and I will confess to at least one hotly fired off e-mail to the show to complain that she'd lost touch with her audience; that she believed all the press about how she was above reproach. The show with Lisa Marie Presley, for example, irritated me when it seemed to me that all the questions were elitist and pompous: "So...ain't it great to be able to not have to worry about money?" I'm paraphrasing, of course, but I thought that she'd forgotten who her audience was (or at least, started as): housewives and exhausted moms who clip coupons to get by. Fortunately, there were few shows that showed that side of Oprah. The compassionate and sometimes self-effacing side of her is probably what touched most people. I loved watching her and Gayle on the road and Oprah trying to pump gas, something she admitted she hasn't done in 20 years. Television magic! Her generosity, not just of material things like cars, houses, full scholarships...but also her generosity of spirit, her willingness to share ugly personal things with the viewers and open to take in the ugly sides of others with little or no judgment. Those things were also appealing to me even though cynically, I always suspected that it was easy to be compassionate and generous when you had the world on a string and no worries yourself. I read an article recently about the "Gospel of Oprah," and how her flock of viewers interacted with her in the same way that a religious leader reels in the faithful of her constituents. I think there's some truth to that statement, even though I'm offended that I was preached to without even knowing it. She was always conscious of not revealing too much of her strong faith in God in her "message," even though it was obvious that it was a compelling force in her life. I respected that, her respect for not wanting to impose her own religious beliefs on me. But maybe it went through anyway. Normally, I'd be pissed, but somehow, it seems okay because it's Oprah. I put off watching her last show for a few days because I was convinced it would be too sad. And it was. And I got teary a few times. She talked about thanking the audience for the privilege of being able to come into their homes all these years. For being faithful and to remember to live each day being true to yourself and your calling. Sounds like a sermon to me. The transparent curtain of religious restraint came down altogether, though, as she talked about Jesus and I think her last words on the stage were, "Praise be to God." Again, that's okay. If I were her, I'd be on my knees weeping and thanking God and everyone else for the miraculously successful run I'd just ended too. Goodbye, Oprah, I'll miss you and...you're welcome.

Still Here

Judgment Day at Jurassic Park

Lucky 13

Friday the 13th? Yeah, so what?
I crossed my hoomin's path 36 times today. My work is done.

Happy Mother's Day!!!

 

Always photogenic Sam....

Thus ended another Mother's Day - and also another camera.

Teasing Dogs

Ota Benga

Ota Benga 1883-1916, an African Congolese pygmy

There's been some buzz lately about a book called, Ota Benga: The Pygmy at the Zoo by Harvey Blume and Philips Verner Bradford. It's a fascinating story, one that I've never heard of, about an African pygmy tribesman who was captured in 1904 by a North Carolina adventurer, Samuel Verner Bradford (grandfather of one of the authors) and purchased for some salt and yards of cloth.  His hunting group had been butchered along with his wife and children. Ota was displayed in the Bronx NY Zoo as an exhibit.  The plaque on the cage read: The African Pygmy, 'Ota Benga.' Age, 23 years. Height, 4 feet 11 inches. Weight 103 pounds. Brought from the Kasai River, Congo Free State, South Central Africa, by Dr. Samuel P. Verner. Exhibited each afternoon during September." The cage was strewn with bones and grasses and Ota was expected to squat and weave things and occasionally pick up a bow and arrow and shoot it. Eventually, an orangutan was put in the cage with him and he carried it around like a child to the delight of zoo visitors. The zoo director saw nothing ethically wrong with displaying a human being in a zoo with animals and at the St. Louis fair, Ota was a popular attraction along with other human "oddities of nature" from the Philippines, Japan and South America. The one dissenting voice came from the Reverend James H. Gordon, of the Colored Baptists Ministers' Conference whose objection was to the blatant racism but also more theological in nature. He was afraid that showing a black human with apes would give people ideas of Darwinism and detract from his Christian message. The Bronx Zoo director, clueless as to the negative attention, insisted that "(Benga)...has one of the best rooms in the primate house." Ota was allowed more freedom but eventually, because of some violent episodes, he was released to Rev. Gordon's Howard Colored Orphan Asylum in Brooklyn.  Here, he learned to write a little, along with children a third his age.  He was able to work a few jobs and often paid bus fare with a wild bird egg or a rabbit. On March 20, 1916, Ota Benga, once a proud pygmy warrior, went behind his small house and shot himself through the heart. It's no wonder that this is not a well known story. It's certainly one that is easily shoved under the carpet or stored in the dusty closet of human nature. Still, while I really don't need any more affirmation regarding what some humans are capable of doing to each other and other living creatures, I'm anxious to read this book. Bitter, much? Sometimes it seems so.

Wonders Why No One Takes Him Seriously

 

I hope now that a certificate of live birth has been produced by the state of Hawaii, we can put to rest all of the ridiculous (in my opinion) speculation. It was beginning to sound like veiled racism: he looks different, therefore he must be born elsewhere. In my humble opinion, it's the worst kind of prejudice without actually using that word. Most informed folks recognize it for the ignorant comment that it was and the stupid, bigoted people spreading rumors that the president is from Kenya....well, they're the same tiresome people who (after 50 years) continue to ask me if I'm an American. I won't show you my birth certificate but I will show you an ancient Chinese hand gesture. Not really Chinese, but how would they know?

William and Kate

Yes, I did get up to watch. Not as early as I did when Diana got married in 1981, but I recorded it and watched the entire news coverage later. It's an historic event and the next chapter in a fairy tale I've followed for most of my life. It's the future of the British monarchy and a happy ending to what was, for the most part, a sad story about real people. I don't get how so many young people can be so disinterested in this real life story... about a family that, like it or not, good or bad, has affected the history of the world we all live in. They tell me that if an event doesn't have personal impact, why should it interest them? A co-worker said "All young people worry about is themselves nowadays." I hope that's not true. I worry about a generation who can't  - or won't - see far enough into the past to know that the present exists because of what happened before. How in the world will they be able to learn from MY generation's mistakes? Whatever its significance, it was a beautiful day filled with hope, and a welcome escape from normal life. 
Sorry you missed it.

Quiz: Is Your Cat Plotting to Kill You?

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading: Swamplandia!

Probably one of the most unusual novels I've read in awhile. Swamplandia! is creative writing at its best and reminds me of some very good juvenile fiction targeted towards more open-minded audiences. I don't see this one making it in to many Book Club circles, but this is precisely the type of book I'd like to discuss (which may explain why I'm not welcome in most Book Clubs). Author Karen Russell is obscenely young (28)  - and is named as one of the New York Times' prestigious 20 Under 40 best fiction writers of the year and deservedly so. I'm impressed and disgusted at the same time. Swamplandia! is an impressive work: quirky, heart rending and achingly honest all at the same time.  Like a bad car wreck, you want to look away but you can't. Our protagonist, 12 year old Ava Bigtree is part of an eccentric family who owns and operates an Alligator Wrestling Theme Park called Swamplandia! in the humid, murky swamps of Florida. At one time, the park was the talk of the everglades but hard times and changing entertainment preferences have put the park, and the family, into dire financial straits. To make matters worse, the star of the park, Ava's mom, Hilola Bigtree, has died from cancer. As you can imagine, a family that wrestles gators for a living has a "different" take on life and handles this crisis in a non-typical manner. The kids (older sister Osceola "Ossie" and older brother Kiwi) are pretty much left on their own while their father, Chief Bigtree (whose Indian name has no ties to any Native American tribe), slowly spins out of control in his personal grief.  Ava imagines herself as her mother's gator-wrestling successor, "performing in the moonlight" as her mother did. Disgusted by their impending financial implosion and their dad's inability to save them, 16 year old Kiwi leaves home to find work at the newly built, so-advanced-it's-not-even-competition park, World of Darkness. His plan is to earn enough money to save Swamplandia!, and therefore, his family. When he discovers that he owes his new employers more money than he earns, he begins to understand the weird bubble his parents raised him in. Ossie's grief, meanwhile, manifests itself in beyond-the-grave ways, immersing herself in Ouija boards and self-imposed trances. She even believes that she's in love with a dead dredge man, accidentally killed while clearing the swamps of invasive plant life during a 1930's government-subsidized WPA whoopsies mission. All this drama takes place in the now abandoned and increasingly creepy amusement park overrun with deadly alligators that they call home. Among the Bigtree Museum are artifacts from generations of Bigtree family life: a yellowed wedding dress, gator skulls and the like. When Chief leaves his family to pursue another terrible plan (something about a salute to Darwinism), the sisters are left alone with little food or money. Ossie departs soon after to find the entrance to the Underworld so she can be with her imaginary dead lover. This leaves poor Ava alone and exposed to the glaring reality of life outside of her strange family. She sets off to find Ossie before her sister enters the dreaded Underworld and in her innocence discovers that gators with razor sharp teeth are marshmallows compared to the ugliest segments of humanity. Although the reader's instinct to want to save Ava is strong, at least as motivating is the feeling that Ava needs to wake up and realize that while her parents' eccentricities were endearing and unusual, they also became a handicap to the kids' preparation for life. This is a handbook in bad parenting skills. The descriptive narrative is excellent and you can actually feel the humid hopelessness of the failing park.  I also loved the historical background on the area and the facts surrounding the government's attempts to fix something that wasn't broken. Ava is a modern day Mockingbird's Scout, whose big heart and wide-eyed courage transcends the best intentions of her gator-loving family. This novel is a big bite of delicious storytelling when you're hungry for a satisfying read. Ugh. That even made ME gag. Just read it.

Fukushima Shelties Are Safe!

Japanese shelties abandoned in the radioactive evacuation zone around the stricken Fukushima nuclear plant have an angel in 56 year old Etsumi Ogino, a volunteer at an animal shelter. Ms. Ogino saw a news photo of these shelties left to fend for themselves when their owner was forced to leave after the disaster. A dedicated Sheltie owner herself, she contacted the photographer for a location and then called a local Sheltie Rescue group who risked their lives to round up most of the shelties and get them to a vet in the Kanegawa prefecture. They were found near Odaka Railway Station, most probably trying to find a train outta there!! (Shelties are SO smart!) Whew!! Sam is very relieved to hear that his brothers are safe. Mao....well, right now she's eating some tuna but I'm sure when she's done she'll be very happy the puppies are safe.

Hooray for Sheltie Rescuers!!

Please, please help as much as you can. Humane Society International or HEART, both are verified, authentic organizations. Or check out this page for more ways to help starving, injured animals affected by the Japanese disaster.

50 Things I've Learned In 50 Years

I'll only get to do this once.

50 Things I've Learned in 50 Years

For the Love of a Dog

Arigato Gozaimasu

Maybe it's a misplaced criticism, but amidst all the horrific news that continues to come out of Japan following the devastating earthquake, tsunami and nuclear crisis is something that is niggling at the back of my mind. Where is the emotional outpouring of grief and sympathy from the general public? When Haiti suffered through a terrible (and although it's inappropriate to compare - not AS severe as Japan's) earthquake, every popular celebrity couldn't organize fast enough to generate donations, telethons and other charity events to help the suffering victims. That wave of compassion (forgive the metaphor) seems to be missing following the triple tragedies that have occurred in Japan. Where's George Clooney? Are Kanye and Oprah too busy? Or maybe after Katrina, Darfur and Haiti, a certain Crisis Desensitization has developed. There do seem to be a lot of natural disasters lately and not every one can be addressed, I suppose. Apple's iTunes released an album today benefiting relief efforts in Japan. I went to the iTunes Store to see what songs were available and was impressed to see the artists who have donated their work for this effort. In the comment section however, was an odd smattering of people saying "Why are we doing this? Japan is a rich, industrial nation who doesn't need our help recovering." Have you watched the news lately? Ten thousand confirmed dead, over 17,000 still missing, thousands homeless, food sources scarce or contaminated...the devastation goes on and on. Regardless of how powerful a nation is, none can survive something like this without help. Didn't Katrina teach us that? I could speculate on other reasons the Japanese don't appear to need help: the people seem calm and organized with no looting or wailing for someone else to rescue them. They're not destroying what little they have left but are instead hanging onto their dignity and trying to preserve their humanity. Although the Japanese people to do not appear to require assistance, they most definitely do. Their culture just doesn't allow for that kind of helplessness. Just look at the Fukushima 50, the nuclear power plant workers who volunteered to stay behind to try to contain the a possible meltdown at the plant. These heroes knowingly risk cancer every minute they stay there to try to save thousands more from exposure. One man was 6 months away from retirement but volunteered to do what he could to help. These people, and all the survivors, make me proud of my cultural heritage. The Japanese are a proud and dignified people who will rise from these ashes as they've done before, but they need help. Please donate to the American Red Cross or to Japanese Red Cross if you can. Or you can do what I did - help the Humane Society International rescue Japanese animals in need. And that iTunes CD is only $10 for 38 songs by popular artists like Beyonce, Lady Gaga and the Black Eye Peas. All proceeds go to the Japanese Red Cross. Arigato gozaimasu.

Still Boldly Going

Happy 80th birthday to William Shatner and also to 
Leonard Nimoy who turns 80 as well on March 26. 
Long life and prosperity.

Please Help

The Humane Society of the United States is mobilizing to help animals affected by the disaster in Japan. Sam took one look at this photo and immediately whipped out his checkbook. Mao was unmoved. Please click here and give as much as you can.

The Tao of Mao

I made this mock cover of the book I'm going to write.

Sleepy Sam

Kitty herding is exhausting.

Portrait of a Mao

Beautiful kitty? Or evil trouble-maker?

Either way, her response is: Meh.

Update: Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom

Now an update to my earlier post, Tiger Mom: Declawed. At the time, I hadn't read the book but wanted to comment on how I felt regarding the whole idea of culture-based parental pressure in general, and how it did or didn't affect my own life. Now, having read the book, I was hoping to find some sort of redemption in this mom's story: whether it was true concern for her children's well being or whether she had somehow discovered the motivation behind her actions, like a need to impress her parents. What I found was a woman who is wholly unapologetic for hijacking her children's early years and who doesn't even see a need to justify it. I've never understood it; although I've seen it time and time again, in my own family as well as in other "ethnic" families, a lack of self-esteem perpetuated through generations. Whether it's cultural or just habit, the parent believes that by putting down the child, it will somehow stimulate them to try harder. I don't believe that the put-down is even fully believed by the adult; it just seems to come naturally to them. A knee-jerk behavior. To Western sensibilities, this seems harsh, but to certain cultures, it's benign and even beneficial to the child. Amy Chua does allude to this but never admits that it could be harmful. She does acknowledge the differences in the two cultures but ultimately commits herself to the belief that a child cannot motivate themselves enough, that it is up to the parent to usher the child to success. That is, success being defined as perfection.  So many times, while reading this book, I wanted to slap this woman...hard. With chopsticks. And not those disposable break-apart balsa wood ones, either.  I don't believe that Ms. Chua's treatment of her children was motivated by her concern for their welfare. I also don't think that her parent's self-made success story inspired her to want her children to exceed their expectations. I think it's far simpler than that. I believe that her motivations are purely selfish: the need to brag and feel superior to others. Whether inherited by culture or by a personal lack of self-esteem, some people simply love to look down their noses at others. Based on what I know of her own accomplishments, Ms. Chua certainly has nothing to be ashamed of. Her resume is stellar and enviable. It's possible her personality prevents her from ever being satisfied which is too bad because her personal lack of fulfillment bleeds onto her children.  My heart goes out to those kids, who don't know any different to comment on whether or not their childhood was short-changed. I told Tristan about this book and some of the things the author said to her kids and he said he could never have lived with a mom like that. I joked with him and told him that by her standards, he was an utter and complete failure. (No, we can talk like that to each other...it's okay, really) He joked back and said, "Not just by HER standards!!" We laughed and I thought to myself that I was glad his self esteem was healthy enough to make fun of himself and that our relationship was strong enough to be able to discuss such a topic. I learned a long time ago that I can't force him to do anything. I still try, but I know I'll only damage what we have. He's not perfect, but I tell you what - he's never stood up in a restaurant and shouted "I HATE YOU!!" like the daughters in this book. There's something wrong with me, as a parent, if my actions would ever incite my child to do something like that. Dear Tiger Mom, take a good look at yourself before it's too late for your kids. Stop trying to disprove your own self doubt through the achievements of your children. I'm a Tiger Mom too...but I'll fight to protect his life, not destroy it.

Happy Valentine's Day!!

Snow In Houston

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Unshelved

Every day...

Children See, Children Do

Seems like these days, our children's behavior is 
becoming less of a problem than our own.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading Now: Sarah's Key

I was just complaining to my co-workers that I need to stop reading crap (and by this I mean all that fast food, formulaic, co-authored pablum churned out by NY Times bestseller authors) when this book came along.  Sarah's Key by Tatiana De Rosnay is one of those rare, can't-put-down novels that grabs you right from the start and ushers you through the character's journey instead of stringing you along to stretch a weak story. There's nothing weak about the storyline here: In 1942, a Jewish family living in Paris is growing accustomed to having family members abruptly taken in for questioning. To prepare for the inevitable, the father hides in the cellar nightly, telling his wife and two young children to pretend they don't know where he is.  Even if he is taken in, he assures them, it will just be for a night or two. In mid July, French police, complicit with German occupied soldiers, round up thousands of Jews, mostly women and children, and keep them at the Vélodrome d'Hiver, a bicycle stadium outside of Paris. Their final destination: Auschwitz. Vél d'Hiv, as the roundup comes to be known, is a shameful black smear on the city's history and Parisians, then and today, strive to erase the memory. But back in 1942, the young family, thinking this is just one more overnight interrogation, cooperates with French police and go with them, all except for 4-year old Michel, who hides in the children's secret cupboard. Sarah, his 10-year old sister, locks him in, hoping to protect him for the night. She plans to get the key to her father when he comes out of the cellar. When Sarah's father runs out and insists on going with his family, Sarah is faced with the horrifying realization that she may have entombed her little brother in the cupboard, unless she can find a way back to unlock him. The story switches from then to present day, as displaced American writer Julia Jarmond prepares to move into a renovated Parisian apartment once owned by a Jewish family. Julia's research reveals the name of the family and Sarah's sad story but more importantly, an eye-opening account of an event in history that many would like to forget. Julia's obsession with finding out what happened 60 years ago leads her to Sarah's personal story and how her own family is connected to it. I only have one small complaint about the construction of the this novel and that's the end where the author needed to tie up the ends and get out.  Instead, it sort of meanders through another few years then stops. But overall, I found myself staying up until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning to find out what happens when the cupboard is finally reopened and how Sarah's key unlocks other secrets in Julia's life as well. Despite the setting, I wouldn't categorize this book as holocaust fiction, although without an event as traumatizing as that it's doubtful this story would ever have been plausible. If you're looking to shake off winter boredom but you can't find anything substantial that's not about vampires or millionaire playboy assassins, this is a good start.

Tiger Mom: Declawed

Okay, let's talk about it. First, I have to confess that I haven't read this book, but its highly controversial subject has been all over the news lately. I have read excerpts from the book, however, and believe me, I know how this story goes down. Amy Chua's Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother is as much a self promotion of the methods many Chinese parents utilize in child raising in order to achieve perfection as it is a bitter criticism of the way Western parents...don't. Her exacting and often brutal methods of raising her two daughters is bordering, in my opinion, on child abuse. To not allow children to exercise their right to be children, make mistakes, and enjoy the all-too-brief wonders of childhood is tragic. Ms. Chua tells a story about her daughter presenting her with a homemade birthday card. The childishly scrawled card was summarily rejected with the admonishment: Do this again. You can do better. Forget sentiment, forget the feelings behind the gift. It wasn't perfect. The author rationalizes her actions by saying, "You can't argue with the results."  Maybe I can't, but I'm sure a slew of psychiatrists will able to when these poor kids grow up and try to figure out why they feel so worthless.  Results are not the litmus test for happiness. Success...what is it, really?  How much money you make? The title on your business card?  Now, if you're going to argue that Asian (not just Chinese) students don't surpass other ethnic groups in terms of academic achievement, stop right here. It's a stereotype, a prejudice, a blanket racial epithet....and it's all true. Mostly. Having said that, I personally, never fit into the category. My grades were so-so (maybe exemplary by comparative standards) but certainly didn't live up to what you'd imagine a little Chinese/Japanese girl to produce. I've always been aware of the expectations but my parents were not the overbearing, perfection-demanding type. They never said, "You must be excellent," but it was implied.  Looking back, I'm not sure if the expectation came from them or me.  My sister, however, did fit the model. Perfect grades, perfect student...good citizen of the Model Minority. Maybe she bore the brunt of my parents' hopes, freeing me to pursue a more social life in high school. Nevertheless, if my parents had followed the handbook of the Tiger Mom, I'm certain I would have rebelled, as apparently, did one of the daughters in the book. I think one of the reasons people resent Tiger Mom is that she is unapologetic and downright smug about her methods. She insists that her own immigrant parents expected the same performance standards from her and it was "the best gift they could have given me."  I'm sure they wanted her to be happy, I'm sure they believed, like many immigrants with less opportunities in their own country, that the way to the American dream was via academic success. I agree that the Western emphasis on individual fulfillment can produce spoiled, selfish Me kids. The current trend towards permissive parenting: letting kids run wild everywhere, afraid to correct bad behavior and overcompensating small achievements (clapping for using the potty - good grief!) is producing a generation of kids who don't understand why things aren't handed to them for their meager effort. After all, my parents treated me like a superstar, why doesn't the world? I've said it before: If you give everything to your child; do everything for them, you teach them to TAKE. They never learn how to GIVE.  It's sickening and frightening. But surely there's a place in the middle between the two extremes of Tiger Mom and American Clueless? While we wrestle and argue about the best way to give our kids better than we had, a whole generation of brilliant, capable and self-sufficient kids forget that they have a brain that belongs completely and totally to them, and, if allowed, will find their own way - maybe not what we would choose for ourselves, but wholly their own. And they'll be surprised to find that it's good enough.