Monthly Archives: October 2008

Today

Well, since there are two or three people who are actually checking back with me, I suppose I ought to update this poor neglected blog.

As for the doily, it is currently neglected too.  I have somehow been doing this, that and the other for the last couple of weeks, instead of pressing on.  I did complete the name portion, and after starting work on the edging, ripped it (the edging) out and decided to put a row of solid double crochet all around and then build on that.

We have had beautiful weather for the last week or two.  It seems like autumn is finally coming, even though the afternoons are warm and I still can’t leave for the day in a sweater, since I would most definitely be sweating by afternoon.  But the leaves are finally beginning to hint at turning, and the mornings are crisp.  It was nice this morning as I walked the five or six blocks from work (I dropped my gas-empty car there first) through the edge of downtown and an old residential neighborhood to the library, toting my bookbag and trying to avoid the wet grass in my sandles, hopping from patchy sidewalk to street to gutter.  In fact, since I have the same walk between me in the library basement and work, and… now eleven minutes left before the open sign should be glowing, I ought to get going.


Voila

So, I really did finish The Doily.  I’m having to use the scanner, so I couldn’t get a picture of the whole thing.  But this should give you the idea:

Ready to give away to one of the sweetest ladies!

And this is my new project.  One of the dreaded name doilies (which is coming along much faster than I’d hoped, actually, and much less dreadfully):

It will eventually read, “Nelson”, and of course I’ll add a border later.  Do you think it’s legible?


Rainbow’s End

This is the title of the book I started yesterday.  And finished yesterday.  All 259 pages… which is a lot for me in one 24-hour period.  I just couldn’t stop.

I was hurriedly browsing through the shelf of new biographies at the library yesterday morning, knowing I was on the verge of being late for work already.  I added a book about three Iranian women to my already-grabbed Trollope novel, and then glanced at the brown cover of one subtitled, “A memoir of childhood, war, and an American Farm.”  I stuck it in my pile and headed for the counter.

Later I pulled it out again and realized, there beside the little crouching cowgirl with hat, gun, and dog in hand, the subtitle didn’t read “…American Farm,” but “African”.  Hmm.  I opened it up and began to read.

Now, let me disclaim here.  The preface is an account of the guerilla massacre of a Rhodesian family in the 1970’s.  It is a violent way to begin.  The attack occured in the home where the book’s author, Lauren St John, would later move in and grow up: the game reserve called Rainbow’s End.  Even though she was not there that night, the event had a great affect on the direction of Lauren’s family and her own life.  There are also a few scattered references to things better skipped over, and some language, although it’s not very liberaly sprinkled.  This lady did not grow up in a Christian home, and actually, the story is the story of her family slowly falling apart, and a young girl having to figure things out mostly on her own.  So be forewarned.

But.  It is also the story of the Rhodesian Bush War of the 1960’s-early 1980’s, from the perspective of a descendant of four generations of “European” Rhodesians.  It is living history, history of a place and time I knew very little about.  It is a compelling snapshot of the life of a child growing into an adult in an extraordinary, frightening, time and in a world that seems so strangely unlike what I thought Africa, or Zibabwe, is or ever was.  Yes, I know, I am showing my ignorance.

As the story comes to a close, Ms. St John speaks of the changing of names, beginning with the very name of the country, from Rhodesia to Zimbabwe.  The city where she attended school even gained a new name: Harare.  And I thought, I know that name!  That is one of the cities that our congregation sends Bible correspondence courses to.  I’ve graded many myself.  In fact, I have a letter, given to me by another “teacher”, from a 20-year-old student who is seeking a pen-pal.  I’ve had it for months, and somehow I just haven’t known what to say.  I went and dug it out of my desk today, and looked at the address, just to make sure: yes, Beaulah is from Zimbabwe.  In fact, she lives in the very town about which Lauren St John writes.  I’ve been reading about her own home, albeit 25-30 years ago, but what a nice surprise.  Maybe now I can find something to say!

 

A review, from someone obviously more practiced than I at writing them, is here.