So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
Ethnicity. that of my father and his father before him
Location Altadena, CA
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The Link To Zanzibar's Past
This is my page in the beloved art community that my sister got me into:
Extra points for people who know what Samarinda is.
The Phases of the Moon Module
The Tree and the Telephone Pole
I Do Not Know Their Names
Today I am Young
A Night Poem
Siren of the Sea
If I Were a Dragon
To the Dreamers Leave the Sky
The Honor of the Oyster
Return From San Diego
A Late Summer's Night
Of Dragons and Men
The Edge of the World
The Snake's Terror
Metaphysics and the Middaymoon
Of Adventures in Foreign Lands
The Rogue Wave: The Unedited Version
Adventures in the PRC
Voyage of Discovery
Drinking the Blood of Goats
Ticket for a Phantom Bus
Os peixes nadam o mar
Three Villages Far Away
The River Weser
Children I Should Have Kidnapped, Part I
Let's Get You Out of Those Clothes
If Underwear Could Speak
Croc Hunter/Combat Wombat
Only My Favorite Baseball Player EVER
Aw, Larry Walker, how I loved thee.
M: Science and Exploration
T: Cook a nice dinner
Th: Parties, movies, dinners
F: Picnics, the Louvre
S: Read books, go for walks, PARKOUR
Su: Philosophy, Religion
The Reading List
This list starts Summer 2006
A Crocodile on the Sandbank
Tales of the Alhambra (in progress)
Dark Lord of Derkholm
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
The Lost Years of Merlin
Harry Potter a l'ecole des sorciers (in progress)
Atlas Shrugged (in progress)
A Long Way Gone (story of a boy soldier in Sierra Leone- met the author! w00t!)
The Eye of the World: Book One of the Wheel of Time
From Magma to Tephra (in progress)
Lady Chatterley's Lover
Harry Potter 7
The No. 1 Lady's Detective Agency
Introduction to Planetary Volcanism
A Child Called "It"
Is Multi-Culturalism Bad for Women?
Americans in Southeast Asia: Roots of Commitment (in progress)
What's So Great About Christianity?
Aeolian Dust and Dust Deposits
The City of Ember
The People of Sparks
When I was in Cuba, I was a German Shepard
The Golden Compass
Clan of the Cave Bear
The 9/11 Commission Report (2nd time through, graphic novel format this time, ip)
The Incredible Shrinking Man
The Elves of Cintra
The Gypsy Morph
Animorphs #23: The Pretender
Animorphs #25: The Extreme
Animorphs #26: The Attack
A Journey to the Center of the Earth
A Great and Terrible Beauty
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
To Sir, With Love
Alice in Wonderland
Through the Looking Glass
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
The Hunger Games
Shadows and Strongholds
The Jungle Book
Beatrice and Virgil
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
No One Ever Told Us We Were Defeated
The Name of the Wind
Tao Te Ching
What Paul Meant
Lao Tzu and Taoism
Sand and Sandstones
Lost Christianites: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew
The Science of God
Great Contemporaries, by Winston Churchill
City of Bones
Around the World in 80 Days, by Jules Verne
Stranger in a Strange Land
The Old Man and the Sea
Flowers for Algernon
Au Bonheur des Ogres
The Road to Serfdom
De La Terre à la Lune (ip)
In the Light of What We Know
Devil in the White City
The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August
How to Be a Good Wife
A Mote in God's Eye
want to read: Last Hunger Games Book, Honeybee Democracy, The Bell Jar
Dancing in the Moonlight
Monday. 1.21.19 5:16 pm
When I was nine, my mother packed us all into the car and took us out to a meadow to dance in the moonlight. There was a meadow of prairie grass in a preserve across the street from our neighborhood. They were going to turn the preserve into a neighborhood for luxury houses, and my mother wanted us to have one last chance to revel in the wildness of the prairie before it was gone forever.
Let me tell you about my mother. My mother grew up wild and brave, riding her bicycle, exploring the neighborhood: a natural athlete with the spirit of a ten-year-old that has lasted throughout her adult life. She is a talented artist, with a studied eye for opportunities to make the world more beautiful. She has a tremendous gift for hospitality, remembering favorite things, delivering comforting foodstuffs, and transforming rooms from ordinary to extraordinary, lit with warm lights and a festive atmosphere. She combines her talents for art and hospitality to make every holiday come alive and sparkle with delight and excitement, from the place settings to the beauty of the food, to the magical lights that she sets to sparkle after darkness falls.
She dedicated the early years of our lives to raising us. She used to sit us up at the counter, three little girls in a row, to give us a snack and talk to us about everything. She took us to the museum, taught us to bake, quizzed us with flash cards and turned us outside to play in the rough-and-tumble outdoors. From her we learned to appreciate impressionist paintings, Greek myths, and the enduring beauty of classic literature. My older sister has followed in her footsteps, creating bakers and museum-goers with her own (soon-to-be three) little boys in a row.
I had the happiest childhood one could imagine.
When we got older, she returned to her profession as a librarian. From age ten onward, I watched as she climbed through the organization, building her skill set, taking on stretch assignments, until she was the Associate Director of the entire district. She applied her artistry and hospitality to turn her employees into productive teams and the library into a welcoming home. She applied her deep knowledge of the human spirit to encourage and develop everyone around her, and used the resources of the library and the internet to voraciously learn more. No matter her position in the organization, she used it to serve: diving in to help move furniture, bake brownies, imagine the future of the libraries, and give back to the community around her. When faced with my own professional challenges, I often fall back upon the many lessons we had learned along with her, vicariously, throughout her impressive career.
My mother is never the same person as she was the last time you met her. In the meantime she has taken a new course, learned a new skill, and invented new hobbies. One could call her many things: capable manager, loving protector, imaginative creator, loyal friend. But to me she will always be the woman knee-deep in the wild prairie grass, teaching her children to dance in the moonlight.
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