Over two millennia ago, Julius Caesar wisely said "A room without books is like a body without a soul." We don't have books in every single room in our house, but almost. Which I guess means that our house definitely has soul.
I've often sheepishly said that I'm incapable of leaving a bookstore empty-handed. So our house has a "real library," crammed with books that we've read and can't bear to part with. And then I have my "aspirational" library, scattered around the house, populated with books that I haven't yet read. Seeing them often fills me with a combination of guilt and embarrassment. But now I've discovered that my affliction is common around the world and has a wonderful Japanese name: Tsundoku.
One of my COVID-19 projects has been to tame my Tsundoku. I've collected unread books from around our house, alphabetized the fiction by author, and loosely categorized the non-fiction by topic. They are now neatly arranged on a bookshelf in my office, beckoning me to read them. They feel delightfully aspirational, and because the library is closed, they aren't competing for attention with my equally aspirational library reserve list.
Next problem. What to read first? Alphabetical order makes me cringe -- too pedestrian. Closing my eyes and pointing feels too childish for my aspirational library. No eenie meenie or pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey for my Tsundoku. Then the geek in me had an aha moment. Random number generator. And Mr. Google quickly delivered just what I needed. With a click of my mouse, I spun the metaphorical dial and now find myself reading Angela's Ashes by Frank McCord.
As a final note, many of the entries in my Tsundoku are a mystery to me, meaning I have no memory of when I bought them or who recommended them. But so far, I'm glad that Angela's Ashes ended up on my shelf.
The moral test of government is how that
government treats those who are in the dawn of life, the children; those
who are in the twilight of life, the elderly; those who are in the
shadows of life, the sick, the needy and the handicapped.
– Hubert H.
Humphrey
When Ann Patchett recommends a book, I listen...
That night I read The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane and,
well, it changed my life. I couldn’t remember when I had read such a
perfect novel. I didn’t care what age it was written for. The book
defied categorization. I felt as if I had just stepped through a magic
portal, and all I had to do to pass through was believe that I wasn’t
too big to fit. This beautiful world had been available to me all along
but I had never bothered to pick up the keys to the kingdom.
"Kid lit" isn't exactly my go-to genre when selecting what to read next, but Kate DiCamillo is wonderful. I enjoyed Because of Winn Dixie just as much as I enjoyed Edward Tulane. The writing is both lyrical and stripped to its essence. The messages are both obvious and profound... and appropriate for children of all ages.
I'll keep reading Ann Patchett's recommendations. Her taste is impeccable.
Jim has always wanted to go to Chichén Itzá in Mexico, but it hasn't risen to the top of my bucket list. I, on the other hand, have been fascinated by Lake Titicaca (and I have no idea why). A brief visit to Guatemala in early 2018 satisfied my desire to see this vast, high-altitude lake and scratch Jim's itch as well. The lake is indeed vast, in fact it is so large that expert builders of reed and bamboo boats inhabit its shores. We met the son of a boat builder who was enlisted to help Thor Heyerdal build the Kon-Tiki to sail across the Pacific Ocean.
Guatemala is also home to rich Mayan history, shared with neighboring Belize and Mexico. The ruins of Tikal aren't as impressive and well-preserved as Chichén Itzá, but Tikal is one of the most important Mayan sites. It also draws much smaller crowds than Chichén Itzá, a definite plus in this world of rapidly expanding tourism. Secondary sites like Tikal can provide valuable insight into history and great photo opportunities without jostling crowds in the process.
Before we experienced either the serene beauty of Lake Titicaca or this rich history of Tikal, we had to pass through flames that weren't exactly metaphorical. As we enjoyed a lovely breakfast on the terrace of our hotel in Antigua, we watched flames shoot out of the Fuego volcano, about thirty miles in the distance. The local people assured us that the mountain spews fire periodically and hasn't erupted in several decades. Guess what happened eight months later? A major eruption that killed nearly 300 people. (We feel a bit like a bad omen. We were also in Puerto Varas, Chile, in 2015 just a few months before the major eruption of the Calbuco volcano. We have pictures of it with its snow-capped lid still intact.)
As usual with an OAT trip, we also had plenty of opportunities to interact with local people. It all started in Guatemala City with a spontaneous encounter with a "goat guy." This gentleman was wandering the streets of the downtown, goat in tow, selling cups of freshly squeezed goat's milk. Our quick-thinking guide asked if anyone would like to try milking the goat, and of course our adventuresome friend Debbie volunteered. She discovered it takes strong hands and a lot of skill to quickly produce a cup of milk. What fun!
And of course, no trip to a new country is complete without a visit to local artisans and the opportunity to support the local economy. We bought sweaters from the family of the Lake Titicaca boat builder, and I bought a beautiful embroidered shirt. But we really fell in love with this stunning glazed pottery mask. I smile when I pass it and think of the fiery volcano, the grandeur of Lake Titicaca, the ancient history of the Mayan ruins of Tikal, and the warmth of the people of Guatemala.
A man should never be ashamed to own that
he has been in the wrong, which is but saying in other words that he is
wiser today than he was yesterday.
― Alexander Pope
Practice isn’t the thing you do once you’re good. It’s the thing you do that makes you good.
― Malcolm Gladwell
In 2000, the New7Wonders Foundation launched a campaign to solicit people around the globe to choose the new 7 wonders of the world. More than 100 million votes were cast. Because the Foundation couldn't completely verify that each vote represented a unique person, the results are not considered scientifically valid. Nevertheless, the list of new wonders has been widely publicized and accepted, despite questions about a few important sites that didn't make the cut.
Machu Picchu is one of the seven. A definite bucket-list destination. We finally made it there in the fall of 2016. We chose the easy route, rather than a two-day hike on the Inca Trail. Even so, the journey required motor coach, then a train, then a bus up the mountain, followed by a 45-minute hike. We were excited and nervous. Would it really live up to the hype? As we rounded a curve on the trail and the ruins came into view, they quite simply took our breath away. Just wow. It remains one of the most amazing, awe-inspiring places I've ever visited (and by now, I've visited quite a few).
The lush green majestic mountains surrounding Machu Picchu and the incredible edifices that remain will be forever etched in my memory as "Peru." But beyond that, when I think of Peru, I think of vivid color. Colorful, abundant food in the markets. This picture looks like a Cezanne still-life, but it's real. And colorful food like this is ubiquitous. People in Peru "eat the rainbow" without needing any admonishment by health professionals.
The Peruvian people are colorful, as well, in both senses of the word. They wear colorful clothing, typically hand woven.The festival that we visited was a riot of color. Groups of children danced enthusiastically in native costumes representing their village or their school. Parents wore a mix of "western" clothing and native dress, but always in living color.
And the people are an embodiment of a colorful history. A history dating from their amazing ancestors who built Machu Picchu, extending to the present with both success and tragedies along the way. You can just feel the history etched in this grandma's face and in the clothes she wears. Jim took picture after picture to try to capture the essence of the people and their charm.
The Peruvians are proud and skillful artisans. We had the opportunity to visit several and to contribute to the local economy, of course. Women in a collective demonstrated the end-to-end process of creating a gorgeous woven garment or decorative piece. They spin the yarn and use natural dyes to achieve traditional colors. Then they hand-weave each piece. The lovely table runner on the right graces a hutch in our dining room. And we solved our dilemma over choosing our favorite by picking two. We also came home with the vibrant wall hanging on the left.
We also visited a world-famous sculptor / potter, Seminario. His work is a bit difficult to categorize. Some of his creations resemble traditional pottery, but most are more modern pieces made from a combination of clay, wood, and metal. His studio doubles as a school, where he trains apprentices to "duplicate" his more mundane pieces. Many of his works grace museums around the world and are clearly beyond our price range. But we love this whimsical piece that feels very typically "Seminario." Every time I walk by these treasures we acquired in Peru, they bring a smile to my face and a picture in my mind of the stunning vistas of Machu Picchu and of the warm, colorful people in this amazing country.
Metaphors have a way of holding the most truth in the least space.
-- Orson Scott Card
Age is not the enemy. Stagnation is the enemy. Complacency is the enemy. Stasis is the enemy.
-- Twyla Tharp
Choice
of attention—to attend to this and ignore that—is to the inner life
what choice of action is to the outer. In both cases a man is
responsible for his choice and must accept the consequences.
-- W.H. Auden
I've often sheepishly said that I'm incapable of leaving a bookstore empty-handed. So our house has a "real library," crammed with books that we've read and can't bear to part with. And then I have my "aspirational" library, scattered around the house, populated with books that I haven't yet read. Seeing them often fills me with a combination of guilt and embarrassment. But now I've discovered that my affliction is common around the world and has a wonderful Japanese name: Tsundoku.
One of my COVID-19 projects has been to tame my Tsundoku. I've collected unread books from around our house, alphabetized the fiction by author, and loosely categorized the non-fiction by topic. They are now neatly arranged on a bookshelf in my office, beckoning me to read them. They feel delightfully aspirational, and because the library is closed, they aren't competing for attention with my equally aspirational library reserve list.
