Who's running my life

You'd think that by this stage of my life (I am in the 39-55 age bracket now) that I would have full control of my time frames, and be able to allocate what I want to do and when...and then there were kids.  The chaos and erratic behaviour that comes with kids is not something that I could have ever been prepared for.  I have been in the thick of it now for a good 12 and half years, and I am still amazed how a week can disappear with not a single scheduled thing being done, and a billion other things being done.

This is what I opted in for when I ticked the virtual box of "Stay At Home Mum", or "Pick Up The Pieces and Stay In Tune With Everything That Comes My Way", yet I am still amazed that I am surrounded by so many unfinished projects, things that I begin, but have to put down, lose my train of thought as someone bursts in the door with an urgent need, the phone from school with an urgent request "Can you pop up please?", a request from someone to pick something up or fix something - before they come home from school - please...

It is a choice I made, and I would have it no other way, I love being this connected to my family, but I can tell you now, it is chaotic.  If you are about to embark on it, just understand what you are about to head into.  This is not a place of full control.  This is a place of negotiation, just in time management, thinking on your feet, prioritisation, and putting out spot fires, and sometimes all at once.  All of this is expected to be done with a raging smile on your face as well.

In reality, it comes and it goes, as I am heading into the next phase - the teenage years - I am beginning to learn to let go.  This is a major thing.  After running the ship for so long and being able to pull the chaps into line with a really loud whistle, "come on guys",  or "OIY" I am having to look towards my hubby who seems to have been at work for the last 12.5 years (except for when we spent a year together travelling) for advice.  Oddly enough, he seems to know how to manage the next bit.  It seems to be that all the books, psychologists etc seem to know what they were talking about, and he didn't read a single word of it.  He just puts his hand up to me and says, "Wait. Just leave him."  It works, even though it doesn't feel right to me.  He uses less words than I do. Somehow he gets to be hero in this next phase, which might be good, because I think they are getting much too strong and big for me.  I might get to spend a little more time, hopefully, on the things I want to do. I also still get to take them to all of their health appointments and sporting activities.  That seems to still be my role,  Mum's job, but I am learning not to take on the emotional crap that they chuck at me, and enjoying seeing the great individuals that they have turned into.

A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan

This is a book club book that once again has taken me to reading a book that I may not have read otherwise.  I grew up listening to The Goons every Saturday, so I went into this novel by Jennifer Egan thinking of The Goons.  The Goons this book is not.  It begins with kleptomania Sasha talking with her therapist about her long term habit whilst she justifies her behaviour. Each chapter was connected, yet disconnected, with different narrators, and time frames.  There is one chapter that is written in the form of a power point, from the Sasha's daughter, Alison, and whilst it is interesting to a point (contemporary writing), and also putting across a point about who she was and how she was communicating, as a reader, it was slow and clunky to read, yet getting the Egan was pressing the point of change, (from the 70's to now) and technology and Alison's brother's obsession with pauses in songs as we have a pause in our thoughts as we turn each page for the power point slide.  There is also a letter from a Jules Jones while he is in prison for attempted rape, to his victim, Kitty Jackson, movie star, which is the transcript of his interview with her, which is somehow funny.

The main gist of the novel is set in San Francisco, punk 1970's music scene, with a few of the characters reappearing more than others.  There is Sasha, the kleptomaniac receptionist who works for Bennie and Alex who she had sex with when she was young and comes back many years later to reinvent Scott's carreer.  Bennie has made it big as a music producer after failing as a musician when in a band with Scott and after being mentored by Lou the coke-sniffing, teenage girl chasing music producer.  Scott has his career reinvented by Bennie after many years of no contact when he comes in with a fish pulled out of the East River, the same river that Sasha once lost her long lost best friend.  There are many threads intertwined in here, but it is a complex story with the discontinuity of the chapters. 

Interesting book.  I think I was lost somehow with the disconnection.  It made more sense by the end, however, I found myself spending a bunch of time throughout catching up on what I had read & who was who and how they were connected.  I suspect that this may be reread to truly understand it.

Before I Go to Sleep by S J Watson

I was taken in straight away with the protagonist, Christine, and the confusing, dangerous life that she lived. Every day that she lived, every memory that she acquired was wiped clean as she slept through the night.

She had to rely completely on this stranger in her bed, Ben, her husband to introduce himself to her everyday as she tried to grasp what the reality was.

This is a well written first novel, packed full of suspense from start to finish.  I even found myself gasp out loud at one point!  I am so thrilled that this year's book club list has included such a varied group of book, introducing me to books that I may not have picked up, including this one.  I was so drawn into the story, the life like a goldfish, forever waking up and having to recreate her history, that I devoured the book within 2 days.  Not much happened in my house during this time.  I became Christine.  I think that it really takes a great writer to get the reader in that well, and this is Watson's first novel.  Well done, I say, well done!

I became fearful for Christine as I learnt more of her life, as she lived like a child, trying desperately to uncover how she came to be living like this now, and with no memory that made sense.  What she was being told didn't seem to add up with how she was feeling, or were they memories?  Watson plays with the idea of what memory is.

It is a fun, suspense filled novel that may render you useless until you turn the final page like I did.  The book, and Christine and her life, still have not left me!  Wonderful.  I love to read a book that can truly take me away!

Great read.

xx Meg

Coonardoo By Katharine Susannah Prichard

It felt like a real privilege to read Katharine Susannah Prichard's book, Coonardoo which was written way back in 1929.  She wrote this book when she went up to the Kimberley's in the North West area of Australia and stayed on a station, Turee.  She was enamoured by what she observed as a writer and was inspired to write about this.  What is most interesting, I found, was that she writes in the indigenous language.  I am not sure if it is actually reflective of the actual dialect of the mob who would have lived there at the time, however, the book is peppered through with the words and sentences, dialogue in the native tongue.  I really enjoyed reading the language and there is a glossary at the back to help along if you need.  It is a celebration of the traditional peoples.  I found it very hard to put this book down, and read it in only a few days.

Coonardoo is a love story between a station owner, Hugh, or Youi as his people know and call him, and Coonardoo.  Hugh, being a white fella, and a station owner of Wytaliba, forbids himself to fully give himself over to her.  This love that is too strong to bear causes pain for him and for the people on his land.  He jeopardises himself, his people, his land and his children (from a white wife who he does marry).

Katharine poses the fantastic concept of love between Aborigines and White people at a time when it was never considered a possibility.  She wrote it into a story, put it on paper, took it from the bush, the outback, into the cities. What happened out in the outback, the land that people rarely went to, was fairly unknown in the cities.

Katharine sexualised the beauty of the woman, Coonardoo, the Aboriginal woman who could be lusted after and loved forever.   There was public outrage when this book was originally published, mainly because she had exposed the exploitation of black women by white men and "..that she wrote of the love, albeit unacknowledged and twisted in on itself between a white man and an Aboriginal woman.." (Introduction by Drusilla Modjeska, 1990).

I found it to be a great love story, full of love and agony.  The restrictions of their separate cultures that both Hugh and Coonardoo imposed on themselves were so wide, that they tore each other apart.

Katharine in her writing shows deep respect for the indigenous people of the time, the role that they played on the stations, the traditions they had and what they had to put up with.  In her writing she shows a tenderness and this is then shown through her character of Youi.  She shows how she saw poor behaviour from white people in the land through other characters in the novel, in their treatment of the 'gins', as second-class citizens.

Katharine paints a beautiful story also of the land, the time, which spans over three generations, and the many varied season.  Her very vivid descriptions bring the reader right into the sparse arid land which is then turn into a lush landscape the minute the drought breaks.

A great read.

xx Meg
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The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

I was absolutely blown away by this book.  The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is not just a biography, but it is a history of science, a history of a family, a history of racism and most importantly it the history of the HeLa cells and the impact of these on the family from whom they originated from.  Rebecca Skloot took some 10 years to write this, and it is incredibly well written.  She is very sensitive to all of the issues that are surrounding the history of the HeLa cells, and Henrietta Lacks.  It was so beautifully written that I ended the book so overwhelmed, in tears at what Henrietta's family had gone through, at the compassion Rebecca had shown throughout the time she had spent with them to help them learn the true story.

The story begins in 1951 when a poor black woman from Clover, Henrietta Lacks, went to the John Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore for something that she is concerned about (but didn't tell anyone what it was).  She was right to be concerned as it turns out to be cervical cancer.  The practice back then was for the scientists to use whatever cells they could, whatever tissues they could lay their hands on to try to learn more about the human cells, cancer, treatments, illnesses, etc.  So, George Gey and his little team  set about putting her cancer cells into culture and seeing what would happen.  They didn't think that much would happen as most cells to date had died.   These cells kept living and kept reproducing, over and over and over again.

The problems with this whole scientific practice was that they generally focussed taking from the black people, or performing medical testing on black people, and all without asking.  It wasn't considered necessary.  It also wasn't considered necessary to let the family know that tissues had been taken and what they were used for.  The tissue wasn't necessarily thought of as being associated with a person, they were just tissue.

Mary, who worked with George, told Rebecca  later that it wasn't until she saw the red nailpolish on Henrietta's toes that she '..nearly fainted. I thought, "Oh jeez, she's a real person."'

Henrietta, a young mother of 5 children with one daughter in home for the insane, died from a very aggressive form of cervical cancer.  Her family moved on, well, the children were too young to know, and her husband, Day, knowing not what else to do, moved on.

Rebecca, after stumbling on the very important HeLa cells in high school, then goes on to spend years researching to find who is the person behind the cells that became the immortal cells, HeLa.  This person is Henrietta Lacks, a fact which is known in the science word, however, in the Lacks family, their understanding of the immortality of the cells is confusing, how the world got to have the cells, a part of their mother, is beyond them and why people are getting to make money out of their mother's cells when they are dirt poor and uneducated, unable to get their own medical treatment is infuriating.

Rebecca has to work through many hurdles, calm many family members, educate the children of Henrietta, Deborah, Lawrence, Zakariyya (born Joseph) and Sonny (who are old enough to be her mother) (Elsie died), track down the white land-owning relatives from whom the Lacks family takes its name and spend many, many hours trawling through medical files to get to the bottom of it all.  Through it, the family learns who their mother, grandmother, cousin, sister and Aunt are, and relations between all begin to calm down.  The world slowly begins to learn the truth behind the most important cells in medical.

It is a fantastic exploration of the ethics of medical science as it covers such an extensive period of time (from the 1950's right through to the present time).  Rebecca puts the human, the person back into the centre of the picture of science, to ensure that we don't forget that consent, asking is so important.

There are many gruelling finds along the way, many that have been righted.  Science has come a long, long way. Now I know that Henrietta Lacks has been a very big part of it.

I give this book all 5 stars as it truly deserves the lot.

There is now The Henrietta Lack Foundation to help educate & provide health care to those who really need it.

If you want to read about the Lacks Family and they have a beautiful picture of their mother's cells in fluorescent as well as her all dressed up.  The cell picture may be the one that Sonny was given when he first saw the picture of what the cells looked like.


xx Meg

Write on Wednesday: Alex Miller Inspiration: Something of Great Importance

Source: a moon, worn as if it had been shell

Alex Miller Inspiration:

‘Something of great importance to me happened two nights ago.’

I lay, spent on the cold concrete floor of the laundry.  There was nothing left to me.  It was as though I had been hooked up to machines that had sucked the living daylights out of me.  Nothing to even cry with, nothing to move with.  My mouth was wretchedly dry, parched, but my tongue would not move to help itself.  The files in my brain had become de-fragmented and nobody had set the program to clean it up.  They were no longer linking to each other, nothing made sense any more.

I slowly blinked.  I could feel the crepe paper lids unfolding, the steely gaze that I had fixed on the fur ball under the washing machine slowly closing.  I let the heavy eyelids that didn't even seem to belong to me any more to stay shut. There was nothing more to see other than fur balls and dust particles.

In the darkness I began to see the light.  The clarity of the last two days slowly dawned on me.  It was going to take an eternity to live with.  There was nothing left for me here.  In one small moment, everything in my life had changed forever.

Two words, "He's gone."

I hadn't understood at first, I was in the middle of a phone call, cooking dinner, signing papers.  Everything was busy, important.  Nothing was busy or important now.  Everything was gone.

Justin had looked at me with a sneer, realising that I hadn't understood, ready to lay blame on me, angry, or was he upset, I don't know, "He's topped himself, you idiot!  You!  Too freakin' busy again! Not looking again!  You didn't care anyway!  Always doin' you're own thing."

The ice moved through me rapidly, starting at my heart where he had stabbed me until I was standing stone cold, as ice, nothing, lost everything.

"I'm gone. We, we are nothing. He was what held us, but now...", I can now see that Justin was broken.  Then I just thought he was trying to kill me too.  My tongue was frozen.  The blood had stopped moving in my body.  I had not imagined a life beyond ours.  Our life of screaming at each other and pretending that we hadn't, ignoring each other, but existing together, insulting each other with a compliment in disguise: the charade.  I thought that it was working.  Pass the salt, dear - why the hell did you do have to pass it that way to me!  The man I had known for more than half of my lifetime, the man who was more than half of me, turned and walked away.  I still could not move or speak.  I was still frozen.


Could I have another go?

Couldn't I try again to hug him one more time each day?

Could I try to say that I love him?   I know I do, did, but I didn't say it.

Why couldn't I turn back time?


I don't know how I came to be on the cold laundry floor.  I don't know how long I was there.  Day came and finished.  Darkness fell.  Light came and was sucked away again into the depth of darkness again.  The stillness became my comfort, silence my friend. Now as it was light again, and clarity, reality had dawned, my body slowly began to move.  I needed to move to a new world, a new life, a new beginning.

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If, you’ve stumbled by here and have no idea what Write on Wednesday is, WOW is an online writing group open from Monday to Friday. A weekly creativity fix that allows writers to share their words and receive support, encouragement and feedback from other writers. Some writers have ongoing pieces and characters they’ve been working on, others use the weekly prompts to flex and exercise their creative muscle.







This week's prompt for Write on Wednesday is this sentence from Alex Miller provided by Jennifer at A Sampler. The instructions are: "..it’s a great opener, but if you want to incorporate into  your piece, that’s fine too.  Set your timer for 5 minutes or write about 500 words. If you’re looking for specific feedback, please let us know. Otherwise – enjoy the writing"

Alex Miller Inspiration

‘Something of great importance to me happened two nights ago.’

Join in if you would like by visiting Jennifer's Blog




Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave comments...

xx Meg

21 Jump St : Could you go back to High School?

Who were you at high school?  The cool kid, the shy kid, the nerdy one, the anxious one, the one that flitted between types, the one that didn't care?

We were all someone at high school, and it is such an awkward stage of life where we are all just trying to find our little way in life, our place, where the heck do we fit in with it all - but then, so is everyone else.  Everyone else seems so sure of themselves, when you don't, and they have things that you don't .  Their lunches contain weird and unusual foods, or just plain and simple foods, when you have the weird and unusual.  The disparities of us as individuals all come out at this time and we just want to fit in or we just want to stand out.

I was lucky enough to win tickets to the advance screening of the 21 Jump St movie on Monday and it got me thinking about the whole notion of going back to high school and how our old versions of ourselves would be seen as now.

I was a nerd at high school.  I had hand made or hand me down clothes (or they came from the op shop, Venture or Fosseys - does anyone remember those shops?) and my family recycled everything (literally), made everything, we had to work in and around the house and the only holidays that we went on were camps.  I still carried a lunch box when everyone else was carrying a paper bag or buying lunch orders.  I wore glasses ("Four Eyes").  I had a school bag that wasn't standard issue, it was an ex-army one that I had drawn on and sewn patches on from Aussie Disposals.

In the eighties that was really uncool.

Now it would be seen as cool (well at least in my suburb it would).

The world at some stage between the eighties and now turned upside down and the uncool became ok.  I just peaked too early.

I spent the whole of my high school years sitting on the edge of friendship circles as I didn't really fit to any mould  that had been pre-set in anyone's head.  They liked me (I knew that), but given that I was a bit freaky and weird (I had no TV for instance to add to the other odd things which meant I couldn't converse about whatever the pop culture was - and still can't recall back to the "good-ol'-days"), the girls couldn't work out which group I should belong to, so I drifted between a few.  I luckily had a couple of good friends who stuck by me and my social disabilities, my awkwardness, even seeming to enjoy my seemingly weirdness (one great friend remarked one day that she loved how my house always smelt of food, and that our afternoon tea was great because there were jars of dried fruit and nuts open to eat).

How would I go now?  I don't know.  Times have changed so much.  Now it is more ok for people to be different. There is more expression of individuality.  There is more openness and discussion about difference.  Ok for some people to not have a TV (or not to watch it - but then is it ok not to have a computer?).

People in high school will always feel awkward or socially disabled for some reason or another.  Perhaps that is a true reflection of our community - the haves and the have nots.


xx Meg

Why Weren't We Told by Henry Reynolds

Every since I can remember, I couldn't understand why people saw others as different to themselves.  As far as I knew, we were all the same in the end.

Henry Reynold's book Why Weren't We Told is about the discovery process that he went through (and I subsequently did too) as to how the older generation in Australia had grown up with different baggage that over the generations we have slowly been able to let go of.

Historian from Tasmania, Henry spent time living in England before returning to Australia to live in Townsville in the 60's (and I believe still does). He was confronted by the racism that was right in front of him and was accepted as ok. He took it on as something he needed to learn more about, to understand. In doing so, he became friends with Eddie Mabo (of the Land Title Case), learnt about injustice towards Aboriginal children and had to rethink his idea of Australia's supposed peaceful and heroic history.

Henry explores the history, the true history of Australia. He doesn't glorify either side, the English or Aboriginal side, he just tries to get to the bottom of a lot of the untold, accepted or hidden stories. The outcome is a sad story of many lost lives, of murder, of trusts and betrayals and of genocide. I found it shocking and moving. It is the history lesson that I was never taught and that should be taught to all Australian's.

Reynold's also highlights how much we as a people of Australia are much better at tolerating, respecting and reconciling than we ever were before. I found it an important point to make and to keep these things in mind so as not to feel weary.

After traveling through Australia in 2010 for 9 months, visiting some communities and meeting many more Indigenous people, I had come home feeling perplexed and angry about the way white Australia treated (mistreated) the traditional owners of our land: the language, the infrastructure, the policies and general patronising. I felt very little hope at that stage for the repair, reconciliation between the general white Australia and the Indigenous community that most people never see or hear.

A good friend of mine could see me struggling with this and recommended that I read this book to help my understanding of the history, Indigenous people and people who still call Indigenous people atrocious names - and think it's ok - the racist people of our country.

After reading Henry Reynolds book, Why Weren't We Told, I can now see we (Australia) is actually with hope and that we have to live with that. Things are going to get better and it starts with each of us taking the time.

Worth a read? You bet!!

x Meg

Exercise: My first and last word on it

source

OK I am the first one to say, exercise does not come easily to me.  There you are, I have said it, it is out there, big and bold.

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 I am an Endomorph (or maybe a Mesomorph - I can't decide and it probably doesn't matter) according to Dr Sheldon (ie look at a cake and put on weight because I accidentally ate the whole thing and am to sluggish to be bothered exercising) and my 6 foot 2  husband is an Ecomorph (ie skinny as a bean pole with the metabolism of a rocket)

source

So, obviously my husband and the offspring that have taken on his traits do not see the need to get out there and exercise (characteristics of an ectomorph are: fast metabolism, naturally thin or wiry, find it hard to gain weight, naturally lower in strength levels, often higher in energy levels and tend to be over-active - Fitness Friday: Knowing Your Body Type).

I also, with my body type have a tendency not jump up and "get out there" (naturally overweight, gain fat easily, find it difficult to lose the fat, larger around the waist, possibly sensitive to the carbohydrates - particularly processed and refined carbs, slow metabolism, body shape is more rounded or pear shaped, often has reasonable strength levels - Fitness Friday: Knowing Your Body Type).  Wow! If only I had known all of that when I was so much younger, I would have understood myself as a teenager!

What do they say? Opposites attract? We are the opposites and neither of us have ever, I repeat, ever done exercise as a regular thing.  I have had a dawning, a moment, a realisation now that I am, ahem, a little over the other side of young that I no longer have a choice.  My body is SCREAMING at me to exercise.  It needs my attention.  I can kid myself no longer that a little bit here and there will be enough.  I do know that when we travelled for 9 months putting a tent up and down every other day and moving boxes in and out of a trailer and onto the roof of the truck, I was the fittest I had EVER been two years ago.  My body thanked me then.  

My greatest difficult with exercise is always myself.  I stop myself.  I think I am too tired to go.  I come up with the excuses and reasons before I have even started.  This year I had made a goal that I would exercise 3 times a week and thought that this would help.  It is now March and for the first 2 months nothing really happened.

I spoke with a friend about it and she told me that I really had to make a regular time to exercise (apparently this is what people do - who knew). So I looked at all of the classes that looked really good and highlighted them.  I would be going out every night.  Already I had set it up to fail.  I didn't get to anything.  On a Monday morning a friend dragged me along to a yoga class.  It was great to stretch out my poor old twisted up muscles.  I booked in for the term, that was a good regular thing.  Two weeks in I didn't feel like it was enough.

On Sunday afternoon, my listless moment of the week, I grabbed my swimmers, goggles and towel and walked out the door with no takers.  Thirty laps later I felt great.  That is what exercise does.  It makes you feel great.  I promised myself there and then that those 3 times a week were a must (not to include the yoga as that wasn't cardio).  So now I have committed Tuesday and Thursday mornings to cardio exercise and accomplished my first week and promised myself not to allow anything to get in the way of it from here.  I have even "booked" it into my diary.

I swam, I rode and I walked really fast.  I did my mini triathlon. Yippee!

I pushed those arthritic joints to their maximum and I didn't die, I didn't even get a migraine (double yipee), I might even live a little longer.

Bonuses were that I had endorphins buzzing around me, I wasn't nearly as tired at night as I thought I would be, I smiled more, I saw more of the world because I was riding and walking in it, I had time to think, and I felt the sun on me. I am sure there are even more than that, but even with those, that is enough for me to keep it up!

The Sense of An Ending by Julian Barnes

SOURCE

I don't think that I could have read this book on a better day in my life.  I read the entire book in a day (except for the first 20 pages which I read when I crawled into bed and promptly fell asleep) as I needed to finish it for book club last night, and it was a wonderful book to read in one hit.  It is a really long time since I have sat down and read an entire book in one go (I have kids for those who are wondering).  This is not the reason, however, as to why it was a great day to read Julian Barnes' "The Sense of an Ending" on Wednesday.

On Tuesday at my Wednesday writing group (which has suddenly turned into a Tuesday writing group due to my tutor's Masters lectures) we were talking about a character being developed in writing by the choices and decisions they make, and the consequences of these and did various exercises around this.

This book is a brilliant example of this character development.

Julian Barnes shows us over this novel the character of Anthony, the main protagonist, by letting us hear how he wrangles through life with the consequences of the decisions he made in adolescence, and the damage that is left for him to try to understand what happened.  It does take him a lifetime to learn about himself and those who he was entangled with to be ready to hear and to understand.  Tony, or Anthony, grapples with memory, as he remembers his adolescence as it was, or was it?

Me reading with my many tags of his brilliant lines

Julian's book is full of brilliant writing, insights and understanding of human nature.  He is an economical writer who lays threads throughout the novel, leaving the reader thinking, wondering at the end.  Each reader, as we found last night at book club (who all rated it 7/10-9.5/10), forms slightly different ideas from the threads that he lay within the story. A clever and thoughtful writer giving us a well formed story with a wonderful unsuspecting twist at the end to surprise most.

Definitely a book I would recommend. A most enjoyable thought provoking read of memory, aging, identity, relationships, letting go and holding on, and adolescence and young adulthood and the behaviours that surround those years.

x Meg

Addendum:

I want to share with you some of my favourite lines from this book - some of those lovely coloured flags that I stuck on!

"And there was no arguing against 'feelings', because women were experts in them, men coarse beginners.  So 'It doesn't feel right' had far more persuasive force and irrefutability than any appeal to church doctrine or a mother's advice" pg 23


"Some Englishman once said that is long dull meal with pudding served first." pg 54


"Have you noticed how, when you talk to some like a solicitor, after a while you stop sounding like yourself and end up sounding like them." pg 68


"The more you learn, the less you fear.  'Learn' not in the sense of academic study, but in the practical understanding of life." pg 82


"Margaret used to say that women often made the mistake of of keeping their hair in the style they adopted when they were at their most attractive.  They hung on long after it became inappropriate, all because they were afraid of the the big cut." pg 91


"I remember a period in late adolescence when my mind would make itself drunk with images of adventurousness." pg 93


"Compliments of the seasons to you, and may the the acid rain fall on your joint and anointed heads." pg 97


Concerning character development, whether characters develop over time: "Our attitudes and opinions change, we develop new habits and eccentricities; but that something different, more like decoration."  pg 193


and finally...


"May you be ordinary, as the poet once wished the new-born baby." pg 144