The Time Traveler's Wife. Book Review.

I have just finished reading Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife, and my feelings are mixed. On one hand, it is a very engaging novel, a page-turner, an interesting blend of science fiction and romance. At different times, the story made me hold my breath, envy, smile, and (almost) cry. There is one big "BUT" though.

To put it simply, I would have enjoyed the book much, much more if the characters were, well, nicer people. I don't see how casual use of drugs, getting drunk, and (SPOILER!) sleeping with one's best friend's boyfriend/spouse on two separate occasions add to the plot. I'm not trying to ignore reality here - I know that a lot of people practice destructive behavior, but I am against making it look normal. The numeral occurrences of the "f-word" and other vulgarities seem unjustified as well.

Also, there is (in my humble opinion) a major plot issue: until Henry and Clare meet in real time, he leads an absolutely selfish yet self-destructive life. He is the kind of person I would pity, but wouldn't want to have anything to do with. And then Clare comes along, and he suddenly turns into a nearly angelic being. Just like that. "I don't believe it!" - as Stanislavski would have said.

All in all, it was a good read, but not something I would purchase, want a hypothetical teenage daughter to read, or recommend to my pastor's wife.

I'm going to try to make these for Christmas!

Cutest bunnies

Panama City Beach. The same Bed & Breakfast. Enjoying being alone as much as we enjoyed having company last time.
I say, "Hello, God!" as I walk into the water.
Sand crabs all over the place.
The water is green. The sky is blue.
I feel renewed, recharged, giddy, relaxed.
Being at the beach is a spiritual thing for me.
It all started the first time I saw the ocean.
Shon is a mountain man. He, who grew up in Maine and is used to the raw ragged beauty of the beaches there, thinks the southern beaches are boring. However, even he can't resist the clear waters and the white sand here in the Gulf.
Isn't it funny that in the middle of October the water in the Gulf is warmer than the water in the Great Lakes in the middle of June?

I know I need to post pictures of my most recent creations and write down a couple of recipes, but here's my silliness for today.

Every time I open my closet to pick an outfit, somewhere deep in my unconscious I hope that something new, and beautiful, and perfectly fitting has appeared in there since I last looked. Am I the only one?

Shon said that every time he opens his closet to pick an outfit, he thinks 'where in the world is that shirt?'

Also, don't ever let me go back to tiffany.com  It's not a good place for a person who doesn't own (or ever will own) either an engagement ring, or a wedding band.

An Unflattering Confession

I finished reading House Rules by Jodi Picoult - a story about Jacob, a teenager with Asperger's syndrome, who was accused of murder. It's fairly predictable and very Picoult-ish, but not bad. I knew absolutely nothing about Asperger's before I started reading, so that side of the story was most interesting to me. Knowing Picoult's tendency for thorough research, I suspect the description is pretty accurate.

House Rules would have been just another book though, if not for one thing: I can relate to Theo, Jacob's brother, because I, too, have a sibling with an incurable decease.

My younger sister has the most common form of cerebral palsy - spastic diplegia. Now that she is 24, you can only tell that she walks a little funny if you pay close attention (the mild form of scissor gait - she still doesn't straighten her legs all the way, even though she can). The rest of the issues can easily be taken for personal quirks. It hasn't always been this way though. The reason my sister walks, talks, has a high school diploma, a junior college diploma, and a book-keeping job at a small firm is that my parents fought very hard.

Lu was a normal baby. And then, when she was a toddler (2?), she suffered from some sort of virus, which left her suddenly not quite normal. We all weren't quite normal after that. It was not until she was 3 that Lu was finally diagnosed with CP. At that point she could hardly walk or talk. So my parents sprang into action.

I wasn't exactly forgotten or left behind, but I wasn't getting equal attention either. Much of it can be summed up in a sentence my mom wrote to me a couple of years ago. She said, "I hope you will never have to choose between trying to cure one child and trying to give the other one an education." My mom was not there when I started 1st grade, even though it's a huge deal in Russia. She and Lu just left for their 1st (out of 4) trip to Kaluga - a city a mere 140 miles away, that took about 8 hours to get to, because there was no direct train. That first time they were gone for 4 months. The next three years they went for 3-month-long trips. My Dad & I lived together, with Grammy helping us out. He had to learn to braid my waist-long hair. I had to learn to live without my mother. By the time I was 9, I spent over a year of my life away from her. However, it was in a therapeutic center in Kaluga where my sister said her first sentence: The goat eats grass. It made Mom cry.

I grew up with double standards for admissible behavior and achievements. That was never fun. I guess it happens in every family to a degree (after all, I see "younger sibling syndrome" symptoms in both Lu and Linc), but it's taken to a whole new level when one of the kids has a disability. I came out of it all with a very strong sense of independence pathetically mixed with a deep desire to be taken care of.

I don't blame my parents - they didn't really have a choice. They were heroes who found new treatments and did homework with Lu every single day for 11 years. The only reason they stopped was because she didn't have homework in college. They loved me and gave me what they could - what was left of their time and energy. It is because of them that I devour books, speak English, and know most of what I know about world's best pieces of art and architecture.

I've been angry and bitter for years. Now those feelings are gone, or at least suppressed, and only show their ugly heads at the worst moments of self-pity. There is a certain sadness though. For talks that never happened. For friendships that never developed.


So here comes the actual confession: as much as I want kids, I am terrified of having a child with a disability. Not that anyone exactly looks forward to hearing "your boy will never walk" or "your girl will always stay at a mental level of a 3-y.o.", of course not. But I am truly terrified of doing it all again, only this time as a parent. I am terrified of subjecting another person to being a sibling of a disabled child, because I know what it's like.

It's true that not everyone has the same experience. There are angels among us. My best friend, though, whose younger brother also has CP, will agree with every single word in this post. It's good to know I'm not the only one.

Lu, by the way, has a cutest 5-month-old boy who is perfectly healthy. We just hope is stays that way.

the 1st time

I've had so many "first time ever" moments since I moved to the US. Yesterday was the day for a new one: I was pulled over by a cop.

As I was returning from the youth group meeting (Shon & I drove separately), I suddenly realized my headlights were not on. Now, I'm still used to the Olds (may it rest in peace), that had the wonderfully convenient automatic lights, so I never had to worry about it. The truck doesn't have this luxury, obviously. What made it a problem was the fact that it was the first time I was driving the truck at night and had no clue where the light switch was! So, I pulled into a gas station, found a switch, turned it, saw some light come on, and started moving again. It wasn't a block later when I noticed the blue lights behind me, panicked slightly, and pulled over.

Well, turned out that I turned the light in the bed of the truck on!

The policeman was really nice, and, chuckling at my innocent idiocy (I mastered this look while dealing with bureaucrats in Motherland), he told me I had to pull the switch instead of turning it. Duh! A shameful moment for a brunette, my friends!

I need to mention that this is my second instance of dealing with the police in GA (the first time happened when I actually had an accident - first ever, of course!), and both times the officers were a pleasure to deal with.

P.S. Shon wasn't happy about this, but he really can't complain. He actually got a speeding ticket on Sunday. The half-of-my-paycheck kind, too.

I am so tired of so many things.
And I'm just plain tired - as in sleepy, but unable to sleep, having trouble concentrating, and having no energy.
I'm bitching, overeating, craving sweets, and letting my mind wander. I don't even want to play with the dog.

P.S. One of the hardest thing for me about living in the States is not really having a family.