Saturday, September 04, 2010

SARAH'S KEY by Tatiana de Rosnay



This book has a gorgeous cover.

Holocaust stories are always horrifying and heartbreaking, and Sarah’s Key by French author Tatiana De Rosnay is no exception.

Julia Jarmond is an American-born journalist married to a Frenchman, who lives in Paris. She has an eleven-year old daughter. She writes for a magazine geared toward other Americans living in France. The 60th anniversary of the Vel’ d’Hiv’ is coming up soon, and Julia’s assignment is to write about it. The Vel’ d’Hiv’ was the day in July of 1942 when French police rounded up Jewish families at dawn, including more than 4,000 children, and took them to an indoor stadium to be held until they were sent to Auschwitz. They were there for days with no food or water, and no bathrooms. 


Many died.  
They were the lucky ones. This book does not spare us the horrendous events or conditions the Jewish people suffered in the camps…and they were unspeakable nightmares.

Julia’s husband is renovating an apartment that had belonged to his grandparents, more specifically, his grandmere, when the story begins. When the apartment is completed, he and Julia, and their daughter, will move in. It is located on Rue de Saintonge, in the heart of the area where the Vel’d’Hiv’ roundup took place. Soon Julia becomes curious and begins researching who had lived in the apartment during that time.

Sarah Starzynski was ten-years-old on that fateful morning and her little brother was four. She adored him. She doted on him. They played together all the time, and had a secret hiding place. So when the French police came to get them that morning, Sarah locked her little brother in the secret place, promising to come back for him in a few hours. She had no idea what her future held.

This is a powerful story, masterfully told.
It’s swift reading, too. I finished it in a few hours. And then I read the author’s acknowledgments, her interview, the historical perspective, the recommended reading list, the reading group questions, and finally, the back cover again, because I didn’t want it to end. 












Monday, August 02, 2010

Pet Toss

My neighbor, Brandy Gull, moved out over the weekend. It was the last day of July, and I’m sure the need to be out by August 1st explains her big hurry. Four pickup trucks, one towing a flatbed trailer, all backed into her front yard at the same time on Saturday afternoon. She and her kids rushed back and forth, carrying out their belongings, which weren’t packed. The trailer was loaded with pots, soil, and other landscaping items from her job. I’m sure her big hurry explains why she forgot to take her pets with her.

I’m not sure about the woman. Sometimes she’s very nice; sometimes, she’s very defensive. One day, when I dropped the very heavy bowl of my birdbath while cleaning it, she came over and helped me pick it up. The next day, when I was looking for my cat, I asked if it might have gone into her house because a low, unscreened window a few feet from the last place I had seen her had been wide open at the time. The neighbor crossed her arms over her chest and responded as if I were accusing her of hiding my cat or something. Then of course, later, I learned the punk across the street had kidnapped it. But was it that unreasonable to ask if a cat had jumped through an open window? Sheesh.

The lady has a big family…four children whose various fathers often come and pick them up for the weekends, two dogs, at least two adult cats, maybe three, and three kittens. I know her children love those pets. Although I have nothing against the woman, we haven’t been on the friendliest terms during her year here. One of her dogs liked to run all over my yard, through a garden I had just planted. I love dogs, so I didn’t say much about it. But when the dog came in our yard and started barking at my ex, he said, “no way.” He wasn’t going to have a dog that wasn’t his stand in his yard and aggressively bark at him. I admit it made me a little leery that it might chase or attack my cats. That was before she acquired a few cats of her own; I couldn’t be sure. So when my ex talked to the lady about her dog, it put a damper on any friendship that might have blossomed.

The dog in question was skilled at climbing over the gate from her back yard, so her attempts to keep it confined was a problem, I know. She complained to me that the landlord wouldn’t “fix the gate,” which wasn’t broken. I knew he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t fix things that were broken. This is the same man who neglected two different, beautiful dogs when he lived there; someone I had never been so happy to see go. I hinted to my ex that maybe he could help with her gate. I guess he didn’t want to. The lady took to keeping the dogs inside, and sending her teenage son with them when they needed to go out.

Saturday evening, about 6:30, I noticed two of her kittens on my porch. I headed over to her house to see if she was completely gone, or only partially gone. As I made my way over, I saw that the blinds in a window that faces my house had been shredded, a new condition. I looked in. Imagine my surprise when that dog looked back. The poor thing was so happy to see someone that she didn’t even bark at me. It was obvious she was terrified that she had been left behind, and was trying to get out. My heart broke for her. I told her I was sure they were coming back for her, and I waited until midnight, August 1st, which I figured was her deadline to move, and then called the police. They came and told me wait until Monday, then call the shelter.

I was gone all day Sunday. I made a special trip back home in the middle of the day to see if the lady had come for her animals. I couldn’t rouse the dog by knocking on the glass or ringing the doorbell, so I assumed she did, and was glad of that much. But the kittens remained on my porch, and the third one joined them.


I only knew of one place I might reach the woman. Her daughter had once told me about a family business they all help out in on the weekends. So I called and spoke to a young-voiced woman who claimed to be the manager, and told her my dilemma. Did the woman want her cats, or did she want me to take them to the shelter? About two minutes later, the neighbor called me and said if I ever called her at work again, she would sue me. So I called the shelter. I don’t understand how people can have pets that they love and fight for, then abandon them when they become inconvenient. She may as well have thrown those kittens on the trash pile she left by the curb.

How can anyone keep an animal for any length of time and not know that the animal experiences emotion just like we do? That they love us even at our worst. That they are dependent on us for their lives, and in every lick of our hands, and every purr in our arms, they show their gratitude. How can anyone look into the eyes of a pet and say, “Sorry, buddy, you’re not going?”


10/14/10 I've been meaning to add this post script for quite a while, but have been too busy and distracted lately. Very shortly after this happened, a nearly 20-year-old jade plant I had sitting on my front porch suddenly collapsed and died -- a lot like it had been poisoned. It made me a little suspicious.


Thursday, July 15, 2010

Mel Gibson and Chinese Music / Part 1 of the Astrology of Mel Gibson

Mel Gibson’s birth data isn’t in Lois Rodden's data bank, but is generally accepted to be January 3, 1956, at 4:45 PM EST, in Peekskill, NY, USA. From comparing the transits to his natal chart for the time the news broke that tapes of his shocking rants exist, I'd have to say it's pretty accurate. First Tiger Woods, now Mel. I think there will be one more big scandal this summer, in late August. I'm also expecting another Gulf Oil Spill event around that time.

But we came here to talk about Mel.


Mel Gibson is beginning to remind me of Nathan in Sophie's Choice, the Oscar-winning film of the hauntingly tragic novel (
William Styron). He's brilliant, talented, and fucked up as Chinese music.

Did you just laugh?


Or did you just think, "she did exactly what Mel did, only not in a drunken rant," as I disparaged Chinese music?
I think that's an important issue because it's a matter of individual sensibilities, as all ethnic jokes are. Personally, I find some of them funny when there is a kernel of truth in them. I also find them fairly offensive because I believe that we are all brothers and sisters under the skin, even though some of you are as bat-shit crazy as Mel. You're the ones sitting there nodding, and wondering what nutty thing I'm going to write next, and the rest of you... Hey, wait! Where ya goin'?

The line between
funny and unacceptable is in the delivery, isn't it? If you're in a comedy club, you expect it. If your best friend tells you, you laugh. If someone at work tells it, you smile. If a complete stranger whispers it in a conspiratorial tone like a Russian spy, you move away quickly. And if it's bellowed loudly enough for the world to hear by a raging drunk, we gasp in horror and declare him a monster. Let's have a look at the man Mel used to be, when the whole world fell in love with him:




Remember this guy?

As we all know, Mel is a better-than-average-looking-middle-aged Caucasian male, upper class by financial standards, a celebrity, and a world traveler.
He's in the Herd phase of his evolutionary journey, with occasional forays into the Individuated state.

Before we go on, let's get you oriented:



Now, about Mel:




His moon's south node (the past, the crutch, the indicator of peddling backwards and backtracking) in Gemini shows that it's a repeat condition; that it's not the first time he's being given these particular lessons. Gemini represents the transfer of information in all its forms: communication, reading, writing, language skills, primary education, all written materials from letters to newspapers, from memoirs to novels, writing instruments, messages and messengers, telephones, telegrams, email, gossip, and the ability (or not) to reason and communicate clearly and effectively.

Bear with me for a bit, because this might sound a little crazy: Normally, Mel is quite rational. He possesses a balanced mind, neither leaping to conclusions nor slow to make decisions. It's indicated by the moon moving fast at the time of his birth, and Mercury (communication, rational mind) trailing his natal Sun (self-identity and ego). The evidence is in the smart career choices he's made.




His Mercury, the first position in the Triumvirate of the Transmission of Information, Lord of Gemini, Lord of the third house, is in serious, conservative, staid Capricorn, upholder of truth, tradition and authority. Mercury isn’t weakened in Capricorn, nor is it strengthened necessarily by engineering Saturn. In Capricorn, Saturn puts the brakes on the fun parts of Mercury. That’s his job.




Eventually every Peter Pan must grow up, even if it is kicking and screaming the whole way. Mercury in Capricorn gives a steady mind, but a dull tongue. It’s extremely helpful in performing Shakespeare, but not for tossing out just the right bon mot for an occasion. Some people with Mercury in an earth sign live with it just fine. For others, it’s an albatross. If Mel had been born one minute later, his Mercury would have been in lightning-fast, quirky Aquarius, where it’s exalted, and he would have been so much more comfortable with that.




. . .

Click this link to PART 2 of the Astrology of Mel Gibson