Friday, April 27, 2007

Musings on Chinese

I'm not sure my passion for literacy was sparked because my mother is a librarian or because of my passion to read, but it is one of the causes about which I care deeply. In today's Washington Post, there is an article about China's literacy rate increasing dramatically, despite a campaign to eradicate it.


From 2000 to 2005, the number of illiterate Chinese adults jumped by 33
percent, from 87 million to 116 million, the state-run
China Daily reported this month. The newspaper noted that even before the increase, China's illiterate population had accounted for 11.3 percent of the world's total.


I confess, I've never actually spent much time thinking about the literacy rate in China, but given the attention China has garnered in the economic spector, it scares me that there continues to be a downslide in progress among the rural peasants in a country poised to dominate world markets in more than one aspect. I agree with the Chinese Education Minister, while I wonder how much the education ministry is actually doing, with inflated reports of literacy, poor measurement techniques etc. He says, "Illiteracy is not only a matter of education but also has a great social impact."

I only discovered the great social impact when I became an adult literacy tutor several years ago (a volunteer position I've had to put on hiatus over the last while, unfortunately). One of my clients was a woman who had a high school diploma. She was not even functionally literate. She could not read a single word. The first meeting with a client was always to determine the client's goals for the courses. Her response physically pained me. She looked at me and said, "I want to read to my boys. I want to buy a house. I just want to be able to support my family."

She made it through high school and graduated with her mother (and, likely, several other adults) knowing she at least struggled to read. Her mom figured she would "grow out of it," - overwhelmed with being a single parent and trying to do it all, she let it slide.

My client worked three jobs - ironically, one was as a behavioral aide in an elementary school. Her boys, pre-teens, both read at grade level. She had neighbors help her boys with their homework, or, under the guise of improving their reading skills, would have her boys read things to her. She desparately longed to get out of Section 8 housing.

I worked with her for a year. After a lifetime of learning to get by without being able to read, one starts to substitute words for the groups of undecipherable letters on a page, a menu, a document, a sign. She had years of "learning" to unlearn. We worked on phonetics, word groupings, memorization. Slowly, she progressed. When I had to relinquish her to another tutor because I was moving, she was reading at a first-grade level.

Perhaps, what scared me the most about the article on China's literacy rate, was how large the problem is still in the U.S. It's not shockingly monumental, like China's, but given the fact that the United States is, in theory, one of the most advanced countries in the world - a place where dreams can be realized, it still scares me. Any percentage of illiteracy is too high. Especially among those who have a high school education. An education that is supposedly based on the fundamental skill of reading.

I cannot imagine going through life not having the ability to read. I cannot imagine what it was like to be my client, gliding silently through life praying for help, while at the same time praying no one would notice her inability to read even the simplest of words. I cannot imagine the peasant farmers in China being so disenchanted as to believe that education is a waste of time.

Movement forward in time is supposed to equal progress. If China, on the brink of global economic domination, is struggling with such a fundamental problem with such a huge portion of its population, where do we stand to be in 5, 10, 20 years as a global society? What does it say about a world so obsessed with the race to domination that we fail to ensure basic skills are among the arsenal available to each man, woman, child for whom we race?

Interesting food for thought.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

We Now Pause for Recognition

Baby is a she! While lying on the horribly uncomfortable ultrasound table this morning, holding Himself's hand, my stomach smeared with jelly, the ultrasound tech asked me the question one more time, "Are you sure you want to know?"

18 weeks ago, when the second line appeared it didn't matter. But somehow, after 18 weeks of growing, obsessing and learning, it did matter. It was urgent, compulsory, necessary for me to know in order for me to finish the remaining 19 weeks playing Baby's host.

Like my fairy godmother, the tech rubbed the wand over my belly and proclaimed in solomn wisdom, "Your baby is a little girl."
I think I cheered out loud. I'm not sure. I already knew, somehow, Baby was a she. I know Himself grinned from ear to ear. I know I felt the prick of tears at the corner of my eyes. And then, I asked, "How sure are you?" "1,000 percent," was the response.
In 19ish weeks, we're having a little girl.
I couldn't stop smiling all day.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Adulthood

My expectation of becoming an adult was very different than that of almost every person I knew growing up. The image of the "adulthood" dream was born of childhood stories told by my grandfather of his formative years spent amidst the glamour and wealth of New York's Jazz Age, fueled with scenes from countless books and a summer spent in the Mid-Atlantic suburbs.

I longed to move. I longed to shake the fine red dust off my heels, throw off the confining expectations of small town life, don a suit and high-heeled shoes and conquer the world. (Funny how my imaginations of adulthood never included the flannel pajama bottoms I find myself wearing with alarming regularity on the weekends).

Everything I did in my formative youth was directed toward that dream. Everything. Every extra-curricular activity I participated in. Every school assignment. Every motivation behind choosing a college.

I wanted a life no one I knew had. I wanted to break free of small town mediocrity, of a life of "average" and live somewhere, do something, be someone extraordinary. I was calculating - I new how to get where I wanted to go. I knew I was painfully shy - so I joined the debate team. I wanted to be cultured, so I absorbed every piece of information my grandmother taught me about art, music, literature. I wanted to be able to talk about the world - I joined a competitive geography team, studied maps and poured over National Geographic. I wanted to be refined. At 15, I began my 10-year subscription to a news magazine. I read the paper every day.

I launched out as far as my fledgling wings and limited finances would take me - and fled to the sophistication and the urbanity of the East Coast at my first opportunity. I pursued my education like someone possessed. I dated stockbrokers, investment bankers and one hapless pre-med-turned-eternal-student-guitar major, who was the wrong fit from the beginning, but offered a certain-well-roundedness to my otherwise stringent requirements.


I ran the quiet, tree-lined streets of Chevy Chase, Md., and dreamed of living in one of the stately brick homes with a foreign SUV in the driveway and a healthy bank account. A year later, I boarded the train daily, mixing my $10/hour intern self in with the rising power elite of the other suburbanite commuters. I walked proudly into my downtown office every morning and sprinted to catch the 5:07 train every evening. It didn't matter that I left home and arrived home in the dark. I was becoming the adult I wanted to be. And so it went for years.

And then, a funny thing happened; it all came crashing down. In bits and pieces the life I lived - the one I was certain I wanted - first developed fissures along the foundation and then, over the course of several years, began to disinegrate piece by piece.

The last brick tumbled to the ground nearly two months ago, sitting in the dreaded HR office, when the news was handed down that in 5 hours, I would no longer be employed. Baby's pending arrival meant taking Option 2 - a medicore, less-than-fullfilling opportunity at the same company, that now has me temporarily working in Outer Darkness, wearing sneakers to work and improving my Spanish.

With the collapse of the reality I had worked so hard to construct for the past 18 years, I realized that everything I had ever done in my entire life had been to get to the point I was at 30 minutes prior to the News. And in mere seconds, the entire thing dissolved, leaving me to wonder what was left. I had been so focused, so determined, so passionate - I had left little room for anything else.

Himself claims I have no hobbies. I have almost no close friends that I see on any sort of regular basis. I don't like to sit and contemplate. I schedule everything. And, falling short of what I thought I absolutely wanted, but hadn't yet attained, I sunk into "dark and twisty" territory. I had left the only two permanent things in my life - Himself, who was my greatest champion in my sprint to my version of adulthood, even though it was far different than his own and Baby.

I stand now, on the brink of my 30s, at the brink of motherhood and wonder where the next version of "adulthood" will take me. Who will I become? Will I construct something from the rubble of my childhood visions or will Himself and I build a different version? Will my identity become as consumed as 'Baby's Mom' as it was by 'Current Job Title Here?'

I'm closer than ever to returning full-circle to the vision of adulthood I was desparate to flee from as a child. Adulthood has a funny way of being interrupted by reality.

Monday, April 16, 2007

Moment of Silence

Today was a very, very slow day at work. It meant I spent a portion of every hour updating myself on the tragedy unfolding in Blacksburg at Virginia Tech. Being a media junky, a student of crisis communications and a horrified human being, I had a hard time not going back again and again, hoping that it was all over.

On my commute home, I did some thinking. The same thoughts ran through my head that did during the coverage of the Columbine shooting eight years ago. What a tragic loss of innocence. What a rude awakening to the darker side of life. I thought about my own college experience - largely spent on a green, hilly campus nestled in the foothills. The community in which it was located was largely like that of Blacksburg - isolated, fairly rural, of a similar size. The campuses hosted about the same number of students.

There were a string of tragic and life-changing events during my tenure at university, but they were distinctly private tragedies - not a single one warranted coverage in even the student newspaper. The loss of family members by myself and roommates, emergency room visits, major medical issues, the suicide of an aquaintance who lived next door - all quiet events, a cause for pause among those closest to the incident with little notice by the outside world.

I can't even begin to imagine the horror that has settled on those closest to this tragedy - the students, the teachers, the parents, the administration, the community, the first responders. How do you explain something so tragic? How do you prevent something equally as heinous from happening again? How do you make up for the loss of innocence among young adults?

College students (young adults test-driving full-time adulthood) aren't innocent, but surrounded by peers the same age, in semi-isolation, on a quiet, respected campus, one forgets that the outside world co-exists. One forgets that real life moves on, even beyond the statuesque buildings, grand lawns and enclaves of students pursuing academic progress. When the two worlds collide on a day like this, it is undeniably shocking.

It is numbing and sad and disturbing all at once. My heart goes out to those injured, killed and profoundly changed by this horrible, confusing tragedy.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Underrated? And How?

Today, MSNBC posted an article detailing Top 10 Underrated Cities - places one should consider visiting that are off the typical beaten path of most vacationers. I am an 'Off the Beaten Path' person myself (I did inherit some of my father's "anti-do-what-everyone-else-is-doing" genes), so I read the article with enthusiasm.

Instead of discovering great potential gems for future vacations, I was largely disappointed. I agreed with a couple - Portland and Minneapolis are definitely fantastic cities. I've barely skirted Portland, but spent a fair amount of time in Minneapolis (in the middle of the winter, nonetheless) and found both it and its residents to be charming. They are right about Baltimore, I guess, as it has sunk millions into boosting its sex appeal, but I know too much about it to find more than superficial charm in it beyond the glitzy tourist sites on the waterfront (on a side note, I do love Baltimore's museums - especially during dollar days, when they are great and free).

The rest? I haven't been to some, but I'm not sure I concur with their conclusions. Providence? If you're headed to RI, Newport, even with its WASPy money and such, is far and away the best part of the state. Sacramento? I've never been to Sacramento, in all fairness, but it really is honestly better than San Fran? Monterrey? The central coast? Redding? Cheaper maybe, but better? I'll give them Houston. But Fort Lauderdale? It beats the western coastal cities in FL? (Disclaimer: I don't particularly love Florida, but the Gulf side is definitely superior to the Atlantic side). There is nothing underrated about Ft. Lauderdale - it rates just like any other over-hyped beach party town.

I guess I was expecting more quaint uniqueness, not some schpiel about formerly blighted cities (in many cases) trying to make a comeback against their more picturesque, well-known neighbors. I'm all for underrated, if there is actually something to rate. Something tells me I won't be changing my travel plans anytime soon.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

100 Books

Taken from the posts of friends Heidi and Oliver, I figured I should post my own version of the 100 Books, since it seems I am the odd one out by actually liking Russian literature (of course, I'm also the odd woman out, as I do not like Jane Austen novels. Lest I be condemned of heresey, I've tried. I've read some, seen some of the movies, and absolutely cannot make myself become enamored of them - even as a tribute to my gender).

Instructions: In the list of books below, bold the ones you’ve read, italicize the ones you want to read, put the pound sign (#) in front of the ones you won’t touch with a ten-foot pole, put a cross (+) in front of the ones on your book shelf, and asterisk (*) the ones you’ve never heard of. I am adding that I am CAPITALIZING my favorites, because I'm bored.


+ 1. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown)
2. Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
+ 3. TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD (Harper Lee)
4. Gone With The Wind (Margaret Mitchell)
+ 5. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (J.R.R. Tolkien)
+ 6. The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (J.R.R. Tolkien)
+ 7. The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (J.R.R. Tolkien)
+ 8. ANNE of GREEN GABLES (L.M. Montgomery)
* 9. Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
* 10. A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry)
+ 11. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (J.K. Rowling)
+ 12. Angels and Demons (Dan Brown)
+ 13. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (J.K. Rowling)
#14. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving) - After reading several of his books, I gave up on John Irving after The Fourth Hand, vowing never to return.
15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
+ 16. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (J.K. Rowling)
17. Fall on Your Knees (Ann-Marie MacDonald)
# 18. The Stand (Stephen King)
+ 19. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (J.K. Rowling)
+20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte)
+ 21. The Hobbit (J.R.R. Tolkien)
22. The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)
+23. Little Women (Louisa May Alcott)
+24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
25. Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
#26. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)
+ 27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)
+ 28. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (C. S. Lewis)
29. East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
30. Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom)
#31. Dune (Frank Herbert) - I tried. I really tried. I hated it and stopped part way through.
32. The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks)
#33. Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)
34. 1984 (George Orwell)
*35. The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
+36. THE PILLARS OF THE EARTH (Ken Follett)
37. The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)
38. I Know This Much is True (Wally Lamb)
* 39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
40. The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
42. The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)
43. Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella)
44. THE FIVE PEOPLE YOU MEET IN HEAVEN (Mitch Albom)
+ 45. Bible
+46. ANNA KARENINA (Leo Tolstoy)
47. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
+48. Angela’s Ashes (Frank McCourt)
49. The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
50. She’s Come Undone (Wally Lamb)
51. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
+ 52. A Tale of Two Cities (Charles Dickens)
53. Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card)
54. Great Expectations (Charles Dickens)
55. The Great Gatsby (Scott Fitzgerald)
* 56. The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence)
+ 57. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (J.K. Rowling)
58. The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)
* 59. The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood)
60. The Time Traveller’s Wife (Audrew Niffenegger)
+ 61. CRIME & PUNISHMENT (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
# 62. The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand)
63. War and Peace (Tolstoy)
# 64. Interview With The Vampire (Anne Rice)
* 65. Fifth Business (Robertson Davies)
66. One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
67. The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (Ann Brashares)
68. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
69. LES MISERABLES (Victor Hugo) - I have to note this is my favorite book ever.
+ 70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
71. Bridget Jones’ Diary (Helen Fielding)
* 72. Love in the Time of Cholera (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
* 73. Shogun (James Clavell)
74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje)
+75. The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
* 76. The Summer Tree (Guy Gavriel Kay)
+77. A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN (Betty Smith)
# 78. The World According To Garp (John Irving) -see my earlier disclaimer about John Irving
*79. The Diviners (Margaret Laurence)
+ 80. CHARLOTTE'S WEB (E.B. White)
*81. Not Wanted On The Voyage (Timothy Findley)
82. Of Mice And Men (John Steinbeck)
83. REBECCA (Daphne DuMaurier)
* 84. Wizard’s First Rule (Terry Goodkind)
85. Emma (Jane Austen)
86. Watership Down (Richard Adams)
# 87. Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
* 88. The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields)
*89. Blindness (Jose Saramago)
* 90. Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)
* 91. In the Skin of a Lion (Michael Ondaatje)
# 92. Lord of the Flies (William Golding)
93. The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)
94. The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
+ 95. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum)
96. The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton)
97. White Oleander (Janet Fitch)
98. A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford)
99. The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)
100. Ulysses (James Joyce)

Monday, April 09, 2007

The Lambs

Somehow, Himself and I started a tradition of Lamb on Easter Sunday. I find it hard to equate eating lamb (I try not to think of it in it's pre-life) on a holiday during which we are celebrating the life of the Lamb of God, but every time I bring it up, Himself rolls his eyes and bemoans the fact that I refuse to purchase lamb any other time of the year, because it is outrageously expensive. It is an odd tradtion, considering neither of us ever ate lamb growing up, but one of the few that are our "own" traditions, so I find an odd thrill in it.

In fact, as a child, my family didn't even have Easter Dinner. Instead, we had the annual Family Boonies Trek, where we'd grab one of the USGS topo maps that fill my father's filing cabinets, pile in one or two beater vehicles and journey miles from any other living soul over 4-wheel-drive roads. We would then hunt for colored eggs (somewhere on the Kaibab Plateau there are a lot of eggs that rotted, we never found them all), burn hot dogs over a fire (the only time I'll ever eat them) and indulge in a rather specific hunt for antique rocks (given the fact that the specific activity, conducted on public lands, is technically illegal, I remain purposefully vague).

This Easter, as are most Easters of my adulthood, was totally different from those of my childhood. I dashed home from church to whip up a fine meal of lamb in balsamic reduction, garlic mashed potatoes, greek salad and steamed asparagus. I use the same lamb recipe every year, but this year it turned out better than ever - and Himself commented it was the best lamb he'd ever had (this is significant, as Himself orders lamb when we go out more often than anything else).

Unfortunately, after the highlight of our quiet lunch, the rest of the holiday was an enormous disaster. I went to bed feeling jaded, jealous of those who get to spend holidays with family (even though moving 2,200 miles away was my idea) and generally obstinate.

I lay in bed contemplating the highlights of the day and realized that I had what I needed to make the holiday successful, I just had to stop looking at it through the eyes of what a "successful" holiday should be and instead, look at it through the lenses of what the Easter season means to me. It came down to The Lambs. The morning was spent contemplating and expressing gratitude for the inconceivable pain and agony of the Lamb of God and the celebration of His resurrection. Mid-day, Himself and I enjoyed a quiet dinner for two, dining on succulent lamb and pondering what Easter really meant. In those quiet hours, before chaos struck, my Easter, though not ideal in my eyes, was poignant and served its purpose.

I fell asleep, still upset, but vowing to reflect more on what I had than what I wanted. I had a beautiful opportunity to worship and celebrate. I had a quiet afternoon with Himself over good food. I had everything I needed to say, "Happy Easter."