Archives for the month of: August, 2012

The Distance Between us

The Distance Between Us, Reyna Grand, Atria Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. by Reyna Grande  325pp., $25

A review-Esther Bradley-DeTally

Reyna Grande’s The Distance Between Us (a memoir)rocks.

In January, 1980, a time of tremendous poverty and economic hardship in Mexico, Reyna is four years old, as her mother leaves for El Otro Lado, the Other Side, to join her husband to work, to help him fulfill his dreams of leaving something to his children.  He had left his native country with high expectations, to make money, earn a living, and build a home in Mexico for his family.  Reyna knows her father as the man, a paper face, behind a wall of glass.  She calls him The Man Behind the Glass,  which photo she takes with her on a move from her mother’s house to her Abuela’s house, a photograph which she grabs and keeps for herself.  He left when she was two, and she will hold tightly to any image or remembrance of her father.

Mago, her sister, is eight and a half.  Carlos , her brother, is about to turn seven, and Mago is asked by her mother to be Carlos and Reyna’s little mother.  They will remain behind in the village under the care of a  bitter, and abusive grandmother.  Their mother will go in and out of their lives, but in essence, they are alone.  Mago shines in her kindness, amazing wisdom and actions towards her young sister. The siblings remain tightly intertwined.  They are badly treated by the grandmother.

This memoir is rich in description of  dirt floors, of hunger, of never enough food, of dirt, of poverty, and of precious few people who help them. The children solidify into one unit, each helping the other.  Theirs is a hardscrabble life, Dickensian in elements, and a reviewer couples Grande’s story of the children, with FrankMcCourt’s Angela’s Ashes. The stories are similar, but Reyna Grand’s use of language encompasses Mexican history and culture, and images are philosophical but highly translatable through her child’s mind. The mother will return, and then leave.  The father will show up and take them back to Los Angeles.   Natalio her father is a man of conflicts.Schooling in Los Angeles, struggle in Highland Park, adjustments to a new country, and yet the sisters and brother remain close.

One theme is of struggle, the struggle of understanding cruelty, conflict, family ties. I picked this book up and inhaled it.  It is more than just a personal story.  It reflects the epic struggles and mutual themes reflecting all who had to leave their native country and come to the United States.  This book is eloquent and courageous.

A final quirky note. I checked my computer this afternoon. I was engrossed in the memoir, but somehow checked a Face Book page and message, and a response by Reyna Grande popped up; a response to a friend’s FB entry.  I emailed the author, “I’m reading your book right now!”  And so, my view of a rich courageous memoir, a few modest words about same and my intent to check out her other two books, Dancing with Butterflies, and Across a Hundred Mountains,is put on a to do list.

Life at Fosselmans

oink, oink

Reader, are you there?  I haven’t been posting, because I’m so busy clicking and clacking everyone else’s wonderful blogs, and teaching writing, and laying down on the floor in a faint because of  the workshop’s wondrous voices, and other stuff too.  Did I tell you it’s been hot, ugh, hot?  The older you get, the more you feel it.

Generalized statement.  Once, when the earth was young, I was born in the Village of West Roxbury, Massachusetts, and I had a twin, normal weight, and we were born in the Boston Lying-In Hospital –part of Peter Bent Brigham (not the ice cream place) or something like that.  I was 4 pounds so I stayed, and Liz, my twin, Elizabeth Deegan Bradley, went home at scheduled time.  I was a 4 pounder named Esther Graham Bradley.  We completed the phrase “4 children within 3 years.”  My sister Mary Ellen Bradley (Meb) was above us and John Williams Bradley a little older –they were Irish twins.

Six months in our career beginning in Dirt City we had whooping-cough, so bad, that Children’s Hospital took us for free.  My father was an economics major from Harvard, but was out of work.  In September, before whooping-cough, the Hurricane of 1938 swash buckled and swash bent houses and boats, and the lights went out in West Roxbury.

Somehow we survived, and we grew up, fraternal twins.  Long story short, Liz, (everyone else called her Elizabeth) died at 68, in Idaho, her family near her.  I have written about this in my book You Carry the Heavy Stuff (a series of essays, poetry, range of depth, and range of writing voices) (Lulu.Com and Amazon.com and Author’s Garage (smile).  Liz was born 12 minutes before me.  Today, as I was brushing my teeth, I thought, what if 12 minutes could be viewed as a day a minute.

I decided I have at least 12 years to hustle and get my gritty, well I’ll be a yellow-bellied chuck wagon prose out on the page.  I may last longer, but I do have aortic valve replacement, blah, blah, and blah, blah, blah – get the full story when I’m 92.

Friday, I went to Nordstrom’s with a good friend who uses Clarens Products on her skin.

She had 2 free facials, and gifted me with one.  It was heavenly, an adventure, and we had lots of catch-up and laughter and old friends’ perceptions to toss at each other over a divine green as green could be, and red as red strawberries could be, and blackberries, and coated sugared pecans, and, and, and we started out as she went for the first facial at 11.30.

Reader, I think I made it home by 6.30 or 7.00 p.m. to my waiting Bill. It was glorious, and the next day my skin, my face, was as soft as a baby’s butt.  I have good skin; don’t know why, and Pam, the skin care specialist, asked what kind of self-care I did, and what I used for my face, because it was great.  Reader, I said, “I throw on water, rub it with a towel, and hit the road.”  It’s worked so far.  But September 29, Janet and I are going back to an adventure at Nordstroms – she’s picking me up at 6.3o a.m. at the end of my driveway – I’ll blog about it.

Sunday, my wondrous daughter-in-law Laura wasn’t feeling well, so Nico, Nicholas, Nick, my 6.5 son came up; Janet of the famed skin care story met us at the restaurant, and Bill and I rode with Nick to a Greens Restaurant on Colorado, near Vromans.  Excellent and not overly pricey.

Then, the plot thickens, as my waist would in a parallel universe.  I have never gone to Fosselman’s Ice Cream, open since 1919, http://www.fosselmans.com/ and I decided to try it.  Nick had a map drawn by Laura, and Bill, myself and Nick headed towards Alhambra, via Los Robles, long, some winds, and took a right on Main, got a little lost, took a U-turn, and there is was on the right hand side.  I must tell my friend and encourager, our friend and encourager, Steve Pulley, who originally told me about Fosselmans being the best ice cream ever.  I grew up going to Bailey’s in Boston, downtown Boston, once a year, and Brighams on the side, and used to be so skinny I could eat all the ice cream sundaes I wanted.

I had 2 scoops of heavenly vanilla ice cream, lots of fudge sauce, delicate, strong, and marshmallow – something I called in my high school years, a “vanilla, fudge, marsh,” and because I had a good lunch, good slices of beef, nor normally eaten, I felt okay.

Today I awakened and cooked stir fry, Tofu and Veggies, as the days of ice cream and splendor are coming to an end.  I then took my hefty gift certificate to Vromans in Pasadena, the best independent bookstore around, and bought 2 more writing books, and 3 memoirs I probably won’t see in the library.

Reader, tomorrow I will be 74, and for the most part I thrive.  I thrive I think because of my Faith, Mr. Bill my husband, my pal, may laughing buddy and snuggler, my kids, his kids, our grandkids, my Faith Community (Baha’i Faith) and all those incredible people in my workshops and in my expanded blog life.  How lucky can an old gal get?

So I just thought I’d share this.  I am very happy at the moment, and indeed, grateful for all I have.

Reblogged from Uneasy Rider... travels & writings:

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For nearly 20 years,* together with my wife Yolanda (and my three stepchildren, while they were still young), I lived on Calle Calama (Calama Street), at the time perhaps one of the liveliest streets in the city of Cochabamba, Bolivia. Our home was a modest adobe and brick, two-story duplex situated in a patio surrounded by six other dwellings housing as many families, who also happened to be my in-laws.

Read more… 3,333 more words

Steve is a long-time friend who has lived in South America for years, and luckily lives in Temple City near my husband and myself; i found his account delightful

Reblogged from Embracing Homelessness:

Friday was a big day: I had a job interview!  At eight o'clock in the morning!  Thirty-one miles away!  And I don't have a car!

So I asked one of my friends at the shelter if I could impose for a ride.  The answer was yes -- until about three o'clock Thursday afternoon, when said friend had to bow out because of a doctor's appointment that hadn't made it onto the calendar. 

Read more… 1,862 more words

Courage Under Fire

Reblogged from Embracing Homelessness:

My feet hurt.

I'm not surprised. I'm wearing shoes that were never built for walking anywhere but on carpeted floors.  And I've already walked (or possibly trudged) a mile or so, between getting from the shelter to the train station, from one platform to the next for the three trains I have to take, and from the last station to my destination. 

Read more… 1,336 more words

This blogger is amazing; i know her personally and I feel that's a privilege. this is my way of tooting her horn.

Reblogged from Write In Color:

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I don’t need to tell you that the Internet has given us access to more free knowledge than ever before. Just one glance around a restaurant, coffee shop or retail store, and you’re bound to see people Googling manically on their smartphones (hopefully about something other than the latest Hollywood gossip). But a new concept called Massively Open Online Courses…

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This is a good example of the wealthy helping the poor - Faith in Action

Funny.  From the blog Embracing Homelessness – this person is an incredible writer, and I am privileged to know her.

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