The Kite Runner – Layers of Heartbreak

/ still a dreamer

I am still sitting with The Kite Runner. Not moving onto another book yet, and not really wanting to. That’s how powerful this book is for me.

I feel compelled to write about it, though I wonder what I can say that hasn’t been said a thousand times over. I have no intention of writing a synopsis or the like – this is personal. I can say this … Khaled Hosseini is an outstanding writer – part of the brilliance of this book is that it’s hard to imagine that it is not completely autobiographical, yet I know it is not. I can say that I don’t believe one could read The Kite Runner without easily forgiving Amir for what he felt was his horrific betrayal of Hassan. From the standpoint of an observing adult, Amir’s was the realistically-based fear of a child that he would have suffered the same cruelty as did Hassan at the hands of Assef. Yet Amir bore the burden of failing his friend, and this is a pivotal point around which spins The Kite Runner’s tale.

The relationships between the characters are so beautifully drawn … the tender yet precarious boyhood friendship between Amir and Hassan; the  great need of Amir to please Baba; the much needed acceptance in Amir’s relationship with Rahim Khan, his father’s business partner; his later love with Soraya; and then his overwhelming compassion for Sohrab. I must say, I loved being taken to a land of which I know so little. Despite the telling of its tragedy and violence, it was someplace I’ve never been, and in this, Hosseini artfully painted a picture. The beginning of the story takes place against the backdrop of a beautiful, richly colored Afghanistan, but which is then torn apart and destroyed in the Soviet invasion, followed by the chaos of a civil war, leaving people in the even more cruel hands of the Taliban.

As moving as this story is to me, so artfully woven around the characters and the painful events of their lives, I was almost equally as moved by the devastation of a land, of a life, where people had known happiness. The destruction and poverty which changed all of the characters’ lives forever is, of course, a critical part of the story … broken characters, a broken country. The brutality of man against man – even amongst different sects/classes within the country itself, (Baba and Amir, Pashtun, and Ali and Hassan, Hazara),  eloquently described and tragic beyond words. Thankfully, Hosseini found them.

As mentioned, I know very little about Afghanistan. That part of the world was never a subject of much attention when I was growing up and studying history. The Soviets invaded Afghanistan in the late 70’s followed by 10 years of war. Not long after the Soviet withdrawal, more chaos followed in civil wars within the country and greater world repercussions, but I am no expert here. Different parts of The Kite Runner took place over these periods, and it all brought an immense sadness to me … over man’s relentless quest for power and control over one another, of his endless and shameful inability to respect, if we cannot love, our fellow man.

Yesterday, I went online to learn more about Afghanistan – something to help me better understand The Kite Runner and the events befalling its characters. I looked at maps and traced the routes of the characters to Jalalabad, and at other times to Peshawar and Islamabad in Pakistan. I watched videos where the author spoke about this, his first novel, and his country. He is an insightful, likable and empathic man, trying still to bring attention to the plight of his people who are living in desperate poverty. Some of these videos included the Afghani … they are a very handsome people. I felt much like a child with my eyes just opening to another part of the world which has, up until now, escaped my attention, my consideration. It just got me thinking …

I wondered if the man who pumps gas in the town next to me might be from Afghanistan … did he leave his country at some point as Baba and Amir did … to try and find a better life here? Although Baba and Amir were escaping the Soviet invasion, might this man have left behind the Taliban or some other political pressure of which I know nothing? Considering the deep resentment, and often hatred, this country can have for the West, would he see a question of where he came from as a rude intrusion, or maybe a moment of unexpected friendliness from an American? I am not saying I would, (or would not), ask, but I know The Kite Runner tore open another part of my heart … a part that has more questions, more curiosity, for what I have not known … a part brimming with compassion for the Amirs, the Hassans and the Sohrabs. This is the gift Khaled Hosseini gave to me, and for which I am grateful.

p.s. I have just found that Khaled Hosseini has established his own foundation to help the Afghan people. The Khaled Hosseini Foundation‘s site lists the needs of the people, what the foundation is doing to help, and what you can do to help if you are inspired.

Rambling

/ still a dreamer

I find there are periods of time in which I am all over the place. I’m working on several graphics jobs that call upon very different mindsets, am fielding a proposal to do a new job, wondering when I should follow up on something I am waiting to hear back on, when I’ll get the time, (or desire), to simply pull the remaining paperwork from my files so I can put away all my 2010 tax stuff, and it goes on and on.

I finally used my Barnes & Noble’s gift card from Christmas – bought the reference book I’ll need for some of my characters in the picture book I’ll be bringing with me to the upcoming NJ SCBWI June Conference, and surprise! David Cook’s CD, (yup, from American Idol.) Usually, when I work at my desk, I listen to new age, light classical piano or guitar, or Indian (American) music because I can’t do creative writing when someone is singing lyrics, but lately, when on other types of work, I find myself listening to the radioio IDOLS station in iTunes. Sometimes I watch the show, sometimes not – this year I seem to be interested. I do know, however, when I hear David Cook’s voice, I hear something I like, so he’ll be arriving in a few days. And then I went to read a bit about Patricia Briggs’ latest in the Mercy Thompson series, River Marked, but let’s not go there just yet.

Forrest Gump arrived today. I must be the only person on the planet who hasn’t seen Forrest Gump, but so be it. I, unlike a friend of mine, am a constant juggler of movies in my queue. He just adds something, and when it comes up, it comes up. Not me. I seem to ponder how it will fit in with the current tenor of my life, my feelings, etc. Do I want to laugh? (or need to?) Am in the frame of mind to deal with something powerful and disturbing? I can’t say how many times I have pushed Hotel Rwanda down as it begins to surface in my queue. And I just watched Alice in Wonderland, which I really enjoyed a lot. Makes me think that maybe when I’m done my current book, that I’ll read Alice – she’s a fixture on my bookshelf.

Now watching Alice in Wonderland and Forrest Gump may be an offset to that current book – The Kite Runner. I was told it was a very sad book. I didn’t ask why my friend found it so, so am discovering the many levels of sadness for myself. Certainly, reading a book like this makes it that much more obvious what fabulous, often spoiled, lives we are living here in the land of the free and home of the brave. Visualizing the bombed ruins of Kabul and other parts of Afghanistan and the cruelty of the Taliban as described by the author is sobering to say the least. And it made me think of how that happened here in its own way, except that the victims weren’t Afghani people, they were native Americans.

Imagining the abject poverty the Afghan people were subjected to is heartbreaking, but that same poverty is also right here in America. Many of those living on reservations are living in conditions that are below those of third world countries, yet no one ever talks about it. Or even seems to know. Indians have the highest rate of poverty of any group in the United States.

Years ago at a pow-wow, I saw this great tee shirt. It was funny, well, no – not funny – more ironic. Clever. Ultimately, more sad than anything else. It features Geronimo and several other Indians, the tee shirt saying – Homeland Security – Fighting Terrorism since 1492. Here it is – you can order it at Northern Sun along with many items which have something to say. Was their experience so different than what happened in Afghanistan? Their world destroyed, families killed, homes taken away, forced to live where their terrorists demanded. It was a very dark chapter in American history. I wonder if that history is being taught. Or that this impoverished way of life, so unlike our own, continues on in many parts of this country. Or are we all just too busy?

Well, rambling I am. I also wonder when one of my cats will get past the hairball she seems to be harboring somewhere in her digestive tract, and which she feels compelled to try and push up in the vicinity of 2 – 4 a.m.

And I can’t wait to start photographing my friend’s little boy, my model for the MC in aforementioned picture book. Yeah, just all over.

Springtime Whispers Green … and White

/ still a dreamer

Who can wait? After 2 solid months of not seeing the ground in my part of the state, every soul eagerly awaited the slow greening of the Earth. Despite the fact that we were greeted this morning with a light blanket of snow – not so unusual for March in New Jersey – I’ve been noticing the telltale signs of Spring each day.

One of my favorite indications of Spring is the noticeable pairing off of Canada geese … mating season has begun. While seemingly indiscriminate flocks abound all winter, they now pair off with their bonded mates, and can be seen everywhere in couples. For whatever reason large numbers of geese no longer migrate South for the winter, and have become a “nuisance” animal to some, I still love watching the faithful pairs and their protectiveness towards each other.

I notice other signs of Spring as I drive, such as the cut stalks of last summer’s corn now sheared to the ground, which will soon be ready for tilling. I passed a local farmer in his orchard, pruning his sleeping peach and apple trees. I noticed small clusters of snowdrops peeking through the ground as I walked to town the other day. Perhaps most encouraging, just the lightest veil of green wisping about some of the trees … telling me that soon the world will be lush and verdant. All this is amidst the ever-growing morning song of birds returning from their winter havens.

And, as always, it seems mere moments from the first greening that the world will be in full bloom.

This morning, however, the Earth tried on her lacy white gown just one more time before tucking it away, soon to embrace her own lovely, green rebirth.

Making Time for What We Love

/ still a dreamer

OK, I’m the first one who says we have to “make” time, not “find” time, but every now and then, something occurs which effectively pushes in my face just how much I’m trying to accomplish, and what happens? Instant overwhelm!

If you have a dream, and I’m sure you do, there really are just times when you wonder how you’ll ever get there. I was updating my web site, and looking at how many children’s books I have somewhere in the process of either writing, editing, storyboarding, dummying and/or illustrating, and how I really want to be working on each and every one. But then I … like you, I suspect … remember that I have to work and do all the multitudinous things that mean taking care of our lives.

It sure can be a dilemma, can’t it? And then we sit down to it, (or run across it, climb up it, build it … if that’s your dream), and we’re happy. I actually updated a few areas of my site, and added the following quote in my shop, where I always like some words of wisdom – “The best way to predict your future is to create it.” – Peter Drucker.  His words seem apt for where I am right now — standing on the edge of everything exciting, but still wondering how long I can fly up there, before I have to return to the reality of everyday life. Well, everyday life as I know it at this precise moment in time.

I plan on making the time to fly up there longer and longer. And to keep on learning how to kick that overwhelm to the curb. How’s your dream coming along?

The Joy of Dishes

/ still a dreamer

As I was looking at my newest and most (currently) favorite mug this morning, I felt a desire to write about dishes. What is it about dishes that is so incredibly wonderful? I will admit, I have plenty, and quite a few complete sets. But with rare exception, and this mug is one of them, (available here), I haven’t paid much – or anything at all – for them.

Just to give you an idea of the wonderful dishes that call my table and cabinets their own are the following … a set of Johnson Brothers china, (given me by my college roommate), a complete set of Vernon Ware, which is like a soft-hued Fiesta Ware, (dishes I grew up with),  a 1920’s set of hexagonal amethyst glass dishes, (I paid $15 at the first auction I ever went to with my friend, Jan, in the late 80’s), a Royal Doulton Art Deco tea set missing a sugar bowl, (dirt cheap on London’s Portobello Road in the mid-70’s), hand-thrown bowls, large and small, and serving dishes and casseroles, (all gifts), cobalt crystal tumblers, ( a gift), and …. a lovely assortment of “factory-second” sets from Pfaltzgraff’s factory outlet, ( at $1 and $2 per piece), when they were still open in Flemington. I also have a gorgeous set of hand-thrown stoneware glasses and plates to whose talented creators I happily paid a fair price. And, of course, the hand-thrown mug you see pictured. (In all honesty, there are still more odds and ends in more hand-thrown mugs, pie plates, glasses, serving platters, etc. gathered over the years.)

So what can we conclude from this? That I have tons of company for dinner? Nope, that’s not it. That I am a disaster to only myself when packing to move? Oh, yeah! That many of these dishes have sentimental value? Yup, that’s true, too. But the overriding conclusions are the following … the dishes that I have collected over the years are beautiful, and, in my estimation, a form of art. It’s true. Dishes are a relatively inexpensive – if you know where to shop – form of art.

But wait, there’s another conclusion. Dishes make food look wonderful. Food, one of the true delights in life, can be beautiful on its own when prepared, but placed on the right plate or served in the right bowl or dish, surpasses its own singular appeal. A table set with just the right dishes holding even the simplest of foods can be a form of art. Think of some of the best food magazine photographs – they have you salivating just looking at the food so beautifully presented. And behind every mouthwatering morsel is a carefully selected dish.

So that’s it – there’s joy in dishes because of their beauty as an art form all their own. (And just so you know … I had to actually resist photographing more of my dishes for this post … but maybe another time.)