The Catcher in the Rye

I just finished reading The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. It was wonderful and I feel sad to have missed out on reading it during my teenage years, when I hated "phonies" almost as much as Holden does.

A quote that particularly got me:

“Lawyers are all right, I guess– but it doesn’t appeal to me,” I said. “I mean they’re all right if they go around saving innocent guys’ lives all the time, and like that, but you don’t do that kind of stuff if you’re a lawyer. All you do is make a lot of dough and play golf and play bridge and buy cars and drink Martinis and look like a hot-shot. And besides. Even if you did go around saving guys’ lives and all, how would you know if you did it because you really wanted to save guys’ lives, or because you did it because what you really wanted to do was be a terrific lawyer, with everybody slapping you on the back and congratulating you in court when the goddam trial was over, the reporters and everybody, the way it is in dirty movies? How would you know you weren’t being a phony? The trouble is, you wouldn’t."

my new hideout

See those windows? That's the library that neighbors the natural history museum near where I work in Oakland. In about 15 minutes I'll be perched in one of those sills, glancing up from my book every few minutes to look down at Andrew Carnegie's Dippy and his friends.

Lunch break with the dinosaurs = epic.

Hey, wow, it's August.

I don't know what to blog about. Maybe starting to write about the weekend will lead me to some quirky story or observation that the rest of you might want to read.

Friday night Colin and I hung out with some friends on the Nor'side at a favorite bar, favored because of the free popcorn and peanuts and the ability to throw shells on the floor (a habit I wish Colin would allow in our apartment). Walking around, hanging out on the rooftop deck at a friend's apartment, it all felt normal and somehow I feel like I might actually belong here in Pittsburgh.

Saturday Colin and I went to McConnells Mill State Park, an old mill set at the bottom of a lovely gorge alongside a river. It's up near the town where his grandparents live and since we were going up to visit them anyway, we decided to get in a little outdoor activity and excercise. (Heaven knows we don't get enough of that lately. Colin blames our full-time jobs. I blame laziness.) It was the perfect day for a hike - relief from the heavy humidity and heat that have settled in Pittsburgh for the past few weeks. When we told his grandparents we were going to the mill they made sure to tell us that at least one person each year is lured by the slippery rocks and falls in the river and drowns. I think it was a relief when we both walked in their door later that afternoon, dry and alive.

Today we went to church in the courtyard of a beautiful nearby church and had brunch with friends. Now Colin is golfing and I'm getting ready to go visit the chickens I'm watching for a few weeks. I have some letters to write and they could use the company -- I think they're feeling a bit cooped up (wow! Is that where the expression came from?) and missing their owner. One, Dotty, is a bit of an escape artist and try as I might, I can't figure out how she gets out of their fenced-in area. I don't think she can figure out how to get back in, either -- I came the other night to feed them and she was running around the yard all flustered and hungry. Freedom wasn't all she thought it would be, I guess.

Boo

Every week I tutor an adorable 7-year-old for an hour. She's a little chatterbox, so we spend a little time getting to know each other before starting her homework (example: I recently discovered that her favorite singer is Beyonce, but she doesn't like when she sings with that white girl Lady Gaga).

This week we were working on graphs. After a few minutes of me trying to explain what "one-third" is and getting nothing but a blank stare, I ran to the supply room to grab some scrap paper. (Math's not my strong point, but we kick butt when we practice reading.) I came back already chatting away about pieces of pie, but stop abruptly as I look around and see an empty room.

Panic.

I've lost a fair number of things in my life, but this would be the first child to disappear on me. My mind immediately jumps to the conversation I'll have to have with her adorable grandparents, what her brother will think, if I'll be in the newspaper --

"BOO."

She jumps out from behind the door. Relief, right? Wrong. As I've mentioned before, I am a giant scaredy-cat and if you startle me, I'm likely to start shaking, curl into a ball, or maybe claw you in defense. Unfortunately this little girl is not a reader of my blog and thought she was pulling a cute prank on her tutor. She expected a laugh, so when she got a shriek instead she was understandably upset.

My heart rate calmed after a few seconds and I immediately tried to comfort her, telling her I thought her joke was really funny and trying to laugh off my reaction. I pulled her in for a hug, but apparently was still a little shaky because I hit her mouth with my shoulder in the process. She pulled away, smiled and said:

"You hit my tooth."

We had discussed earlier how loose her tooth was, and sure enough, there was her top chomper hanging on at a weird angle, enjoying its last few minutes in her mouth by decorating the surrounding gum red with a little blood.

I hadn't experienced losing a tooth in a long time (my little brother has pretty much moved out of that stage) but some sort of instinct must have kicked in as I coached her in pulling it out, got a wet paper towel and ice for her to chew on, helped wash off the newly freed tooth, and constructed a little tooth fairy pouch for her to take the little guy home in.

Once we had settled back in and pulled out our Dr. Suess book, she paused, turned to me and flashed a huge, toothless smile. And all was well in the world.

victoria falls

This is my new dream. Awesome.