A Year of Gratitude, Day 3

 

The "new couch" is the greatest place to build my nest when I am having trouble sleeping.

We've owned this particular couch since 1977.

Dedicating Myself to Being the Best Me Possible?

Ding ding.

When I hear that annoying little ping coming from my cell phone about this time every morning, I know it's 9:30 and my Weight Watchers' coach is sending another mass-mail motivational quote. This morning it is a reminder to "Dedicate 2015 to being the best you possible." While I know that my journey toward a healthy BMI is helping me to become a more healthy me, I find myself feeling irritated with the message that perhaps I cannot be good enough until I lose "x" more pounds. For a person who struggles with self-esteem issues, this is a daunting way to begin the new year.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons I have begun my photographic year of gratitude, to remind myself of all the good things in my life, all those people, things, places that encourage me to be the best me that I can possibly be and even more, to acknowledge that no one can be her  best when she travels the path alone.

A Year of Gratitude, Day 2

25.5 pounds lighter today than on this date one year ago. Yay me!

A Year of Gratitude, Day 1

 

Placing a steaming cup of coffee on my bedside table on chilly winter mornings is just one of the many ways my husband says he loves me.

Behind the Beautiful Forevers, by Katherine Boo

Imagine that you are exiting the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Aiport in Mumbai, India when you see the words Beautiful Forever inscribed in bright yellow paint on tall block walls across the highway. What do you think might lie behind those walls? Can you envision stucco -covered homes with bright tropical flowers and palm trees surrounding sparkling swimming pools? Mumbai is, after all, the financial, commercial  and entertainment  center of India. Surely Beautiful Forever must be an elite residential development, don’t you think?

Now, just for kicks, google Annawadi, Mumbai, India. Are you as shocked as I was to see images of what lies behind the Beautiful Forever walls? If so, you really must read Katherine Boo’s National Book Award-winner, Behind the Beautiful Forevers.

Boo, an investigative journalist who as a reporter for the Washington Post won the 2000 Pulitzer Prize for a series  about mistreatment of underprivileged mentally challenged residents in our nation’s capital city, has always chosen to report about disadvantage and poverty. She became interested in India, home to ‘one-third of the world’s poverty and one-fourth of the planet’s hunger,’ when she married an Indian man.

Behind the Beautiful Forevers is the true-life story of residents of the Annawadi slum in Mumbai. As the book opens we are introduced to Abdul Hussain, a 16-year old boy who supports his family of 10 by trading in trash. Abdul’s neighbor, a one-legged woman named Sita was seriously burned, and later would die, following the collapse of a communal wall between the two homes. Abdul is accused of her murder. As the book progresses we learn about the web of corruption throughout the Indian social, political, and judicial systems. Boo argues that the unpredictability of daily life grinds down individual promise and weak government proves better at nourishing corruption than caring for its people.

I have never been a big fan of expository writing, but I found  Beyond the Beautiful Forevers riveting.  It reads like a best-selling mystery novel yet is firmly grounded in fact. To learn the fate of Abdul and other Annawadi residents, you must read the book for yourselves. While I won my copy in an editor’s give away, you can purchase the book from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or your local independent book seller; or borrow it from your local public library. You won’t be sorry you did

A New Day

My eyes sprung open in the darkened room. I lay in the bed trying to decide if perhaps I might fall back asleep, but the numbers on the clock radio filled the room with a lime green glow and my mind began its predawn ritual of worry. Not wishing to wake my husband, I rolled from the bed, fumbled through the jumble on the bedside table to retrieve my glasses, phone and iPad, and quietly snuck from the bedroom to the sanctuary of the “new couch,” a couch we have had for thirty-seven years, certainly not the newest couch in the house, but indisputably the most comfortable. I piled the square pillows around me, building a nest to cradle my aching back and hips, and settled in to await the dawning of a new day.

My head pounded as if the infantry was marching through my house, raising a cloud of urine-tainted cat litter dust and releasing a flood of post-nasal drip down the back of my throat.  I heard the click of the thermostat and knew the AC soon would be blowing chilled air throughout the house. The door at the top of the stairs swung open and bare feet shuffled across the oak-grained floor.  Glancing up, I saw the ghostly image of my night-gowned sister illuminated  by the nightlight as she traveled to the bathroom and back to bed. The stairs began to creak and I knew my husband was half-awake and making his way to the recliner in the media room upstairs.  After much mumbling and grumbling and creaking of leather, he and the ancient black cat inherited from my mother following her death 14 years ago fell into sonorous sleep.

Slowly the dark sky began to turn a pale gray, the birds began to sing their greetings to the rising sun.  Cars traveled down the street, slowing as they approached the stop sign, accelerating as their drivers continued on their way to work.

And suddenly, the whine of the coffee grinder and the heady smell of Ruta Maya beans brewing . It’s another day in Texas. 

A Mystery Artist

My great-aunt Jessie was an adventurous soul. On one of her travels to France, she purchased a series of pen and ink sketches created by this artist. The drawings appear to be street scenes and were probably made in the early-ish 1900s. 

While it is difficult to see in this photo, painted on the wall of the building on the right are the words Caves St. Emilion. In hopes of learning a bit of the provenance of these sketches, I googled artists of St. Emilion and came across a website for the Little Gallery. I sent the proprietor of the gallery a compressed file of these images in hopes she would know something about the artist. Today, I received an email from Elena; and, alas, but not surprisingly, she did not recognize the artist's signature and, after consulting with a friend, does not think the pictures are of St. Emilion.

The sketches have all been "contained" within an area which appears to have been embossed in the thick paper on which the sketches are drawn. Only the signature and the characteristic small sketches are on the borders of the "mat."

The horse-drawn cart in this picture makes me think of a farmer bringing his produce to a town market day. 

This is my favorite of the three drawings. 

I doubt that these drawings are of any great monetary value, but I would like to know more about the

artist and his setting.  I have no idea where to continue my search for information.

Any ideas?