Jaipur Literature Festival -- Nonfiction

JLF at Boulder

September 15-17, 2017

“When I look back, I am so impressed again with the life-giving power of literature. If I were a young person today, trying to gain a sense of myself in the world, I would do that again by reading, just as I did when I was young.” -- Maya Angelou.

One need not be 'young' and trying to gain a sense of themself in the world. I think we all experience days when our sense of self has abandoned us. We wake up and look at the same day ahead of us that we lived through yesterday and the day before -- the same responsibilities, the same dishes to wash, the same route to work, the same "how are you," and the same "fine," when we're not so sure we're fine at all. 

That's when Maya Angelou is right all over again. Literature, whatever our choice, takes us out of ourself. Helps us see the world from a different perspective, offers us alternatives, requires nothing more from us than we are willing to give. It gives us a soft place to land when we need one.

And there is a whole world of literature out there.

The Jaipur Free Literature Festival, the world's largest free literature festival, began in Jaipur, India in 2006. In 2014 it expanded to London. And this will be its third year in Boulder, Colorado. Mark September 15 through 17 on your calendar and come to Colorado.

The primary venue will be the Boulder Public Library which stands at the foot of the Flat Iron Mountains.

Admission is free, but you do need to preregister. If you'd rather stay in Denver, Boulder is less than an hour away along a scenic drive complete with wildlife.

Food at the festival is reasonably priced and easily available -- not to mention that there's a Lucile's Creole Cafe in Boulder open from 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. (8 a.m. on Saturdays and Sundays.)

My favorite place in the library to meet friends

The library is spacious and beautiful with plenty of venues for the various panels. There is ample opportunity to ask questions following the panel discussions and the presenters, who are from all over the world, are gracious and accessible between sessions.

A major concept that I came away with from one of last year's panels was the difference between immigrants and refugees. The panel was especially focused on the Vietnam War and featured Viet Thanh Nguyen, author of The Sympathizer last year's Pulitzer Prize winner for fiction. And Andrew Lam, a PBS correspondent and Vietnamese refugee.

It was from them that I came to understand that an immigrant to this country, or indeed to whatever country, planned to come here. They did research. They sold whatever they had in their old country and saved their money to invest in their new country. They dreamed of the possibilities. They chose to come.

A refugee, on the other hand, ended up wherever they ended up because they could no longer expect to survive in their old country. They very often were not allowed to bring anything with them, other than what they might sneak out of their old country. There would be little or no preparation, no dreams, just get out as best they could to whatever country would let them in. They truly have to "depend on the kindness of strangers."

Come to the Jaipur Literature Festival in Boulder, touch the world, and let the world touch you through its many and varied literary traditions.

Initials (Only) -- Flash Fiction

image from YouTube

"B. J., you got everything you need?"

"Yes, sir. I think I do." The young man put his duffel bag on the rider's side floor of his old red pickup.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"Too late to change my mind now. Already signed the papers. It's pretty much up to them." He stuck his hands in his pockets and gazed at his feet. "Long as I pass their tests, they'll let me stay."

"Oh, they'll let you stay all right, but four years. That's a long time." He put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet, too.

The two men stood there, the younger one almost a reflection of the older one. In many ways he looked more like his uncle than he did his own father. His father had been gone too long.

"Uncle Arthur, you did twenty years. Made Master Sergeant. Raised two girls."

"I did. Worked well for your Aunt Dora and me." He followed his brother's son to the driver's side of the truck.

B. J. climbed in, closed the door, and rolled down the window.

Arthur pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and withdrew a crisp $100 bill.

"Nah, I got enough money to get there."

"I know you do." The uncle chuckled. "I know you do. You put this in the back of your bill fold and don't take it out except for an emergency."

B. J. pulled his seat belt across his chest.

The uncle rested a weathered hand on the open window, the money held loosely between his second and middle finger. "Let me give you some advice. Basic is rough. Your Drill Instructor will be the toughest, meanest man you'll ever meet, but he'll teach you everything you need to know."

B. J. tucked the $100 bill in his chest pocket and laughed. "Or maybe a woman."

"Well if it's a woman, she'll be even tougher. Whoever it is, don't draw attention to yourself. Don't do anything that might show you know something they don't. I guarantee they'll pick some poor slob to be the butt for the whole ten weeks. And you don't want to be him."

He drove seven hours to Fort Leonard Wood. Under the supervision of two Drill Instructors, one of whom was a woman, he waited nearly three hours for the rest of his group to arrive.

Wearing clean dockers and a buttoned shirt, B. J. observed his fellow recruits. One shaggy looking slacker lounged against a pole, his baggy shorts hanging from skinny hips under a dirty tank top. He looked like he'd partied all night long. B. J. thought he'd i.d.'d his group's butt.

Finally the woman Drill Instructor ordered, "Platoon, fall in. Four rows of ten."

The shaggy one finally found his place and the Drill Instructor took a clip board from her fellow D.I.

"Andrews, Carl David," she shouted and someone answered.

"Burkhardt, Donald Eugene."

"Don," came the answer.

She lowered the clipboard and searched the ranks.

A burly blond guy from the middle of the pack raised his hand. "I go by Don," he said.

"Well, excuse me all to hell. Did your mother name you Donald? Or did she not?"

He lowered his hand, "Donald."

"Donald what?" She glared at him.

"Donald Eugene," he barely whispered.

"Donald, Drill Sergeant." Turning on the rest of the platoon, she graciously explained, "the correct answer is always what I say followed by Drill Sergeant.

A few more names down the list she called "Bonly Jonly Christ."

No one answered.

Twice more she called "Bonly Jonly Christ."

Still no one answered.

Finally she stepped to the side and conferred with the other Drill Instructor.

She resumed her position center front and growled, "B. only J. only Christ."

B. J. swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am. I'm here."

"Well, by Christ, I'm glad we got that straightened out. What do the B and the J stand for?"

"Nothing, ma'am. It's just the initials. And my last name rhymes with 'mist,' ma'am."

"Copy that Bonly Jonly. And don't call me ma'am. I work for a living. Drop and give me twenty-five. NOW."

B. J. had no doubt who the butt was.

#atozchallenge

Hiking Green Mountain -- Nonfiction

Green Mountain under cover of snow

Green Mountain is the focal point of William F. Hayden Park. At more than 2,400 acres, it is the second largest of Lakewood's more than 200 city parks. 

Its altitude of 6,854 feet above sea level makes it one of the smaller of the Foothills of the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains. But because it is rounded and treeless, Green Mountain is easily identifiable. And since I live in a neighborhood 1.8 miles and 1,100 feet down hill to its southeast, I can tell which way is home from almost anywhere in the Denver area.

the view from my neighborhood

from my backyard

When we first moved here from Oklahoma, hiking was not even in my vocabulary. My knees were bad. I had no experience with a climate that is conducive to outdoor activities twelve months out of the year. Nor any acquaintance with a culture that not only encourages walking and hiking but a city that maintains 180 miles of trails for walking, hiking, biking, and horseback riding. My attitude had always been, if you can't get there in a car, why would you go?

My husband lived on the north shoulder of Green Mountain two years before my Dad and I joined him here in Lakewood in December of 2012. At that time Scott was a runner and ran Green Mountain to train for marathons. 

Lakewood also has four recreation centers that provide all kinds of fitness classes and our health insurance paid a little more than half the monthly fee, so I thought "Why not?" Besides, my husband was getting to see grand vistas and abundant wildlife and I wasn't physically able to go, too. I hate to be left out of anything.

My first goal was to reach the summit of Green Mountain. Exercise classes four days a week strengthened my legs enough that I could compensate for the bad knees. I walked our neighborhood including our own open space Hutchinson Park which has its share of walking and biking paths. But I could see that radio tower on top of Green Mountain. That was where I wanted to go.

Finally I started hiking Green Mountain. Scott would hike with me first on this trail, then on that, then on another. Always we would go just as far as I was able. We'd see wildlife.

          five of a herd of eight Mule Deer                                     a Meadowlark 

And, sometimes hear wildlife -- like rattlesnakes. I never saw one, but I took their ominous sound seriously and moved away from the area.

The City of Denver
Looking east from the base of the radio tower.

Views from the top of Green Mountain

I always thought the radio tower was at the summit.
Here it is about a quarter of a mile to the east of the summit.

That sliver of a snow-capped mountain is Pike's Peak
about 70 miles to the south.

Saint Mary's Glacier 34 miles west.

 

Here I am at the summit of Green Mountain
April 21, 2013.

The old knees finally won the battle and I haven't been on Green Mountain in two years. But I had the right knee replaced December 29 and all went well, so we did the left one March 29. There's no reason not to expect a full recovery and hiking Green Mountain is now on the agenda for this summer.

#atozchallenge

GG, A Treadle Sewing Machine, and Barges -- Flash Fiction

1903 Singer Treadle Sewing Machine

image from Quilting Board

"Why'd she die?" the child asked from her perch on the treadle below her great grandmother's sewing machine.

Her mother laid a silky, white slip into a box marked donations. "She just did, Honey."

The child rocked back and forth on the treadle, singing softly to herself, "Out of my window, looking in the night." She stopped rocking. "Am I gonna die?"

"Of course not. GG was old. You're not quite four." The mother laid a fuzzy, pink robe on the bed. It smelled faintly of gardenias, her grandmother's favorite flowers. An early spring scent from the old woman's childhood home.

The mother remembered rocking on that same treadle when she was small. Her Granny hadn't sewn on it in years. Not since Pap bought her the electric sewing machine. She hadn't used that one for years either. Not since Pap died. She might as well sell the electric one. Nobody in the family sewed any more. But she'd keep the old treadle machine.

The child resumed her rocking and singing. "I could see the barges flickering light. Silently flows the river to the sea. And the barges, too, go silently." She stopped singing. "What's a barge?"

"It's a kind of boat. Your GG lived by a great big river when she was little like you. And she could see the barges from her front porch. She used to sing that song to me when I was little."

"Did GG go to heaven on a barge?"

"Go to heaven?"

"That's what Auntie Lily said. She said GG went to heaven and she's never coming back."

"On a barge?" The mother sat on the edge of the bed. "Come out from under there." She gathered the child into her lap, taking up the song herself, "Barges I would like to go with you. I would like to sail the ocean blue."

She kissed the top of the little girl's head. The child smelled fresh and clean, still damp from her bath. "Maybe your GG did go to heaven on a barge. That would be just like her."

The child leaned away from her mother to see her better. "Momma, you're old."

The mother laughed.

Still serious, the child searched her mother's face. "I don't want you to go on a barge."

The mother wrapped the pink robe around them both and hugged the child tight. "Not to worry. I won't be that old for a long time, and I promise not to ride on any barges."

#atozchallenge

Fences -- Movie Review

And you ain't gonna find him givin' nobody nothin' neither.

And that dear friends is exactly what's wrong with this movie.

Credit where credit is due. Denzel Washington does an excellent job of directing and acting. Viola Davis is a superb actress. The whole cast does very well. They are not the problem.

The story is the problem. We start out with the main character Troy Maxson (Washington) and his buddy Bono (played by Stephen McKinley Henderson.) They're were in prison together. The film starts years later with them coming home after their usual week working together on a garbage truck. We meet Rose Maxson (Davis.) And the relationships among these three seem healthy.

But then Troy's son by a woman before he married Rose, Lyons (played by Russell Hornsby) comes on the scene. And then we meet Cory (played by Jovan Adepo) Troy and Rose's son. That's when the story begins to fall apart for me.

Spoiler alert! Troy is an abusive spouse and parent. The film then skillfully tells us why Troy is abusive. Here was an opportunity for a story of redemption. But that ain't what we get.

Okay. I understand about abusive men. Why they're that way may be legitimate. But, quite frankly, somewhere along the way they gotta learn and change. They gotta make amends. Become human beings. What happened to them before may not have been their fault. Or maybe they hadn't learned any better. But somewhere along the way, they've gotta take responsibility for who they are now.

And the woman's character made me as mad as he did. I have no patience for a woman who does not protect her children especially from their father. She sees first hand what he does.

I know most of them don't change. But some do. Troy's friend Bono apparently did. But not Troy.

The simple fact is keeping a man is just like keeping a horse or a dog. There are too many good ones out there who need a home and someone who will love them, to waste yourself keeping a bad one.

#atozchallenge

Extreme Weather -- Movie Review

Trailer from National Geographic

I like weather. I like movies. I like 3D  IMAX movies. And I love the Denver Museum of Nature and Science where National Geographic's Extreme Weather is currently showing.

Upholding National Geographic's reputation for photographic excellence, Extreme Weather moves from one amazing visual to another and another. Calving glaciers in Alaska, tornadoes on the Oklahoma prairie, hurricanes as seen from the International Space Station, raging forest fires in California. Each terrifying in its own way.

There is discussion of the weather system that envelopes our Earth and how it is being affected by climate change, the warming of our Earth.

A seemingly slight change in our oceans' temperatures causes changes in precipitation patterns across the land portions of the Earth. Droughts can be more extensive and of longer duration increasing the risk of wild fires in forests and across the plains. Causing loss of life and property. Increasing ash in the atmosphere which settles on the glaciers darkening them so that they absorb more of the sun's heat causing more melting causing ocean rise causing flooding of low tidal lands.

Having grown up in Central Oklahoma, often referred to as Tornado Alley, and having lived in the piney woods of Southeast Arkansas, the scenes of tornadoes and forest fires were particularly heart-wrenching for me to watch.

This film's format not only puts us into the midst of catastrophic reality, it captures the heart-stopping intense beauty of Extreme Weather.

#atozchallenge

Dialog -- Flash Fiction

Image from Johns Hopkins University

Jacqueline Mitchard was the Guest of Honor at the 2014 Rose State Writing Short Course in Midwest City, Oklahoma. She wrote The Deep End of the Ocean, which was the first selection for Oprah's Book Club.

She's not only a good writer, but a good teacher, too. One of the exercises she gave us to do was to write twelve lines of dialogue. Dialogue only. We could not use attributions or other narrative. It was to be an argument between two people, one of whom has a secret. The secret could not be that they were pregnant or having an affair.

From the dialogue, the reader should be able to identify the relationship of the two people, their gender, their ages, and what the secret was. These people are not arguing but here goes....


"May I sit here?"

"Sure. It's pretty full."

"Are you all right? You seem nervous. A little harried."

"My first flight. Going to ask my high school sweetheart to marry me."

"First marriage?"

"God, no. My wife and I were married forty-three years. Mary passed away two years ago."

"I'm sorry about your wife. My Bill and I are coming up on fifty-one years next month. October third."

"It was hard at first. Living alone, I mean. Not the marriage. These seats are nice. A little tight, but .... Then in June was my high school's fifty-year reunion. The bathrooms in the airport are nice. They're clean. Mary would have liked that. Do you know where the bathroom on here is?"

"There's one in the very front and one in the very back. So do you think someone should say something to someone if her slip were showing? Or, say, she noticed that someone had spinach stuck between their teeth?"

"Sure."

"What about if she noticed that a man's fly was unzipped?"

"Oh, God."

#atozchallenge