Puppy

... Josh had said, such nostalgia in his voice, "Mom, remember when Goochie was a puppy?" Which was when Abbie had burst into tears, because, being only five, she had no memory of Goochie as a puppy. --From George Saunders' "Puppy"

After the first page, I was at a loss of knowing what was happening. I was reading every word, knew what each word meant, but when those words are sprawled with narration--with all-over-the-place, hilarious narration with "ha ha ha" and "ho HO"s--I had no idea what they became. So I don't know why I didn't stop reading. I don't know why I kept turning the pages. Perhaps it was because once in a while I would come to a part where I understood wholeheartedly what it all meant, like the passage above. Or below.

Marie stepped to the window and, anthropologically pulling the blind aside, was shocked, so shocked that she dropped the blind and shook her head, as if trying to wake herself, shocked to see a young boy, just a few years younger than Josh, harnessed and chained to a tree, via some sort of doohickey by which--she pulled the blind back again, sure she could not have seen what she thought she had--(Saunders, 265)

So much childish suspense. Like I just dropped the blind.

Awake

A beautiful and blinding morning

The world outside begins to breathe

See clouds arriving without warning

I need you here to shelter me

And I know that only time will tell us how

To carry on without each other

So keep me awake to memorize you

--From Josh Groban's "Awake"

I had this as my wake-up song last year. Never got tired of it. Especially when you get to hear your favorite singer's voice every morning! 

At the Art Institute

The man looks infinitely old, almost to death. Only his hands seem alive in flesh, his hands that once held pen and book before he was blind.

I did not intend to see Henry Fuseli’s “Milton Dictating to His Daughter.” I only intended to see Antonio Mancini’s “Resting.” Katherine wrote about it, alluded to it in her essay “Captive: A Love Story.” I always wished to see it. The painting looked as if Mancini himself was sick as he drew the sick woman in his picture. It was blurred, groggy. Her hair did not seem to be intact; it was as if it were matted by some thick wig.

Anyway. I did not know Milton was blind. Became blind, at least. And in the painting he is carefully dictating “Paradise Lost” to his daughter, with lips slightly parted. I wish I could read his lips. 

http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/44739  

Bel Canto

"When the lights went off the accompanist kissed her."

That's the first sentence of Ann Patchett's Bel Canto. She's a Ragdale alum. Ms. Hawkins was reading all the first sentences of alumni books and this one's my favorite. So later that summer I went to the bookstore and happened to spot the book right there, and right there I started reading. I don't judge books by its first page, or its first sentence for that matter, but I loved it so much I bought it. And then here is what happened. I kept the book on my shelf, unread, and then one day sent it to Katerina in Maryland. I don't gift books I've not finished reading, but I knew it would be good and I wanted her to read it so much I forwent reading it myself.