Gail's Blog

I have such affection for this story. Alexandra (Bo-bo) Fuller grew up in Rhodesia as it turned into Zimbabwe. Her parents loved Africa, and she grew up loving it deeply. Yet there were so many racial and political issues going on, and a civil war to boot, that you might think that it would be a sad book. But it isn't. It is a story of great heart, courage, and humor. The tug I feel reminds me of my long abiding and deep love for my Grandfather, who left Turkey to escape the draft of young Greek boys. Like many of the Africans in Fuller's story, and like her own family, he lived with terror (his family was massacred after he left) and blood. Yet he gave us, his grandchildren, a deep sense of identity. He became a part of us. His stories became ours, and he made us laugh. His music-making, and dancing excited us. When I read about smoking (yes!), plants, cooking, or dancing in Fuller's memoir, I think of him. When I read about humor amidst terror, I think of him. This char

This is about a recent situation that has become a way of life. My husband lost his job (through no fault of his own) in December, and has become a fixture of the household, specifically in the kitchen, where he uses his laptop. For the first few weeks, in spite of the seriousness of our new situation, it was kind of fun. We both joined Facebook and sat together at the kitchen island "chatting" with friends and trading stories. He told me about different job possibilities he was considering applying for. We were bonding. Six months later, I find myself wishing he would just get back to work! Any work! I make a salad. He asks for some for lunch for himself, too, but could I please put some leftover steak in it? I don't like steak in salad. But I do it. I am working hard on my Blackboard site for teaching, and he asks, innocently, "What else are you going to do today?" Later, "You should go to the gym. You can't just work all day." The dishwasher get