Because I spent the majority of the weekend netted in a book euphoria, I'm going to try to loop the experience into one conscious stream.
After a mere whole year, or more, I FINALLY delved into Ernest K. Gann's Fate is the Hunter. Can't rationalize what the hell happened, but it was just about this exact time last year, (and you've gotta love how I juxtaposed those objectives) that I had to put the whole book aside. Welp, I put it aside and all be darn if I don't roll over on the same book rendering me a knew kind of suspicion... suspicious I just might be suffering a cardiac eye-arrest.
"...a starkly forbidden place, a region of condors wheeling above corrugations so sharp and red they seem to be the bleeding wounds of a butchered earth." And "...caution had become such a fatty rind I could almost poke my finger into it."
Oh Man! I only needed the right mood to fall head over heels in love with the writing. Of course it helps to be fascinated reading about aeronautics. I mean throughout the book Gann passionately describes his work, and comrades, down to the membranes in every jawbone. And I do mean Every single page, and Every single jawbone.
Loved it though. Breathtaking. Superbly Astonishing. This book was a trophy to experience, looping right along into the next hook in my loop.
I also picked up Sonja Perdue's passionate Black America (Book One 2010): Asking Ourselves the Tough Questions book. It's a small book, large font, but don't let the size fool you. It's unpretentiously laced with juddering questions and narratives.
I was instructed, according to the book, to jot down my answers before moving onto the next question, except I knew better than to ever so dare. I'm content with Sonja's book in the many questions, and narratives that it addresses. For blogging purposes however, I will reply to one area of focus in the book.
Outside of the many narratives that grabbed me was one account of a white woman chirping on about how she walked into a television studio and ended up with her own TV show. Instantly I connected with the woman. I can't count the times something similar has happened for me, although my account might most align in tone, and in tune, with Sonja's delivery of the account; that "No one told this woman that she could not dream."
It may be naive to believe the only true freedom we all have are our hopes, desires, wishes, and thus yes, dreams, but it's all I saw as I envisioned the chirpy chatty woman. At the opposite end of hope I see fear, something else we all share in common; the very reason the woman believed what she had done was so out-of-the world. That said, I'll share a mirror to birth what I think a similar fear looks like in another outlook.
Still in high-school I decided I wanted to work at what was then a high-end department store. From the outside, facing the large beautifully white marbled building, had to be my sole dream to want to work here. Once inside, facing white men suited up in the white dress shirts and neckties, and women clicking around in the heels, wearing ruffled blouses and botanical gardens of foundation, the fear sunk in.
"Girl, who in the hell do you think you are? You better get your young behind back to the neighborhood where you belong!" That's what I was telling myself, when just as I turned on my heels about to do just that, a small voice called me back.
"Umm, can I help you?" the small voice asked.
It was a woman. She was dressed like all the rest; ruffles, foundation, and lashes going up and down. But prior to turning on my heels she was looking down at papers on her desk. I didn't think she saw me peek in 'the human resources office.' I also didn't know she was a manager. She reminded me a lot of a Diane Carroll.
Quickly I blurted, "I wanted to fill out a job application." And also to note; it wasn't the color of my skin that ever concerned me about rejection. Fortunately I was reared in an environment where self-love was preached in such abundance that my skin-color proved to be an asset to my confidence.
In this case, as in most cases, it was my youth, or inexperience that caused the greatest concern. I feared my ignorance. And believe me, on that day, standing there dressed in my tight jeans, but a funky pair of heels (always loved me some shoes), and one of my favorite silk blouses, I feared I paled in comparison to those sporting the corporate look I was going for, but missed. Long story sweetened, I *unbelievably* was hired!
Today working at a department store likely wouldn't be a dream for many (if any); but back then, especially at my age, it was. Yet, this was an experience I repeated many times, and exactly why the woman in that particular story grabbed me. It has to be the greatest excitement gathering the courage to not only look at a dream, but to step inside that dream and realize it. As it stands, I'm nearly 200-words over my preferred word count, further evidencing what happens when looped up inside something even as pleasurable as a book I've enjoyed. They won't let me stop chirp, chirp, chirping!