Sure do love writing about poignant things here, things that move me. Stuff that really matters. Also love reading. (You too?) Reading takes me to another place. Away from here. Ha. (Not that it’s all that bad here.) But to me, an excellent book is like a mini-vacation.

A quiet vacation for just one person: me!

Today we’re talking about The Invention of Wings by Sue Monk Kidd. Not necessarily just a chick book, fyi, though the main characters are women. (I posted a reading list this past summer, books I love. Check it out here.)

A few housekeeping things before chatting about The Invention of Wings. This week marks the one year anniversary of this blog. Wow, it’s been quite a year. And a quick moment to say thanks for joining me on the journey. You didn’t know what to expect. Truthfully I didn’t know myself. At times I felt almost pulled along by a rip tide… compelled to write the next piece. Thanks for being great readers, even commenting. Being supportive all around. Also a huge thank you to my precious family (mostly Jon) who take on many extra home/family responsibilities so I can write here. What a gift, means the world to me.

I also love the flowers (veggies?) he sent to celebrate year one on Thursday. Totally made my day, my week.

(Welcome to the new faces this week, and here’s a little fyi: I post recipes during the week, muse on the weekends. Hope that suits your style.)

So on to The Invention of Wings…

“A searing and soaring story of two women bound together as mistress and slave.”  –USA Today

What an amazing read. I’ve read several other books by Sue Monk Kidd and this is my favorite so far. Here’s the back cover intro:

“A triumphant story about the quest for freedom and empowerment, Sue Monk Kidd’s third novel presents the extraordinary journeys of two unforgettable women: Hetty “Handful” Grimke, an urban slave in early nineteenth century Charleston, South Carolina, and Sarah, the Grimkes’ idealistic daughter.

Inspired in part by the historic figure of abolitionist and suffragette Sarah Grimke, Kidd’s novel is set in motion on Sarah’s eleventh birthday, when she is given ownership of ten year old Handful. The Invention of Wings follows these two women over the next thirty-five years as both strive for lives of their own, dramatically shaping each other’s destinies and forming a complex relationship marked by guilt, defiance, estrangement, and the uneasy ways of love.”

So the book has four parts, covering 1803 – 1838, and the chapters alternate between the voice of plantation owner daughter Sarah and slave girl Handful. A couple overall impressions. First, disgust at the hypocrisy of the church of the day that openly supported the slavery system, all in the name of preserving the plantation way of life. Basically the almighty dollar. Reminded me of the German church during the World Wars that somehow supported the Nazi regime. The church is called to protect, not exploit and victimize. And second, horrified at the cruelty and apparently common punishment practices meted out to slaves. Horrible and heartbreaking both, a travesty. Truly evil…

Wish I’d read the “Author’s Note” at the back before reading the actual book. Nine full pages tying the novel to the actual history of the day. Because while it’s technically a novel, there was a great deal of research and historical facts woven throughout the book. Sue Monk Kidd did her homework, actually lives in Charleston. For a decade she unknowingly drove by the unmarked Grimke plantation home, not realizing it was the birthplace of the first female abolitionist agents and American feminist thinkers… the Grimke sisters.

In a nutshell, Sarah Grimke, the plantation owner’s daughter is opposed to slavery from a very young age. Not sure why. She’s born into the system, might’ve bought into it like so many did. The book follows her journey beginning with her public refusal of her birthday present (during her eleventh birthday party), the slave girl Handful. Yeah, she was given a person for her birthday. Then follows the journey as the two little girls begin an unlikely lifelong friendship. Both trapped, born into a society/culture not of their own choosing.

“Be careful: you can get enslaved twice. Once in your body and once in your mind.”

(Quote from an abolitionist leader of the day.)

Says slave Handful to Sarah :

“My body might be a slave, but not my mind. For you, it’s the other way around.”

Honestly, I could go on and on about this book. But I won’t, so no spoiler alert here. Really hope you’ll have opportunity to read it for yourself. An excellent read, you won’t be disappointed. I also had the pleasure of participating in a book discussion on The Invention of Wings a few weeks ago. If you’ve never participated in a book discussion, there’s something magical about a group discussion on a book that really moves you. The conversation ebbs and flows, a beautiful dance as different ones chime in with their impressions.

Some common echoes from the discussion:

• To whom much is given, much will be required.
• Concern about the rampant breakdown of the family and the ramifications we’re seeing in society. (Slave families were often split up among different plantations.)
• That all societies/cultures have blindspots. What are ours?
• If we don’t know history, we’re destined to repeat it.
• Those who go through great difficulty/pain, naturally earn the right to be heard, often having the greatest impact on societal change.
• Those who courageously speak out against injustice don’t generally win popularity contests, are often considered a threat by society. (As adults, the Grimke sisters were banned from Charleston, their hometown.)

So much more to say. I was impressed that the Grimke sisters were not only abolitionists, but some of the first to fight for equal rights for slaves, not just freedom for slaves. Also first to speak up for equal rights for women, especially on the issue of voting.

Says author Sue Monk Kidd: “They shook, bent, and finally broke the gender barrier that denied American women a voice and platform in the political and social spheres.”

The Grimke sisters also taught many children of the leading abolitionists and came in contact with many reformers/intellectuals of the day: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Bronson Alcott, and Henry David Thoreau to name a few.

More to say, but dishes, laundry and toilet scrubbing call. (You know the beat.)

Read this book? Thoughts? Gotta book recommendation for me? Have a wonderful weekend, friends!

Speaking of wings…you may also like: Wax Up Your Wings

The post The Invention of Wings appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.

So I’m standing in the grocery check-out line exactly one week ago today. The cashier’s grumpy. The bagger’s grumpy. I’m not exactly crabby, but truthfully, I am in a big hurry. The elderly bright red-haired customer ahead of me? She’s not grumpy, not a bit. Cheerful, she’s actually quite cheerful. She’s also in no hurry. Neither are the cashier or bagger sorting groceries, both lamenting the latest weather event of the afternoon. Snow. Yup.

S-N-O-W. Here it is the end of April, snow falling from a cold, gray sky. Brrrr…

South of the Mason Dixon by allie taylor

Says the little red-haired lady to the cashier:

“You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

The cashier, she’s puzzled, shakes her head.

The little old lady continues, feigned shock. “What? You haven’t heard the news?”

She leans in, whispers: “Even the forecasters don’t know this yet…”

The cashier and bagger are riveted, slowly shaking their heads. And me? Nosy me. My bionic ear stretches in a mile, because I don’t want to miss the punch line either.

That little red-haired lady, she leans in close, glances back over hunched shoulders, insuring only the intended ears hear what she whispers next.

“Tsk, tsk. I can’t believe you haven’t heard,” she chides.

“Mother Nature,” dramatic pause, “is in the throes of menopause.”

Wish you could’ve been there, seen the faces. The gleeful, tiny red-haired old lady. She’s funny. And she knows it. And they know it. And nosy me, I know it. (Now you do too. Giggle.)

I’d just discovered the snow about an hour earlier. It was a little chilly around here, windy too. From inside, I’d  heard the echo of the chainsaw’s roar. Our neighbors across the way had a tree crew over, felling a tree. I ventured out, my big boys shooting hoops on the street, white stuff swirling. Naive me thought it was sawdust, wood chips flying. Nope. Nada nada.

Snow. Yup, April snow showers bring May flowers. (Is that how it goes?) And why am I not surprised? It snowed here once on May 6th. Yeah, May 6th. At least now the erratic weather patterns we’ve been experiencing make sense, thanks to that funny little red-haired lady!

We lived South of the Mason Dixon for many years, and March and April are such pretty months there. Somehow I always expect it’ll be pretty here too. But we just aren’t quite there yet. April in New Hampshire generally means mud. The tiny green tree leaves are just now sprouting. It’s mid-May that’s so pretty around here. (If it doesn’t snow, that is.)

And when at long last spring finally makes her appearance, it’s absolutely gorgeous in New England. I can’t wait.

Just a few weeks ago, Jon and I made our way South of the Mason Dixon to Atlanta on Easter weekend. We were delighted to be included in the wedding festivities of the youngest daughter of dear friends. Friends and family at home kindly took our boys in so we could get away. Dear as he is, it’s no small task having Hudson as a visitor. Trust me. It’s like having Curious George over. Curious George on steroids. (Hudson’s Guardian Angel.) There’s really no more precious gift to give the family of a special needs child than time away to recharge and relax. So grateful.

We flew out on a Thursday afternoon, Jon’s birthday. The first thing we noticed upon landing was green! Yeah, green leaves on trees. Green grass. And just a hint of humidity in the air. That and blooming flowers. Such a treat after an interminable New England winter.

Friends met us at the airport, whisked us out for an impromptu birthday dinner at Rick Erwin’s Nantucket Seafood in downtown Greenville, South Carolina. If you haven’t been to Greenville in a while, boy are you in for a treat. What a gorgeous upscale downtown it has become.

Here I am, caught at my trade….photographing the extensive climate controlled wine cellar inside.

And what I saw through that lense…

I think I was an hour into that lovely salmon dinner before I finally started to relax. Inhale, exhale. Repeat.

OK, maybe it was the cocktail. Either way, what a gift!

The rest of the weekend was spent in quick staccato visits with friends along our way to Atlanta, at the rehearsal, wedding and reception.

Twilight view through the window from Nikolai’s Roof Restaurant, top floor of the Atlanta Hilton.

So proud of this gorgeous bride we’ve known since age three, and her dashing groom.

Sunday morning church at Covenant was short and sweet. And then a quick Easter dinner with old friends on our return trip to the airport. Seems there’s only time for hello and goodbye hugs on these infrequent visits back to South Carolina, our second home. And many of you we didn’t get to see at all, our loss.

Love and miss you, dear friends. So thankful it’s never goodbye. Just until we meet again, the next time we’re South of the Mason Dixon. (Or you could always venture north!)

Until then,

XO

You may also enjoy: Another World

The post South of the Mason Dixon appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.

Folks, it’s bone chillin’ cold here in New England these days. This afternoon, the thermometer read a whopping 23 degrees. Now it’s 14 and dropping. That might not seem wicked cold to you, but it’s a dry cold, if you know what I mean. Ha. (“It’s a dry heat” always gets me.)

Another World by allie taylor

Seems like just yesterday we moved back to New England. In reality, it was 2004. Eleven years and a few days have quickly passed since moving day. Some of you reading this were present the very morning the moving truck pulled away from the curb at the Jenkins’ Oak Creek home in South Carolina on January 1st. We’ll never forget your many generous helping hands and gracious send-off. It took a numbers guy to get the last three book cases crammed in the back of truck. (Thanks Blix.) Our eyes brimmed, spilled, and yours did too… but we didn’t say goodbye. No, we said “until we meet again”, then pressed the gas pedal headed north towards our next life chapter.

We arrived here mid-snowstorm on January 2nd. Maneuvering that big yellow Penske moving truck, we hit snowy Boston rush hour traffic and continued wending our way north. It was quite the adventure. (Thank God we had good friends to help.)

Back then we had just two little boys, three and five, both South Carolina born.

The January we moved back to the Northeast just happened to be the coldest on record for decades. Figures. My blood had thinned in the south, and my feet were always freezing.

But our little guys? They were practically in shock with the -10 and -15 degree days.

Within a week of arriving, Jon filled a pulpit in St. Albans, Vermont. St. Albans rests on the Canadian border. And just prior to heading north to St. Albans, the heater in our old Volvo wagon died. So we had to borrow a car for the northern trek. Stopping for a fill-up and dry gas for the tank in northern VT, another customer said the thermometer read -40 degrees at his house that morning. We’re talking freezing. Frigid. Antarctica and Siberia.

In the wee hours that morning, we’d bundled up for the trip. My kids resembled Ralphie in The Christmas Story movie, practically immobilized. Scarves, hats, puffy coats, boots and mittens. The layers made movement difficult, if nearly impossible, especially for our inexperienced little southern yahoos. And we ole’ yankees needed a refresher course too. With a three and a half hour journey north, we were eager to get on the road. Jon managed to get Jacob (3) buckled in with the extra layers, but in the rearview mirror I could see Jonathan (5) struggling.

“Honey, buckle your seatbelt,” I called back. “We don’t want to be late.”

“I can’t,” he moaned, wrestling the seatbelt, mittened and mummified under umpteen layers.

“Why do I have to wear one anyway?” he whined.

“Because,” I answered a shortly. “You were born in this world.”

“I was not born in this world,” an angry little voice replied. “I was born in South Carolina.”

Truth. From the lips of children. New England: Another World.

You may also enjoy this winter post:  Misery Loves Company

The post Another World appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.