Lens-Artists Photo Challenge # 161: FEET AND SHOES

Wow, this is such an interesting challenge. FEET AND SHOES! Self hasn’t taken any pictures of feet and shoes lately, has she?

Nevertheless, she obligingly starts going through her archives and here is what she found:

Wednesday Music Concert, Stafford Park, Redwood City

Instead of a Picnic Blanket, Banig (Woven Mat from the Philippines)!

One of her Favorite Reads, So Far 2021

A Southern City

Self is still reading the Prologue of A House in the Sky, which has been stunning.

The detachment of the narrative voice is almost painful, it reads like Marguerite Duras.

Throughout, Amanda Lindhout worries about her fellow captive, Nigel, even though everything she goes through is twice as horrible as what Nigel goes through. She worries about him, because “they had been in love once.”

At one point, we were moved to a second-floor apartment in the heart of a southern city, where we could hear cars honking and the muezzins calling people to prayer. We could smell goat meat roasting on a street vendor’s spit. We listened to women chattering as they came and went from the shop right below us.

Self has been hearing about Amanda Lindhout’s book for years, but she only felt moved to read it when she saw a documentary on TV (It was an almost surreal experience: flipping back and forth between the Olympics to a survivor’s account of being kidnapped in Somalia)

It might make dear blog readers feel better to know that Amanda Lindhout’s mother, not a rich woman, was nevertheless able to scrape together approximately $700,000 (Canadian) and with this amount was able to negotiate for the release of not only her daughter, but Nigel as well.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

A HOUSE IN THE SKY, by Amanda Lindhout with Sara Corbett

Surely dear blog readers don’t need self to explain who Amanda Lindhout is. So she’ll just dive right in.

The narrative voice is strong.

Opening Paragraph (Prologue):

We named the houses they put us in. We stayed in some for months at a time; other places, it was a few days or a few hours. There was the Bomb-Making House, then the Electric House. After that came the Escape House, a squat concrete building where we’d sometimes hear gunfire outside our windows and sometimes a mother singing nearby to her child.

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