Cabeza de Turco: Gone, pp. 182 – 183

For the last couple of pages, self has been so shocked by the beating of a young girl named Bouncing Bette.

Of course, self knows people get beat up in high school. But three guys beating up a defenseless girl? And she has to crawl — crawl — to the fire station, because Sam, his best friend Quinn, and a Honduran immigrant named Edilio are the new fire brigade.

The three boys who beat up Bette are Orc, Karl, and Chaz, and they come looking for her, armed with aluminum bats. Not once does anyone say, She’s a girl! which, in the name of gender equality, is pretty impressive.

Bette’s crime was that she was doing “magic tricks.” And no one is supposed to use magic any more, according to the self-appointed mayor of Perdito Beach, Cain (Sam’s secret half-brother. Sam doesn’t know, but Cain probably does, since he’s been giving Sam some pretty significant side-eye). Anyhoo, Sam tells Bette she can stay the night at the fire station.

She can stay the night? What if these boys attack her again? If self were Bette, she would move permanently into the fire station. But apparently, Bette herself does not want to spend the night at the fire station. She needs to get home to her little brother. Commendable maturity there, Bette!

This convo happens after Bette leaves:

Quinn: “Look, Sam, I’m not saying it’s right for her to get beat on, all right? But what do you expect? I mean, kids get picked on for wearing the wrong clothes or sucking at sports or whatever. And that’s when there are teachers and parents around. That’s just everyday life. You think now, as messed up as everything is, kids are going to be thinking, ‘Oh, Sam can shoot firebolts out of his eyeballs or whatever, okay, that’s cool?’ No, brah, that’s not the way it is.”

Edilio: “He’s right. If there’s more people with, you know, like you and Bette, there’s going to be trouble. Some folks with the power, some folks without. Me, I’m used to being a second-class citizen. But other people are going to be jealous and they’re going to get scared and, anyway, they’re all weirded out, so they are going to be looking for someone to blame. In Spanish, we say cabeza de turco. It means someone you blame for all your problems.

Quinn: “Scapegoat.”

Edilio: “Yeah, that’s it. A scapegoat.”

The Oracle to the Lacedaemonians

A Dorian war shall come and with it death.

— Book II, The Peloponnesian War

Poetry Tuesday: Khalil Gibran

For what is it to die but to stand naked
in the wind and melt in the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing
but to free the breath from its restless tides,
that it may rise and expand
and seek God encumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of
silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountaintop,
then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs,
then you shall truly dance.

Weekend Street/Reflections, 3rd Friday in March 2022

Self just discovered this challenge, thanks to Travel with Intent.

Here are some pictures she took in the little museum adjoining the Carmel Mission. The words are those of Father Junipero Serra:

POETRY SUNDAY: Joel Tan

Self’s own painting of hyacinths

FREE

You were always free
Just thought yourself otherwise
Unthink + just be.
Listen for birdsong + trees.
If you want to reconnect.

• For many years, Joel Tan served as Yerba Buena Center for the Arts’ Director of Educational Outreach. Then he moved to Kapaau, Hawaii and feels so joyful, he’s been posting a poem a day. This one’s from Feb. 26.

Quote of the Day, 2nd Friday of December 2021

Self was supposed to leave Mendocino today. She decided to stay a little longer. YAY!

Last night, she was reading a section in The Man Who Died Twice (Five Stars, maybe even Six) about REVENGE. It did not feature the Shakesperean “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” Or even the native Indian, or maybe the ancient Roman, wisdom: “If revenge is what you seek, dig two graves.” Instead, on p. 72, it said this:

• Revenge is not a straight line, it’s a circle. It’s a grenade that goes off while you’re still in the room, and you can’t help but be caught in the blast.

Courtesy of Richard Osman. You’re welcome.

There is a continuation.

This morning, Ibrahim (still laid up in the hospital after being kicked in the head by a band of schoolboy thugs) reflects on a client (Eric) who was sold a lemon by a car dealership who refused to cover the cost of the repairs. So the client had the car repaired at his own expense, then drove it through the dealership’s front window in the dead of night.

Eric’s daughter and the son of the car dealer had also been friends at school. Eric forbade his daughter from ever talking to the boy and so, as winter follows summer, they had got married two years later, with Eric refusing to attend the wedding.

And so forth. And so forth.

Never seek revenge, dear blog readers. Revenge sucks.

Quote of the Day: Michael Connelly

A book is like a car. It pulls up to the curb and the passenger door swings open to the reader. The engine revs. Do you want a ride?

Once you get in, the car takes off, the door slamming shut and the rubber burning in its wake. Behind the wheel the driver’s got to be highly skilled, heavy on the pedal, and most of all, oh man, most of all, somebody you want to be with. He’s got to drive near the edge of the cliff but never over. He’s got to turn sharply just as you think you know where you are going. He’s got to gun it on the final lap.

Introduction by Michael Connelly to the 2003 Edition of Thomas Perry’s The Butcher’s Boy

Self borrowed her copy from the library, and it is pretty beat up. Nevertheless.

She absolutely loved Eddie’s Boy. Which is what led her here, to the very first book of the series. What did she love so much about Eddie’s Boy? The main character was a professional hit man, married to a member of the British peerage. If that character description doesn’t grab you, self doesn’t know what will.

Cellpic Sunday

Another photo challenge!

This one is loose: any picture taken with your cell. The host is Journeys with Johnbo.

Here are self’s fridge magnets. Shakespeare rules!

Kabul, Through the Eyes of Amanda Lindhout: 9 June 2005

Self hopes Amanda Lindhout became a travel writer, because her descriptions of Kabul are gold. She hitches a ride to Kabul with a man and his son who live in Peshawar but visit relatives in Kabul regularly.

I’d taken a taxi that day to a wholesale market area near the center of the city, which sprawled in all directions, straddling the banks of the Kabul River, devolving into a labyrinth of crooked alleys. I bought a plastic cup of raisins and apricots mixed with pistachios and honey-sweetened water and ate them with a spoon. I browsed through little shops. In one, I found a shelf stacked with bars of soap, their wrappers showing a photograph of a smiling woman’s face, except that every face had been scribbled over with a marker. This was a fundamentalist Islamic move, something the Taliban once enforced strictly. Any images of things made by Allah weren’t to be replicated by a human hand, because it counted as playing god. Amanuddin had explained it to me: it was okay to paint or print a photograph of a car or building but not a person or animal. Idolatry was a sin.

A House in the Sky, p.64

July #TreeSquare Challenge #6: Filoli

The host of the #TreeSquare challenge is Becky over at The Life of B. For July, the theme is TREES.

Self is sharing photos from Filoli, a beautiful estate less than 10 minutes drive from self’s house, which she visited in July 2020

The estate belonged to the owner of the Empire Gold Mine, William Bourn. Mansion and gardens together comprise 18 acres. The name ‘Filoli’ is an acronym for: “Fight for a just cause, Love your fellow man, Live a good life.”

The big tree is a Camperdown Elm: