Climbing a Tree

It seems that Marcelo's cell phone has been out of service for the past couple weeks, therefore I would like to share with everyone my experiences climbing trees...

When I was younger, probably through sixth grade, my Granny lived in a house that had a nice little backyard with a bench-swing, a tool shed, and the best climbing tree ever. Every time my family went down to Houston to visit Granny, the first thing my sisters and I did when we got there was climb the tree. It never got old. There were three main branches that broke off the trunk and were sturdy enough for my sisters and I to climb on. One went horizontally, parallel to the ground over the fence. Climbing this limb allowed us to cross into uncharted territory. Past the fence was a strip of land overgrown with weeds and grass. Oftentimes we would pretend the ground was lava or the ocean and if we fell off we would burn or drown. Morbid, I know. At first we crawled on our hands and knees, but as we grew braver we started standing on the limb and walking across it. Soon we all conquered the limb and could traverse it no problem.

The second limb angled up to the right at about a 45-degree angle. This was the "intermediate" branch. Climbing this section took some skill and experience and provided a challenge in the beginning. However, this branch also offered the best sitting position. There was a smaller branch that came off and provided a nice little seat for resting. It became a goal to reach that seat and the feeling of triumph we would gain. For if you could reach the seat, you had conquered the limb. I earned many scrapes and bruises getting to that seat but I was so proud every time I made it.

The third limb was the most treacherous. It climbed at a much steeper angle than the second. At first, only Sarah, my older sister, was brave enough to climb it. Her bragging and taunts that Clare and I were too little to climb it soon became more than we can bear. It took some courage, but I would grit my teeth and try to scramble up, clinging for dear life at times. Over the years, that limb served as a sign of progress. Each time we visited Granny I was able to climb up further. There were times when I got stuck and was afraid to come down. That's when Dad played Hero. In the end, I did conquer that branch, and what a happy moment that was.

Eventually Granny moved out of that house. I miss that old tree. Climbing it's three limbs and slowly progressing to the level of Expert Tree Climber helped me learn about and develop a sense of perseverance. No matter how many scrapes or ant bites I got, I continued to climb the tree until I could do whatever I wanted on it.

"The Open Window"

I really enjoyed the readings for today, especially "The Open Window" by Saki. I found it somewhat ironic that the "young lady of fifteen" was "self-possessed". It seems like an oxymoron to me. I also couldn't help but notice the use of a certain four-letter word that Dr. Williams does not like in the description of Vera. I think he has conditioned me to be wary of it. Vera's questioning of Framton Nuttel's knowledge of the area and her aunt made me a little suspicious of her. After hearing the tragic story she told Framton I wondered how much of it was true, then decided it was all a lie when Mrs. Sappleton came bustling in talking about her husband and brothers returning through the open window soon. Fifteen year olds can be quite mischievous.

It was cruel of Vera to play such a trick on Framton when he was already having issues with his health. However, imagining the scene in which the husband and brothers arrive and the look of fear in Framton's face did make me laugh. Why is it that society as a whole seems to find other people's tragedy, discomfort, or fear funny? When a close friend falls of a bike or trips up the stairs we laugh at his or her embarrassment. It's harmless, but have we ever stopped to think about the effect it might have on that individual. Granted, most people laugh along with you. But what about those that take it personally? Maybe they are just too uptight or emotional. This really doesn't have anything to do with the story, I just kind of went off on a tangent...

"The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" by James Thurber evoked more feelings of sympathy and pity than humor for me. I think old men are really cute and it pains me when they struggle in life. Walter Mitty had so many daydreams in which he was the hero, leader, or idolized male that it was almost painfully obvious he felt emasculated. It was no wonder with how controlling his wife is. She doesn't want him driving above a certain speed limit, makes him take her to the hairdresser's, sends him shopping, and overall treats him like a child. Some of the comments she makes and how often he daydreams, however, do make me wonder if he is mentally ill. Mrs. Mitty mentions needing to take Walter's temperature and wishing they had seen Dr. Renshaw that morning, which points to Walter having health issues. I still feel sorry for the man though. All his dreams of being "Walter Mitty the Undefeated" tell me he is not satisfied with his current lot.

I liked how Thurber tied in aspects from one dream into another or from real life into the dreams. For example, The Webley-Vickers automatic first mentioned in the daydream about the Waterbury trial reappears in his daydream of being Captain Mitty. I love little intricate details like that. Many times when you first read a story you miss it. It makes going back and rereading the story much more interesting. The same can be said for movies.

Long Time No See

Marcelo and I were finally able to get together after trying and failing for the past couple weeks. Our schedules have not meshed well lately. This was even a short meeting because we both had lots to do but managed to squeeze in a quick meeting. Marcelo requested a tour of Milton Daniel since he'd never been in it and had heard it was really nice.

Upon first entering into the Great Hall I asked him what his first impressions were.

"It's like a hotel!"

I laughed and told him that the building had been nicknamed the "Milton Hilton" for that exact reason. I proceeded to give him a floor-by-floor tour of the entire building, highlighting unique features as we went. I showed him my only somewhat messy room, too. He was impressed. We hung out in the third floor lounge for a bit, talking and looking out the big glass windows at the people coming in and out of the building. It was amusing to see everyone battling the gigantic gusts of wind. You could tell that the girls who chose to wear dresses or skirts that day greatly regretted it.

It was hear that Marcelo informed me that he had applied and been accepted to TCU as a regularly enrolled, full-time international student! He would be returning in the fall and is probably going to study business. He also told me that the day before he received news that he got a scholarship of $25,000 a year! I was ecstatic for him. This whole semester he has been debating whether or not to apply to TCU or Hill College or some other university. Hill College has a rodeo a team and back in Brazil he is one of the best calf-ropers around. However, he finally decided that he liked TCU more and thought it was a better university (duh) and therefore was thrilled to receive his acceptance letter and financial aid package.

Unfortunately we had to end our meeting here as we both had to get somewhere. His only obstacle now is to find on-campus housing. That can be quite a challenge...

"Under the Ridge"

Failure. That is the message I got from this story. Every aspect of the story or story within the story ended in failure. The attacks failed, prisoners were killed, an attempt at freedom ended in death, a young boy's determination to be useful resulted in his cold-blooded murder. Professor Williams was right, this is a depressing war story. The first page gives a description of the camp and one of the first things mentioned are the stretchers and ambulances. Already the reader is exposed to death and injuries of war. Not a pleasant start. It is easy to see how Hemingway must have felt about wars.

I may be over analyzing it, but the tension and hatred between the soldiers of different nationalities seems to be conveying a message. The Extremaduran repeats several times that he hates foreigners and when asked to explain rattles off a long list of terrible things different countries have done to his family. It makes me wonder if different countries benefit from each other in any way. I mean, this story is about a war between several different countries. Why are they fighting? Can't they work together? Sure, one side has an "International Brigade" but there are tensions within it. The Extremaduran, for example. No one seems to like or trust the French officials. In the end the Extremaduran seems to respect the narrator personally, but he still leaves because he is North American.

It made me angry, frustrated, and uncomfortable to read that soldiers were killed for cowardice. Everyone will have a moment of weakness. There is not one soldier in a war who is not terrified at some point and wants to just run home. Who can blame the soldier for simply walking away when he saw the hopelessness and pointlessness of the situation? And who doesn't understand the fear the young boy Paco felt that made him injure himself? I can understand punishing them but killing them seems excessive especially if you are already in need of more troops.

The bottom line is war turns men into animals. Reading this story gave me the depressing feeling that there will never be peace. Countries will always hate each other and there will always be those individuals who are animalistic and seek confrontation.

Playing Detective

When reading the past few short stories by Ernest Hemingway I have found myself playing the role of detective trying to read between the lines, see below the surface, piece together the clues and figure out what the heck is going on in the story. I had no idea "Hills Like White Elephants" was about abortion until I looked it up online. It completely blew my mind. How did people clue in to that? It went right over my head. Reading through the evidence and explanation of references to pregnancy and abortion in the story I began to understand. However, I'm not sure that I would have uncovered the story's true meaning on my own even if I read it twenty times.

"Cat in the Rain" wasn't as bad as "Hills Like White Elephants," but I was still pretty off in my interpretation. I read the American wife's obsession with the cat and wanting a cat to be her subtle hints to her husband about wanting a baby. I thought the cat symbolized her quest for a child and how it seems to keep alluding her. George was very standoff-ish when it came to the cat and never paid his wife much attention. I could see and feel the oppression she felt at the hand of her husband. I was wrong about the child however. The cat merely symbolizes the wife and how contained and restrained she feels by her husband. I picked up a little on George's control over his wife, but I read into the cat a little too much. Reading analysis of the story online gave me an "Oooooooohhhh" moment and a twinge of disappointment that I was wrong. It was an improvement from the previous story, however.

Then came my shining moment with "The Sea Change." I nailed this story. I picked up on the subtle hints at the masculinity of the woman and Phil's reference to his rival as "her." From the first page I knew that the woman was leaving the man to pursue a lady friend. George's description of her behavior as a "perversion" and a "vice" supported my assumption and made me feel confident. Further research online proved my analysis correct. Cue triumphant trumpet! What a relief. I finally got a story right. "The Sea Change" may be an easier story to understand, but I feel accomplished. I have slowly gotten better at intensively reading these Ernest Hemingway stories and feel a small sense of pride. The real test will come with the next story...was this just a fluke?