“Next Year in Havana”

A cautionary tale…

“Batista…protected women from discrimination based on their gender and gave them the right to demand equal pay…he became a dictator, populist government eschewed for corruption, a hero transformed to a villian.” (104)

“There is no home for us in a world where we can’t speak our minds for fear of being thrown in prison, where daring to dream is a criminal act, where you aren’t limited by your own ability and ambition, but instead by the whims of those who keep a tight rein on power.” (351)

Two voices. Two different decades. Same ache. Same hope. Same passion. Home.

Drawn into the drama…the story. Concerned about the political climate; what lessons are to be learned from Cuba? Is the United States headed in this direction? The magician shows one hand, while misdirecting our vision with the other. Revolution. Promise. Corruption. Money. 

A cautionary tale indeed. 

“She Rides Shotgun”

 

I have to admit, my “rule following brain” had a hard time with this novel. BUT, after I finished and thought about it; the rule breaking still bothered me, however, I found a stronger current running through the story.

What would you do for your child? I mean, how far would you go to protect them? What if your child’s life was in danger because of how you chose to live your life? What if you were the only one who could save them? What exactly would you do? Steal? Lie? Murder?

I tried to reason out a million different ways this storyline could have gone. My brain and heart wanted the dad to find a different path. I wanted the child to be sheltered from his life choices; sheltered from what he felt he must do.

What choices would I have made in his situation?

“There’s a (slight) chance i might be going to hell”

Making friends isn’t always easy. Finding yourself in a new environment without the connections you had previously…well that sounds like my life. Retired, moved, ready to start a new chapter, and BANG. Covid hits. Stuck at home. New adventures put on hold.

Witty humor. Sewer Pipe Queen(s). Jealousy. Betrayal. An unhealthy desire to find friends. A Goth Lit Bookclub. Geriatric neighbors. Face eating raccoons. Small town politics. Vegetarians. The mail carrier. Obedience training. Arson. Ruby Spicer.

We find friends when we least expect to…perhaps while investigating an arson, or tracking down an old Sewer Pipe Queen. I’ll keep looking, as well.

“The Other Man”

What? They both had someone on the side? NOoooo. Ok. Breathe. 

Parental expectations. One’s own happiness. Where is the balance? How do parents know when they have gone too far? Stepped over the line? And when is it ok to forge your own path in life? Whose advice do you take? Will fate intervene? How do you stand on your own two feet? How do parents love their children enough to let them walk away? It’s hard being on the sidelines. It’s hard not to be involved in every decision. But it’s better to see our children happy. To see them grow and mature. To relish the adults we knew they could grow into. Happy.

“The Operator”

 

“When it came right down to it…she [didn’t think she] could manage solely on her salary…it wasn’t enough for a person to live on. [She thought] how unfair it was, how women ended up trapped in their marriages with mouths to feed…or wearing a pair of trousers.” (259)

“Aren’t you gonna put on some makeup?” asked my grandmother.

- I wasn’t wearing lipstick

What is it about the 50s? Social norms. Secrets. Maintaining the status quo. Respectability. Status.

This novel had me thinking of my grandmother. She wanted social status, and knew that all she had to do was to follow “the rules.” Her “guidebook to life” - if you will. Telling her story on her terms, even if that meant bending the truth, because her version was socially acceptable. Being judgemental; yet scorning the judgement of others. I saw her in Vivian’s character, and perhaps, my mother as Charlotte; trying to put all the pieces together in a world that wasn’t her mother’s. Taking the guidebook, editing it, to fit a different life.

What I found the most disturbing, given our current political climate, was that this is where we may be headed. Segregated. Spiteful. Judgemental. Disrespected. Trapped. 

“The Grapes of Wrath”

“There ain’t room enough for you an’ me, fear your kind an’ my kind, for rich and poor together all in one country, for thieves.” (Loc 3217)

“Sure, they talk the same language, but they ain’t the same. Look how they live. Think any of us folks’d live like that? Hell, no!” (Loc 5594)

“And the great owners, who must lose their land in an upheaval, the great owners with access to history, with eyes to read history and to know the great fact: when property accumulates in too few hands it is taken away. And that companion fact; when a majority of the people are hungry and cold they will take by force what they need. And the little screaming fact that sounds through all history; repression works only to strengthen and knit the repressed.” (Loc 5633)

I don’t even know where to start. Steinbeck created a roller coaster of emotions. I wanted to bond with the Joan’s. I wanted to sympathize with their plight. Then I got angry. Angry at the Great Depression. Angry at the way the banks pushed farmers off their land. Angry that “Okies” were thought of less than. Angry that people starved due to the greed of a few. Angry that profits outweighed everything. Angry.

So much today feels the same. Corporate greed. Political greed. Injustice. Keeping people at a disadvantage to keep the “upper hand.” Power mongering. Trying to breathe. Trying to convince myself that we are not repeating history. Trying to find a sliver of hope.

Hopeful in the tenacity of the human spirit. Hopeful that honest, open people will prevail. Hopeful. 

“Passage West”

“He would be forever suspended between two lands, never whole.” (344)

Growing up in the Napa Valley, I don’t know that I ever gave much thought about the lives of those who worked in the vineyards. I went to school with their children; I thought I understood some of their history. But there is so much more that I didn’t see or understand. 

This novel made me think of Jimmy Vallenueva, a sixth grade classmate, whose parents worked at one of the wineries. Jimmy had a crush on me. I wasn’t interested in him (I was only 11) but I wasn’t cruel to him either. I don’t know that I ever thought about his economic situation, or whether his parents were migrant workers. I didn’t question his citizenship status. He was a classmate, learning right alongside the rest of us. I suppose I was naive - perhaps I still am. 

Imperial Valley, California. Not grapes - cantaloupe, cotton, and lettuce. The American Dream. Hope. Fear. Racism. Laws. Dignity. Whiskey…a lot of whiskey.

I’ve never understood why one group of people feel the need to push down another in order to elevate themselves. How some can look at human beings as something less. What are they afraid of? Are they afraid that with hard work and determination, those they see as “less than” may achieve the American Dream? Where does that thinking come from?

I feel like we all came from immigrant stock. Leaving one world behind to embrace the unknown in a new place. To put down roots. To hang on to one culture, while trying to blend into a different one. It saddens me to see so much hate today, as in the novel. Aren’t our differences what make this nation great? Perhaps my naïveté is showing…again.