Book Review - Pelagie, The Return to Acadie by Antonine Maillet

Three years ago Sweetie and I found ourselves in Cheticamp, Nova Scotia at dinner time.  We stopped at Restaurant Acadien for dinner.  Cheticamp claims to be the heart of L'Acadie or in English, Acadia.  The food had a home cooked, family style nature to it and was wholesome and simple.  Attached to the restaurant was a cute gift shop with lots of locally created crafts and trinkets.  We like to learn more about the local culture through books and found Pelagie on a shelf there.  The idea is to enhance the enjoyment of our trip by returning there in local literature upon our arrival home.

L'Acadie covered much of the Maritime Provinces of Canada and some of New England.  The French first sent settlers to the area in 1604.  England and France skirmished and negotiated over the area several times.  In the summer of 1755 at the out break of the French and Indian war, an American extension of the Seven Years War between France and England, the British claimed control of Acadia and violently uprooted and deported the Acadians who refused to swear an oath of allegiance to the King of England.  They were scattered abroad from Boston to Louisiana and around the Caribbean basin.  Those who gathered in the bayous of Louisiana became what are now known as the Cajuns, a corrupted form of the word Acadians.

Widow of the Great Disruption (what they called the time of deportation) Pelagie LeBlanc and her children, who'd wound up in Georgia, scratched up a cart and six oxen and after 15 years in exile; determined to go home.  They set out in 1770 and crossed the continent South to North over the course of the next ten years.  You will surely notice that it was the same ten years as the American Revolution.  This little marvel chronicles the hardship, travail, joy and triumph of that epic journey.  The journey became more than a long trip home, it became about the preservation of a people, a history and a culture.

Pelagie, The Return to Acadie was originally written in French and was the first foreign novel to receive France's highest literary honor, the Prix Goncourt.  I would love to have been able to read it in French.  The English translation by Philip Stratford is masterful, though and did wonderful justice to the original.

The Acadians were mostly illiterate at the time and so many of the stories of the Great Disruption have been passed down in legend and tale.  The book was written in that style.  Written as though an old storyteller was sharing it with company around the hearth.  As the story is told, the audience, interjects their vocalized comments, contrary versions and exclamations.  The book is written as the collective voice of modern Acadie as if gathered to recite again the wonderful story of the woman who climbed the continent gathering Acadians as she went.  Pelagie-the-cart she is called, accompanied by Belonie the chinwagging centenarian storyteller.  The voice in the book is Louis-a-Belonie-a-Belonie-a-Thaddee-a-Belonie-le-Vieus Mailett, great grandson of the old chinwagger himself, whose mission was to follow the footsteps of his storytelling predecessors.  Also in attendance is Pelagie-the-Grouch, daughter of Pelagie-a-Madeleine-a-Pelagie-the-Cart.  Each has something to say about the ancestor whose name they bear.  Actually, a little more than something.  And of course the audience consists of descendants of other characters who have their own traditional two bits to toss in.

At first I didn't understand the style and found it difficult to read.  I persisted though, 'on account of because' it was such a captivating story.  Well before the half-way point though, I had caught on and really enjoyed being part of the group, often interjecting an exclamation of my own!

Read this book!  It is an absolute delight.  My heart is warmed toward L'Acadie and I can barely wait to go spend more time with her unique and beautiful people.  Merci'!

Five enthusiastic stars!

Missing the Fountain at the Rexall Drug

As a young High School student I worked at Ashton's Department Store.  I took my breaks on the corner at the Uintah Rexall Drug.  Oh how I wish I could still stop in there for a bit to eat.  Marion Swain operated the fountain and fixed the finest food.  If I stopped by for a morning break I almost always had a sweet roll and a glass of milk.  This was not just any sweet roll.  They were made in Ashton's bakery by Twila and Dolly and were wonderful.  Marion took those and made them out of this world!  She'd take the bonnet off a nice sticky stack of them, select the biggest one for me and toss it on the grill.  Then with a Wooster paint brush she'd slather it with melted butter and let it warm and get crispy and caramelized around the edges.  She'd place it on a plate with a fork and serve it with tall glass of whole milk.  I'd probably weight 400 pounds if she were still there serving up that delicacy.

For lunch I always had her salad plate.  A dinner plate loaded with equal portions of cottage cheese, tuna-macaroni salad, the best* potato salad in the world, and green salad with a few cello-wrapped saltines.  Oh my goodness was it good stuff.  This evening I finished off a batch of tuna macaroni salad with some cottage cheese and wished I had the rest to round out my meal.  It was homemade, wholesome and just plain good food.  I had it every lunch there for two years.

My afternoon break was just as consistent.  I had a root-beer float with scooped, real ice-cream.  You can't make a good root-beer float with soft ice-cream.  It just doesn't melt right, nor seem as creamy and delicious.

Marion was like a grandmother to me.  I ate at her table more often than I did at home.  I loved to visit with her.  While she cooked or did the dishes.  She had dish pan hands, her hair tied up in a net and a resolute determination to do her job well.  I always sat there by myself, usually during off hours when the crowds weren't there.  People came and went I'm sure but all I remember was Marion.  That is until one fateful day.

I was in this very marching band.  It had a little more class in those days.  The Drum Major is my good friend Keith.  You can see both Ashton's and the Uintah Rexall Drug in this photo.  Also Bobbie's Dress Shop where Sweetie worked.

I had quit Ashton's and was working as a surveyor.  One day I happened to be in town in the early afternoon and, for old time's sake, stopped in to see Marion.  The place was hopping and the only stool was right next to a pretty girl I was remotely acquainted with.  We had a good visit over our meals.  I have no idea what she had, but of course I had the salad plate.  Marion gave me a wink of approval as I sat beside someone she obviously approved of.  As we parted I paid for the young lady's meal, which she graciously accepted as she has thousands of times since.  She became my sweetheart, my wife and the love of my life.  And *her mother's potato salad is even better than Marion Swain's.

Welcome Home Whitey!

Today I'm re-embarking on a wonderful adventure that began three years ago.  My neighbor and friend Whitey has Alzheimer's.  Shortly after I retired from UPS and upon our return from Newfoundland, Betty began calling occasionally to have me help with Whitey.  He'd slip out of his recliner and onto the floor and she'd need help getting him back up - things like that.  By December, I was over there four or five times a day.  He was losing his ability to walk and poor Betty was beside herself trying to give him the loving care she hoped to.

Any wife would have a hard time deciding his care was beyond her capacity; and so it was with Betty.  We shed a lot of tears and Betty struggled with such a conflicting decision.  Most Alzheimer's patients don't last as long as Whitey has.  The 2 1/2 years he was in the Care Center were fraught with seizures and other difficulties, but those have ceased and his care has become simpler as he is not at risk of injury as he's utterly unable to change positions, even in bed.  A couple of months ago, another woman in a similar situation suggested that Betty might now be able to bring her husband home.  She resisted.  But the notion began to grow and blossom into a possibility.  Betty was certain that she couldn't do it alone.

As we've compared notes; on the day that I felt inspired to quit seeking employment and stay home to write, Betty felt impressed to ask me to assist her with bringing her husband home and in his daily care.  She didn't feel she could ask me though, not knowing what I was up to.  A few days later, Betty and I bumped into one another at the Walking Park and walked a few loops together.  As we conversed I told her of my plans and of the huge leap of faith I was making as I knew it could be many months before I realized any revenue from writing.  Her own issues suddenly clarified and she dared ask.  Having already assisted with Whitey a lot and being blessed with such a disposition as I have; it was easy to say, "Yes!"  Betty will help me with a little income, though I won't be accepting nearly what she offered.  I don't consider this a job, but an opportunity to serve.  So, I calculated what would be just sufficient for my needs and intend to accept nothing more.  I couldn't bear to profit from Betty's misfortune.  Of course she will save a large amount of money as the Care Center is very expensive.

Anyway, we brought Whitey home today.  Several of his Priesthood brethren turned out for the occasion.  Betty had asked for a couple of guys to help me lift him up the steps and into the house.  Eight men showed up!  It was a quiet celebration of sorts as we welcomed him home.  A couple of sweet ladies from the Care Center, who'd accompanied him home were also there to bid him goodbye.  You could tell they loved him and would indeed miss him.  Thank Heaven for the Care Center and the good people who love and care for so many who need to be there.  Thank Heaven for the Care Center Branch who serve their spiritual needs during their stay.

Now to the task at hand.  I'll still be writing most of the time.  But every few hours I'll run over and help where I'm needed.  Periodically, I'll be spelling Betty while she goes to the Temple, to a bridal shower or out to lunch with friends.  I'm thrilled to be able to help.  These are wonderful people for whom I have great love and respect.  If I can play a tiny part in improving the quality of their lives together, it will be the joy of a lifetime.

Sweetie and I will be doing our share of commiserating as she's currently the primary caregiver for her own ailing mother.  We both have remarked that these days of service and love are priceless beyond measure.

The other night Betty took a son and his family to dinner with Whitey and the Rest Home.  They ate pizza while he had his pureed dinner.  As they were leaving, Betty gave him a kiss and Whitey, who has only spoken gibberish for years said, "You're a wonderful woman."  What a blessed, tender mercy.  I believe that Whitey's spirit is still conscious, even though his mind is completely confused.  I believe that one day we will know, that his spirit was able to use that poor decrepit body to convey his love to his devoted wife.

I am certain that I will count myself fortunate to have witnessed the eternal bond of love and friendship that persists through deepening trials in the lives of these fine Saints.

Repenting

Yesterday I spoke in Church on the topic of Trusting God.  The Spirit attended in abundance and we rejoiced at a marvelous opportunity to learn.  Our attention was focused on the fact that God will direct our lives if we will seek His guidance and be willing to obey His instructions.

I have been impressed with the Alcoholics Anonymous 11th Step Prayer, "Lord, what would Thou have me do today?  Please give me the strength to do it?"  These words are the focus of my prayers.  Of course I spend a lot of time in gratitude in my prayers as well.  There are other requests.  Requests for things I have no direct influence over.  Still these words are the most productive words in any prayer.  I have found that my prayers get answered a lot more quickly and effectively if I ask Father what I should be doing, rather than if I spend my prayers telling Him what He should be doing.

If it troubles you that my prayer comes from AA, then you might be more at ease with this:

Paul, en route to Damascus to persecute the Saints, saw a light from heaven and heard the voice of the Lord. Then Paul asked a simple eight-word question--and the persistent asking of the same question changed his life. "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" (Acts 9:6). The persistent asking of that same question can also change your life. There is no greater question that you can ask in this world. "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" I challenge you to make that the uppermost question in your life.  (Ezra Taft Benson)

The more completely I focus my attention on that great quest, the happier and more productive I become.  The other neat thing I've discovered as I attempted to implement President Benson's advice is that God never asks me to give anything I haven't got.  He most certainly stretches me.  Certainly, he pushes me out of my comfort zone on occasion.  Never, though, doesn't He make requests of things I am not prepared to deliver.

Best of all, I've learned, like Nephi, that God always provides a way for us to keep His commandments.  Even the little daily ones.

So, why is this bit about repenting?  Because, yesterday when I got home from Church and Sweetie had gone to her Mother's and Katie had gone off to her Singles Ward.  I asked that question. "What would Thou have me do today Lord?  I got my answer; I was to take some extra peaches around to the ladies I home teach and to a couple of friends.  I didn't do it though.  Instead I went and took a nap.  I could have done both, but I napped too long and by the end of the day felt quite hollow and unfulfilled.  I asked forgiveness as I closed the day in prayer and committed to do better today.

I had the best morning going around to see Paul and Phylis, Billie, Lynne and Norma.  Each blessed my life with good cheer and sweet conversation.  To think I might have enjoyed that yesterday and had today to do something else.  It is a good reminder to keep on my toes.  Essentially, God told me yesterday to go out and have a pleasant, uplifting, fulfilling Sabbath afternoon, but I was too lazy to be so blessed.  What a lesson.  What a life!

What a World!

The little kids and I were up early this morning to go to the Farmer's Market.  My tomatoes haven't done well this year and I've a hankering for BLT's this evening.  Apparently nobody's tomatoes have done very well.  Booth after booth had squash that looked wonderful.  Only one had a few pretty puny tomatoes.  The seller affirmed that it had been a very tough summer for tomatoes.  I bought her out of her ripest ones.

Megan stopped by a booth where a fellow was selling hand carved walking sticks.  He also had a couple of little wooden outhouses on display.  He handed Megs a quarter and suggested she put it in the slot at the top of the outhouse.  I assumed it was meant to be a bank.  When she dropped the quarter there was aloud pop and the outhouse fell to pieces.  Jeff was pretty sure she'd ruined it, but Megan wasn't fooled.  She knew it was a prank and she got a pretty big kick out of it.

My friend Lee had a booth of Artisan Bread.  I bought a yummy looking loaf of Parmesan encrusted goodness.  I love this means of free expression.  Anyone can show up there and peddle their wares.  It interests me to see who's good at what.

One fellow was selling eggs and freshly slaughtered chickens.  I wished I had fewer eggs in the fridge.  Fresh eggs are so good.  Megan wants to raise chickens.  Jeff thinks the rabbits are enough.  I agree with Jeff.

There were a few booths of hand crafted trinkets and jewelery.

A young couple were selling Grand Junction peaches that were wonderful and fresh.  I bought a box.  While I'm seriously trying to lose weight, once a year I have to binge on peaches and cream for a couple of days.  I'll get my fill this evening and maybe tomorrow and then I'll look forward to August for another full year.  I like the notion of restraint.  If I had peaches and cream often they wouldn't mean nearly so much to me.  Plus the gluttony would not only dull my senses but destroy my health.  One precious indulgence in peaches and cream a year makes them seem like heaven.  The same goes for bacon.  Though, even at it's best bacon seems more terrestrial than celestial.  But hey, I like earth a lot!  I just expect to like heaven better.

So, a pleasant morning staking our claim to a quieter simpler, more down to earth way of exchanging things gives way to the computer and another note.  As I sit down to write though, I'm interrupted by an alert that my friend and cousin Steve is on line.  I open Oovoo and up he pops, live on my screen.  Steve's living in Connecticut, two time zones away; but for now we're sitting in the same room.  Both of us have books for a back drop.  How fitting.  What a miracle!  We sit in our own quiet homes and visit face to face as if we were across the desk from one another.  He's just got back from a long bike ride and as we share our mornings we get as sense of why the prophets longed to live in our day.  We joke and laugh, update our histories, and move along, knowing we're not that far apart after all.

It's been a rather startling morning.  So simple, yet so grand.  So ordinary, while being so miraculous.  How is it that we could be so very blessed.