All posts by Dona

Review: Mrs Lieutenant

Reading, , , , ,

A couple of weeks ago I received a google alert for Elgin, Illinois. I get them several times a week, and usually read them, then delete them. This one, however, I not only read and saved, but I took action that I don’t regret.

The alert was about an author, Phyllis Zimbler Miller, who grew up in Elgin. I’d not heard of the author, but found her on a site I’d been to before, The Author’s Den.  I sent her a message, telling her I was pleased to see that Elgin produced talented people and that I’d also grown up there. I also found her on twitter and found her weblogs. In fact, this woman is all over the Internet.

I added her to my twitter feed and we exchanged a couple of twits and messages on The Author’s Den. She offered to send me her book to read and review here. I accepted, so here we are.

I have to admit, when I looked at the cover of the book and read the blurb on the back, I was a little worried that I was not going to like it. After all, I was a knee-jerk anti-war teenager (and am a more thoughtful anti-war middle-aged woman). Why on earth would the story of four vastly different women who happened to be married to budding army Lieutenants in the 1970’s interest me in the slightest?

I was mistaken. Mrs. Lieutenant was an interesting read. It kept my interest and I came away from it more enlightened about life of military folk during the Viet Nam war. The book has romance, drama, drama, sex, and conflict. I cared about the characters and hated a couple of them. What more could I ask for?

The premise of the book is that four young women from different US cultures are thrown together for a couple of months on a military base while their husbands complete some needed training. Although backgrounds and pasts differ, their futures seem to all hold at least one near-definite: the possibility of their husband’s going to, and possibly dying, in Viet Nam.

Sharon Gold, the main character, is a Jewish anti-war protester from Chicago, Illinois. Donna is a Puerto Rican married to an “Anglo”. Kim is a white woman from South Carolina who doesn’t like Jews, Puerto Ricans or Blacks. Wendy is a sheltered Black woman from South Carolina.

While I believed the tension between Kim and the other women, I had a hard time understanding the tension that Sharon felt. Maybe I’m too young to remember tension between Jews and non-Jews, or perhaps I’ve lived in a community with a lot of Jewish culture for so long. Although, I do admit to not knowing anyone Jewish in my hometown until I got to high school, but it never seemed to be an issue — in fact I might have known them, just didn’t know they were Jewish.

I think this book might even appeal more to women that lived that life — even if they lived it during other wars, or during times of peace (have we actually had those?)

While Ms Zimbler Miller’s writing style occasionally felt awkward (possibly because she was writing in language of the 1970s), there were some spots of brilliant writing:

“Don’t lie to me. I know you were with a man.”

Jim’s face flushes with the ugliest shade of purple she’s ever seen. His eyes will pop out of his face any minute, landing at her feet and rolling away, becoming marbles for Squeaky to chase.

She sinks to the floor as her knees fold under her. “I swear Jim, I swear on my sister’s life, that I was home all day alone. That I was not with another man today, or ever before, or ever in the future.” The tears plop onto her hands.

He stides down the hall. In a moment he’s back.

He has the gun!

“I’ll kill you if you’re ever with another man. I promise you, Kim, I’ll kill you.”

So, as I told Ms Zimbler Miller in my first message — it’s great to see that Elgin, Illinois produced people with her talent. She spent time at the very same library I did as a young child — perhaps we read the same books.

I’m sending this book to my Aunt Ginny, who went to high school with Ms Zimbler Miller. I think she’ll even get more out of it than I did.

Thanks Mike!

Rave, Things, ,

I drove the 20 minutes to Gaithersburg this morning after feeding the neighbor’s cat. I was nervous the whole way, wondering how it would go. When I got there, I checked the car for the receipt — no luck, so I braced myself for an unpleasant time and walked into the store, showing the woman at the door my membership card, which I carried in my right hand. The SD card boxes were in my large purse.

When it was my turn at the returns desk, the gentleman who helped me was friendly and helpful. He walked me to the “cage” that carried cigarettes and electronic equipment and told the woman behind the counter what the problem was. She said we needed to talk to a manager.

The returns gentleman walked me to the service counter and told me I needed to talk to the “short woman in green”. There were two short women in green, but one had no vest, so I stood in her line. The other short woman in green asked what I needed so I explained the situation to her. She basically told me I was out of luck, that there was no way of knowing if I actually got the cards and then was bringing the boxes to get more. I told her I didn’t get the cards and that I figured that the woman in the cage would have taken the empty boxes when she gave me the cards. The short woman in green with a vest said that some people left them in their carts, so I could have picked them up from the cart and brought them in. I said, a little louder this time, “But I didn’t do that. I purchased these last Sunday and the cashier didn’t tell me the boxes were empty.” She said, “I can’t help you.” I said, “So you mean I’m out $60?” She said I was.

I was more than annoyed at this time and was not going to back down. I was about to say something like “I’m not leaving until I get what I paid for.” I was then going to ask for a manager (probably the short woman in green with no vest) and if I still didn’t get the cards I was going to cancel my membership.

I’d noticed a man in a blue polo shirt behind the short woman in green with a vest. His nametag said “Mike”. She turned to him and he said he’d help me. First of all he wanted my membership card. I looked for it in my wallet (taking every card out to do so) and in my pockets (taking my keys out do do so) and in my purse (thank heavens I’d just cleaned it out and only had a few tissues and my cell phone in it). I said I may have dropped it, but had just had it in my hand. He believed me, then asked for my name — to look up my membership number. After a few moments of him typing and me putting things back into my wallet, he asked the short woman in green with a vest to get me two packages of cards. The woman from the cigarette cage brought me the cards and asked if she should ring them up. Mike said no. He then gave me a piece of paper with my membership number on it, told me to put the cards in my purse so the guys at the door would’t question my not having a receipt.

I thanked him and went to the returns desk to see if my membership card was there. The returns gentleman held smiled and handed it to me. On my way out Mike smiled at me, seeing I had my card.

I imagine he’ll tell his family at dinner that he had a real ditzy woman at the warehouse today — someone who actually tore open fake box and wondered where the cards were, then lost her membership card and her receipt.

No matter — I’m an honest person, maybe it shows.

Where’s the Card?

Rant, , ,

In addition to packing, finishing laundry, finishing planning, cleaning the house and finishing some documentation for work and possibly more file conversions before our 19 day trip to Ireland on Friday evening, I need to run back to Costco to pick up some SD cards that I bought over a week ago, but didn’t realize that I just got two empty Styrofoam cartons. The outside of the package gives a lot of information about the SD cards, so I expected them to be in the package. The outside of the package says “Take to Cashier” — but nowhere does it say “This box is empty. Take to service desk for the actual product.”

I think the cashier was supposed to tell me to take it to the service desk for the actual cards, but didn’t. I think that the guy at the door who checks your cart and marks on your receipt was supposed tell me to take it to the service desk but didn’t.

Now I need to waste an extra couple of hours and gas to run up to Gaithersburg to pick up the actual cards.

Oh, and I threw the receipt away.

I’m annoyed. Can you tell?