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Dinner is done; I've gone for my walk; the dogs have been fed and taken care of; and I'm decked out in my favorite comfy pajamas. After another long and stressful week of administering the Connecticut Mastery Tests, all I want to do is sit down, relax, and finish my book before going to bed. So as I settle into my favorite spot on the couch with my book in one hand and a cup of tea in another, conditions are perfect for wrapping up the ending to The English Patient. Or are they really?
Things are never as they appear.
And why is that? you may ask.
Well, let me introduce you to the problem ~ or shall I say problems.
Meet Problem Number One, Roxie, or as I'd like to call her "Fuddrucker." Fuddruckers is the name of a hamburger restaurant I had discovered while vacationing in Myrtle Beach, SC. I thought the name was hillarious. So I found ways to incorporate it into my every-day vernacular. I originally adopted the term "fuddrucker" as a hillarious substitute in a bad-word-sort-of way, as in "What the Fuddrucker?" But over the two years that fuddrucker has been a part of my daily language, its definition and usage has evolved above and beyond the queen mother of dirty words. It's taken on a connotation that I'm sure Mr. Fuddrucker himself or the founders of the Fuddrucker Corporation (if either one exists) never intended. For me, it has become a fun way to label Roxie as a big-time troublemaker.
Anyway, that brings me to the next troublemaker, Problem Number Two, Holly, or as I'd like to call her, Holly-hoo. (Everyone has to have a nickname around here. It's an unspoken rule). Holly is 11 years old and is far too docile to be dubbed a fuddrucker; but when Roxie instigates trouble, the fuddrucker in Holly comes out.
Don't be fooled by the innocent veneer of Fuddrucker and Holly-hoo. For the most part, they get along perfectly well. It's only when I want to sit and relax and try to read that the Wild Fuddrucker Rumpus begins. That's when they decide to argue for my undivided attention. It starts with Roxie jumping on and pacing across my lap, crinkling the pages of my book, knocking the tea out of my hand, and barking hysterically at Holly. Holly retaliates by barking back; but because she's old and and battling ailments common to her breed, she easily becomes winded and tired. Her barking subsides, and she decides to invade Roxie's toy basket in an attempt to throw in another jab. Roxie, of course, gets upset, barks louder, and jumps higher. After about five minutes of them barking and me shouting, toys are now littered all over the floor; I'm dripping in tea; and somehow the couch pillows have grown legs and walked across the room.
Over the last two years, my Junie B. Jones bookmark, Page 34 of Wuthering Heights, and a William-Sonoma coffee cup have suffered as just a few of the casualties to this War of the Fuddruckers. You'd think I'd learn my lesson by now and lock myself into another room. But it starts off so seemingly innocent. . .
. . . as did The English Patient. For a 300-page book with short chapters, I thought I'd rip through this one with ease. But, oh, no. This story bounces between time and place and from one character to the next, and sometimes I had difficulty deciphering who was who and exactly what was happening. And it was particularly difficult to focus with two fuddruckers creating havoc. The English Patient is actually a beautiful story, but one that I was only able to appreciate after giving it the intellectual muscle required. The writing style does take a while to get used to, but it's written with rich details that entice you into a journey that takes place at the tail end of World War II between Italy and Cairo. The characters are easily likable, even for all of their faults. It's a book definitely worth reading, especially when you have a quiet place to sit, focus, and absorb its intricacies.
Things are never as they appear.
And why is that? you may ask.
Well, let me introduce you to the problem ~ or shall I say problems.
Meet Problem Number One, Roxie, or as I'd like to call her "Fuddrucker." Fuddruckers is the name of a hamburger restaurant I had discovered while vacationing in Myrtle Beach, SC. I thought the name was hillarious. So I found ways to incorporate it into my every-day vernacular. I originally adopted the term "fuddrucker" as a hillarious substitute in a bad-word-sort-of way, as in "What the Fuddrucker?" But over the two years that fuddrucker has been a part of my daily language, its definition and usage has evolved above and beyond the queen mother of dirty words. It's taken on a connotation that I'm sure Mr. Fuddrucker himself or the founders of the Fuddrucker Corporation (if either one exists) never intended. For me, it has become a fun way to label Roxie as a big-time troublemaker.
Don't be fooled by the innocent veneer of Fuddrucker and Holly-hoo. For the most part, they get along perfectly well. It's only when I want to sit and relax and try to read that the Wild Fuddrucker Rumpus begins. That's when they decide to argue for my undivided attention. It starts with Roxie jumping on and pacing across my lap, crinkling the pages of my book, knocking the tea out of my hand, and barking hysterically at Holly. Holly retaliates by barking back; but because she's old and and battling ailments common to her breed, she easily becomes winded and tired. Her barking subsides, and she decides to invade Roxie's toy basket in an attempt to throw in another jab. Roxie, of course, gets upset, barks louder, and jumps higher. After about five minutes of them barking and me shouting, toys are now littered all over the floor; I'm dripping in tea; and somehow the couch pillows have grown legs and walked across the room.
Over the last two years, my Junie B. Jones bookmark, Page 34 of Wuthering Heights, and a William-Sonoma coffee cup have suffered as just a few of the casualties to this War of the Fuddruckers. You'd think I'd learn my lesson by now and lock myself into another room. But it starts off so seemingly innocent. . .
. . . as did The English Patient. For a 300-page book with short chapters, I thought I'd rip through this one with ease. But, oh, no. This story bounces between time and place and from one character to the next, and sometimes I had difficulty deciphering who was who and exactly what was happening. And it was particularly difficult to focus with two fuddruckers creating havoc. The English Patient is actually a beautiful story, but one that I was only able to appreciate after giving it the intellectual muscle required. The writing style does take a while to get used to, but it's written with rich details that entice you into a journey that takes place at the tail end of World War II between Italy and Cairo. The characters are easily likable, even for all of their faults. It's a book definitely worth reading, especially when you have a quiet place to sit, focus, and absorb its intricacies.
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