Barrett on Books Featured Content

The Mighty Kindle

rbarrett30@comcast.net — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 13:21:29 PST

Monday, April 25 2011

Well, I admit I was a skeptic, one of those dinosaurs who vowed never to give up the beauty, heft and reassurance of the "book." I knew I would always prefer the printed word in traditional hardback or trade paper, but always ON paper. So now I must confess. I've been seduced. Seduced by the convenience of a slim, stylish rectangle of technology that calls up the title I've been reading in an instant. No scouring the house for the last known resting place of the volume in question, no gnashing of teeth that I forgot the one book I wanted to finish while traveling. It's all so seductive. But the real siren's song of the Kindle is instant gratification. In less than a single minute I can have whatever title my heart desires in my hands, on the screen of my Kindle, ready for me to delve into without a moment's delay. For a bibliophile this is true bliss. Of course there's always the issue of addiction. Technology makes it so easy to, with the click of a few keys, have any number of desired titles in your possession. The need for self control can become a problem--until the credit card bill arrives.

Who Am I?

rbarrett30@comcast.net — Mon, 14 Mar 2011 23:35:56 PST

Monday, March 14, 2011

The descent into dementia is the cruelest of all maladies. The things that make us who we are are our experiences; our memories, our knowledge and our talents. What are we when all this is lost? How insecure and frightened must the person descending into the clutches of Alzheimer's be. What must it be like to look into the faces of people who love and care for us and no longer know them. How lonely an existence to be constantly confused and lost. It is a particularly cruel fate when the person afflicted has always been intellectually curious, always seeking knowledge and understanding of the world around him or her. There are those who debate the existence of hell. There is no doubt in my mind: this is hell.

A Fearful Nation

rbarrett30@comcast.net — Sun, 10 Oct 2010 18:54:24 PST

Sunday, October 10, 2010

When I was a child we didn't know where the key to our house was. We lived on a farm and whenever we went into town or various members of our family were in the fields, we never thought to worry about locking the door. What if someone came to visit? In the rural south not everyone had a telephone. It wasn't necessarily due to poverty but often because the telephone company wouldn't go to the expense of running phone lines down every county road. Saturdays were when our mother would drive into the small local town to grocery shop and pay bills. We had an uncle who, without warning, invariably showed up on Sundays, always just in time for dinner (which was our noon meal). I don't think I got to eat anything other than the wing of the chicken until I was in my early teens because of his visits.

Today our houses are not only locked but wired with alarm systems. Children can't spend their days wandering the countryside, playing in the creek or trying to catch any number of wild creatures, real or imagined. They are taught not to speak to strangers and never go near a car when beckoned by an unknown adult. They are fingerprinted and their DNA is registered with law officials. Many are not even allowed to walk home from school. And they are afraid. They are afraid not because of what has happened but because of what might happen. We all want our children and grandchildren to be safe but the cost has been high. They have had their innocence taken before they ever experience tragedy. And that is tragic.

The Nature of Names

rbarrett30@comcast.net — Mon, 27 Sep 2010 12:03:18 PST

Monday, September 27, 2010

A name, the right name, can stick in the memory forever. Think of Scout in To Kill A Mockingbird or Blanche in Streetcar Named Desire. But there are place names which stay with us just as tenaciously. My favorite for a long time has been The Hairy Lemon. It's a bar in the heart of Dublin and the image it evokes is, to say the least, very graphic. You have to wonder if some enterprising pub owner sat around for days trying to name his new establishment and opened the refrigerator to discover a lemon long past its prime, growing hairy tendrils of mold. Or maybe the name stays with me simply because it was James Joyce day in Ireland when I happened upon the Hairy Lemon and every would-be bard was quoting from one of Joyce's works from every street corner and, of course, pub. I recall feeling a bit hairy myself the next day.

But I have discovered a new favorite place name: Toad Suck Park. In the northwest of Arkansas I came across this uniquely named park as I was driving to Fayetteville. For originality I must confess this takes the prize. Try to imagine the origins of this name. You can't, can you? So I looked it up. The town of Toad Suck and the Toad Suck Lock and Dam are located on the Arkansas River where riverboats had to tie up prior to the building of the lock and dam when the river was too low to navigate. The deck hands would go into the local town and imbibe freely at the tavern prompting one citizen to proclaim, "They suck on the bottle 'til they swell up like toads." Needless to say, the name stuck.

I love coming across unusual names. What are your favorites?

Passages

rbarrett30@comcast.net — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 01:38:14 PST

August 16, 2010

Last week I attended a good old fashioned Irish wake at Little Flower Catholic Church. It was followed by the last rites of passage for my friend's brother. The church, for all it's unredeeming architecture on the exterior, has on either side of the alter two of the most beautiful icons I have ever seen, one of Mary and the infant Christ, the other of Joseph with Christ as a child. The lighting made the details and artistry of these two scenes appear jewel like.

The soloist had a lovely voice and music was a major part of the service. As I sat there viewing these beautiful images, listening to the hymns and the almost chanting quality of the service, I realized the healing, comforting power of it all. I also recognized the need to celebrate a life, to take note of all that was good and valid about a person's time here on earth. Though our time is finite, a life should be be honored and the passage from this life should be shrouded in ceremony and celebrated with beauty and heavenly music.

I came away from this service with the sense that Chuck's life had been fully and beautifully comemorated, and rightly so.