Reading Independently: My Crush on Nathan Hale

I remember hearing about and seeing pictures of cotton-haired George Washington and the cartoonishly-shaped Abraham Lincoln in the days before I could read by myself. Cherry trees and log cabins. They were so neatly bundled in February that they didn't make much of an impression.

A couple of years passed, and I was reading independently. Somehow, (maybe from my aunt?) there came into my possession an illustrated book of American history. Starting with Christopher Columbus and ending...I don't remember how. Highlights of American history were summarized in an informative paragraph, accompanied by a picture in full color. It was a handsome volume.

There were two pages I was particularly stuck on: One was the 'story' of Pocahontas and John Smith. What a great picture: John Smith with his hands bound behind his back, head on a large boulder, face looking worried and brave, all at once. The would-be executioner's hatchet coming down, and Pocahontas, running in, arm fully extended for the interception, looking scared but angry. The paragraph said that she shielded him from the fatal blow. Of course, I had to look up 'shielded' 'fatal' and 'blow'. Wow.

Then there was Nathan Hale. I can't find the exact picture I saw in the book, but it was somewhat like the one above, except that Nathan Hale was standing on the left, defiantly facing right and wearing a white shirt with no jacket. He had the rope around his beautifully strong neck. This was the first time I'd ever heard of someone being hanged. Also, the language was a little beyond me.  I double-checked with my father. Yes, hanging was a method of killing. "Giving [one's] life" meant that they died. Also, Nathan Hale was captured by the British for spying. He was a spy. What was a spy? And the paragraph said he was 19. I cried. A lot. Because this wasn't a story. A fairy tale. This was a true story. Nathan Hale was real. This really happened.

For a long time, I brooded on Nathan Hale. Where had his Pocahontas been? If only we weren't 200 years apart! I could have rushed in and shielded him from the fatal...blow? I wasn't exactly sure how hanging was accomplished. Yes, I thought, I would have rescued him. Of course, I would have given him a chance to make his stirring, final speech, then I would have defied those ugly guys in red jackets. Then Nathan Hale could have gone back to being a spy, and maybe I could have somehow helped. Maybe by bringing him some water, like Molly Pitcher?  No, I'd make him show me how to help him with spying. 

The Words Fall In, The Words Fall Out

...but they don't play pinochle in my snout. I think. I hope. Where's a mirror? I've always been rather fond of my nostrils.

The words fall in (Part I):

I'm still reading Grant by Ron Chernow. 25% finished. I thought I might mix it up and read Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy, but Grant won't let me cheat on him! I feel guilty contemplating other books. I downloaded a biography of James Baldwin that was the special of the day on Amazon, but I haven't opened it yet. Grant, why do you do this to me??? Hamilton and Washington were cool when I wandered off for a month or two or three.

The words fall in (Part II):

I'm still in the first-stage giddiness regarding my crush on The Restricted Section.  Never knew there was so much beer in the world.  Or bookstores and library sales in Springfield. I'm having a great time catching up on all of Megan and Sue's videos.


The words fall out (Part I):

With Mom back in the nursing home and my working 40-plus hours a week, I suddenly had an epiphany that absolutely nothing in my life is conducive to writing a novel. Too late now! I am having fun discovering new characters (a 100-year-old female business tycoon showed up on Wednesday. I was totally charmed) and having my friend choose her own character names. It's true that the words are falling out of me reluctantly, so on those days, I resort to elaborate outlines and Q and As about what I'm truly trying to accomplish in each section. This seems to be the way I go about novel-writing; I recognize some of the same tactics from Even if the Sky Falls Down. One of my characters is trying to take over all of Chicken Diary, so I promised her that she could have her own novel. I worried that I'd be doing both simultaneously (she's that overbearing!) but she's shut up for now.

The words fall out (Part II):

I have a couple of audiobooks I'm ready to pass on to someone else. Both are novels. The first one is The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides. I shied away from it for years, then it ended up being my favorite of his novels. The other one is A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara, about which I have so many mixed feelings that I could be in a bartender's recipe book. If you're interested in either or both, let me know and we'll work out the details.