I really enjoyed reading the two chapters in Dubliners, written by James Joyce. The way he writes gave me at times, the feeling of being there with the character. His use of descriptive details gave me a way of "seeing" the two  stories, instead of just being told in the narrative. Initially, the vocabulary took some time to get used to, but eventually I was able to go with the flow.

The chapter entitled An Encounter, is the story of two boys playing hooky from school who unknowingly took me along with them for the adventure. I love the way James uses rich details describing the beautiful surroundings as the narrator waits for his friends to join him for their adventure to Pigeon House. Joyce narrates, "All the branches of the tall trees which lined the mall were gay with little light green leaves and the sunlight slanted through them on to the water." Joyce's use of alliteration was not lost on me as a writer. I thought this passage was as beautiful as the surroundings. I did get a creepy sensation when the lone man decided to hang with the boys. At first I thought he was blind die to the stick references going tap, tap, tap. It took me awhile to decide that he wasn't. Why was he so nice to them, coaxing them for information about sweethearts, then sound sinister when alone with the narrator as Mahoney chased the cat. I think in the end, the boys realized that this adventure was not such a hot idea after all. It wasn't as fun as it was supposed to be.

For me, Araby tells the story of unrequited love. It's the kind of schoolboy crush that at the time, seems like true love in its splendor. The main character watches and waits for Mangan's sister to come into view. He watches her from his home, admiring her from afar. I like the way Joyce describes her when the narrator and Mangan saw her on the step at night.. "Her dress swung as she moved her body and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to side." Isn't that lovely? I never thought of my own long hair as soft rope. He is smitten, thinks about her all the time,and often wonders what he would even say to her should she speak to him. I felt very involved in this story, identifying with the narrator and feeling his pain. When she does finally speak to him in the back drawing room, they speak of Araby and the bazaar. The narrator decides to go since she can't, and he will buy her something. Alas, unrequited love is frustrating for a reason. For when the narrator reaches the bazaar it's closing and there's nothing left worth buying. I feel for him at this moment because I have felt this way at times with crushes when I was younger. You want to come up with something to impress the other person, and when you come up empty handed, it's crushing.

After reading Gloria Anzaldua's story How To Tame A Wild Tongue, I sat still for a minute. I wanted to allow the feelings and sense of purpose from the author to finish enveloping me. When first reading this story, I have to admit, I had some trouble spots to get over with all the Spanish and English dialogue intertwined. However, as I moved along in the story, my troubling spots became more intriguing.  I wanted to learn more of the author's plight and her Chicano people. I felt great empathy for Ms. Anzaldua throughout the story. It must be extremely difficult and very frustrating to feel that you cannot be who you were intended to be because of language and cultural diversities. I felt bad for her when her own mother, "was mortified that she spoke English like a Mexican." Perhaps this was due to Spanish speaking people trying to "fit in" with American culture, disregarding the importance of their own dialect and cultural ways. Anzaldua felt lost and unidentifiable because there was no Chicano Spanish spoken around her in the outside world. Sad that it was not until 1965 that she felt that her people existed, due to Cesar Chavez and others gaining recognition. I thought this was awful. To have an event finally put your people on the map?

This story brought up a memory for me that until now, I never really gave much thought of. My brother's first wife was Mexican, and she lived in Texas her whole life until she moved to New Jersey with my brother after he got out of the Army. Her accent was mostly that of a southern accent, yet one could hear a Spanish accent as well. I wonder now years later how she must've felt during the time she lived up here in the northeast. The only time she would interact with another Spanish person is if she ran into one at the store. My brother says she mostly spoke Spanish to her mother, but still none of us up here spoke her comforting language. I took French in high school and some in college as the story recalls many American taking instead of Spanish, whose population was growing here, not French. I'm sure my sister-in-law felt like a fish out of water at times, not just because we didn't speak Spanish, but because New Jersey was not Texas. I give her a lot of credit for packing up her life and moving here. The move in itself was a cultural shock!

I will never feel the way Gloria Anzaldua felt. Maybe more of us should so changes can be made. Acceptance of all needs to be the norm, not acceptance of those who can conform.

Author Gian Pagnucci writes in "Living the Narrative Life: Telling Your Own Story," how stories and memories from our past help shape us forever, and makes us who we are today. I agree with him. I absolutely believe without a shadow of a doubt that who I am and what I believe is a direct result from the experiences I had during my childhood. This realization took me back to the memory of my Grandmom, and how much love and affection she had for everyone, not just her family. Always smiling, she would do anything for anyone. She smothered us grandkids with wet kisses, let us change the tv channel, and always smelled of fragrant powder. I believe this memory has helped me to become the loving mother I am today. Memories also gave way to my parents' constant arguing, where confrontations and accusations  resulted to many a sleepless night. To this day I hate any type of arguing, and I try to avoid all confrontation like the plague.

Pagnucci also states how our stories matter and we should want to record them, sharing them with the world. Luckily for me, I don't necessarily need to write them down. For some reason I have the best memory in the world when it comes to recalling the stories of my life. I remember so many stories! I remember people, places, events, dates, etc. One of my cousins always says that if you're ever in a reception line, I'm the one you want to be next to. In fact, I tell my children stories of my life all the time! If I am having a conversation with them or listening to one of their stories, nine times out of ten it will trigger a story from me. They actually wait for it. I'll say, "You know when I was little...." I have a story for just about anything. We laugh constantly. However, I believe through these stories they get a sense of who I am while taking a walk down memory lane.

Lastly, Pagnucci talks about how stories connect us to other people, and we have a responsibility to respond to those stories. Some of my stories are long and detailed. But as Pagnucci says, "some of the most treasured stories are the simplest." One of the simplest stories I treasure deeply is that of me and my Pop-Pop sitting on the steps on the side of my grandparent's house shucking corn on the cob. He took great pains to show me the correct way to shuck  that ear of corn, making sure we painstakingly got all the silky hair off. While we did this he would often tell me his own stories. What made it even more special is that is was just us two. I was the only one who enjoyed doing this task. The rest of my cousins  couldn't be bothered, instead they happily played tag among the apple, peach, and pear trees. I do have other great family stories regarding sleep overs, barbecues, and Christmas dinners. However, this simple story will always remain my favorite.

I enjoyed this reading very much, and will continue the art of storytelling throughout my years. I think it's a great way to preserve the past. One only has to look as far as their heart to remember. =)