Distraction
After blowing off my first class of the day on account of arriving late (heavy traffic this morning), I decided after the second class to bail and just go home, maybe put in some serious study time whilst kidlets remain quietly tucked away at school.
So, arriving home I pop my soup in the microwave, and step out to check the mailbox. Oops. That was a mistake. For there in a slightly torn media mail envelope is a book I ordered way back in July, now hot off the presses.
The title is "Justice, Peace and God - a Minister's Personal Odyssey." ISBN 0-7884-4097-7, 473 pages, paperback, fresh off the presses and shipped straight from the publisher. And of course, I couldn't put it down. The soup was slurped, the chips crunched, and the honeydew savored; but I still kept reading. I'd only intended to do a quick glance at the first chapter, but I ended up reading the first four, skimming the middle, and slowing for the last three.
The book, a biography, was fascinating. I appreciate the author's dedicated research in an area of intense personal interest to me. I could quibble, of course (ha, like the subject's mother, who had a zest for grammar, might have done) with some minor details (pages in the index that don't accurately reflect the content, or the distinction between half- brother and step-brother, for example), the intrusion of constant [whispered in brackets] political commentary, or on the scope of the "fair use" exception of copyright protection; but I won't, because the book as a whole is a delight. And some of the facts disclosed are ones that answer questions I have had for a long time, though I imagine that there are others who wouldn't like the inferences drawn from those facts. I have in the past wondered how kin of famous historical people feel when biographies are published, and family surprises or discord are laid bare for all to see; now I think I have some idea of that answer.
Nevertheless, my gratitude to the author, Barbara Mills, for a worthy look at a respectable 20th Century life that obviously touched her life and many others. Well done.
And now, the assignment for Legal Ethics calls me . . . .
So, arriving home I pop my soup in the microwave, and step out to check the mailbox. Oops. That was a mistake. For there in a slightly torn media mail envelope is a book I ordered way back in July, now hot off the presses.
The title is "Justice, Peace and God - a Minister's Personal Odyssey." ISBN 0-7884-4097-7, 473 pages, paperback, fresh off the presses and shipped straight from the publisher. And of course, I couldn't put it down. The soup was slurped, the chips crunched, and the honeydew savored; but I still kept reading. I'd only intended to do a quick glance at the first chapter, but I ended up reading the first four, skimming the middle, and slowing for the last three.
The book, a biography, was fascinating. I appreciate the author's dedicated research in an area of intense personal interest to me. I could quibble, of course (ha, like the subject's mother, who had a zest for grammar, might have done) with some minor details (pages in the index that don't accurately reflect the content, or the distinction between half- brother and step-brother, for example), the intrusion of constant [whispered in brackets] political commentary, or on the scope of the "fair use" exception of copyright protection; but I won't, because the book as a whole is a delight. And some of the facts disclosed are ones that answer questions I have had for a long time, though I imagine that there are others who wouldn't like the inferences drawn from those facts. I have in the past wondered how kin of famous historical people feel when biographies are published, and family surprises or discord are laid bare for all to see; now I think I have some idea of that answer.
Nevertheless, my gratitude to the author, Barbara Mills, for a worthy look at a respectable 20th Century life that obviously touched her life and many others. Well done.
And now, the assignment for Legal Ethics calls me . . . .
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