Tonight all the usual suspects are gathering at Georges and Barb's for an end-of-the-week barbecue! Can't wait! Sunday, I'll go down a visit mom. She wanted a foot stool, even though the new chair I bought for her is a recliner. She can't get it to recline on her own and doesn't like to ask for help with it. So I got her a small stool that should do the trick.
I finished The Book of Negroes last week. It's by Canadian author Lawrence Hill. I highly, highly recommend it. It follows the story of one woman, Aminata Diallo, who was kidnapped in Africa and sold into slavery in 1745. It is very well written, powerful, and a page-turner. Get a copy and read it if you haven't already. Here's an excerpt:
Let me begin with a caveat to any and all who find these pages. Do not trust large bodies of water, and do not cross them. If you, Dear Reader, have an African hue and find yourself led toward water with vanishing shores, seize your freedom by any means necessary. And cultivate distrust of the colour pink. Pink is taken as the colour of innocence, the colour of childhood, but as it spills across the water in the light of the dying sun, do not fall into its pretty path. There, right underneath, lies a bottomless graveyard of children, mothers and men. I shudder to imagine all the Africans rocking in the deep. Every time I have sailed the seas, I have had the sense of gliding over the unburied. Some people call the sunset a creation of extraordinary beauty, and proof of God's existence. But what benevolent force would bewitch the human spirit by choosing pink to light the path of a slave vessel?
