Tibby died! And now I know why Anna wouldn't tell me what happened when she read the book earlier in the summer. I was so not expecting a sister to die that I spent the first half of my day reading in bed and crying because there would no longer be anymore Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants because one of the sisters had died, and in Greece! I feel in love with these books when I was in high school. They tell a beautiful story about four close friends and their summers during high school, college, and then the summer before their 30th birthdays. I always felt that the movies were really stupid and offered no really validity of what the books were about, so you really have to read the books to understand what I'm talking about. Each of the four girls had extremely different and vibrant personalities with their own problems on love and life issues. Despite all of their differences they still managed to stay close and best friends. And while I am still shocked that Ann Brashares offed Tibby, I will agree that if she had to do it it's best that it was Tibby. It's not like she could kill Carmen or Bee or Lena. Especially not Lena because then she and Kostos would never have had a chance to be together. That is officially my favorite literature romance ever, but after Anne and Gilbert and Elizabeth and Darcy. Kostos and Lena had to wait ten years for everything in their life to work out and to realize that they were meant to be together. Sigh.
I've been reading a lot lately. I go in spurts. Usually my peak is during school breaks and vacation and my lows are during the school year when I am too consumed with other things to read that I usually put off anyways. This past week I've read five books, not an all time high but still respectable. Books are not the only thing that I've been reading this week. One of my best friends sent me the world's greatest facebook message that I will always treasure, at least while I have a facebook account (my friend I will cherish for always). If I get my friend's permission, I will share it with you all because it's really part of a much larger story that is both incredibly funny and incredibly creepy.
Now as promised it you follow me on twitter, here is a sample of a short story that I wrote for one of my creative writing classes. As always please feel free to contact me with any thoughts or criticisms about the piece, I need all of the help I can get.
An excerpt from Sauce Story:
Late at night after work, and dinner with his family, after all of the dirty dishes were cleaned and put away my father would get out his largest stockpot and all of the ingredients to make his marinara sauce. It was a recipe brought over from Naples that became lost in translation as each generation made it to their own taste. My father would start by dicing onions and letting them slowly sauté in the olive oil that he would pour from the large canister kept under the Catering Kitchen table. Before my mother would shoo me up to bed I would spy my father sorting the various cans of diced tomatoes that he would later use and pull out the necessary spices. Salt, pepper, garlic, onion, basil, and oregano would all be lined up ready to be used later to taste.
I was in middle school before my mother relented and allowed me to stay up past my regular bedtime. I was watching television when I heard the clanking of the pot being brought out onto the stove and cans of diced and crushed tomatoes stacked together on the butcher blocker countertop. I sauntered out to see what was going on, barely able to hide my eagerness at being able to stay up to watch the wondrous process that had been handed down through our family’s generations. My father noticed me and told me to stir the onion, browning in the bottom of the pot. I had to be careful not to burn the onion and ruin the sauce. When it was time, he helped me add the tomatoes and taught me how to add spices to taste. He showed me when it was the best time to add something new and that a cup of water to the mixture could correct most taste mistakes. With everything slowly simmering away over low heat my father sent me to bed while he read a book in the living room until it was time to take the sauce off of the flame and let it sit.
If you want the full version of the story just send me an email, unless you're my Hebrew Friend and you've already read it a hundred times.
