Jackson Coppley's Blog, page 16

Women in Cities - London

I see thousands of new faces when I travel, but in the blend of humanity passing by, one person might spark a curious notion. What is their story? As a fiction writer, I’m not bound to reality, so join me while I fill in the blanks for women I’ve encountered.LondonFinsbury Square sits in London’s business district surrounded by new office towers of fanciful geometrics. When the City of London built the glass egg on the Thames for their municipal offices, it sparked a competition for interesting shaped buildings. Busy during the day, the streets among these modern structures are void of people after hours, with the exception of traditional pubs that mark every corner seemingly plucked from another point in time and inserted. Young professionals flow onto the street, drinks in hand.For some, there is loneliness among the crowds.The rooftop bar overlooking the square was busy with young London singles dressed to mingle. The men wear an array of white open shirts and black pants; women, in tight skirts and heels, a form defining change of clothes from their office wear.She sat alone in the restaurant, finished with her business meetings, waiting one more night before checking out of the hotel and heading home. To replace a companion no longer in her life, to forget the empty seat across from her, she had her cell phone. Text messages with her girlfriend filled time with silent dialogue.  She placed the device before her as a modern mirror and took a selfie to show her friend. She dwelled for a moment over her image remaining in the steam of typed words.Her blond hair was cut short and stylish. She remembered when it flowed long, more sensual than sensible, like the girls on the terrace. They, twenty years her junior, would swoosh their locks to punctuate a laugh given to a handsome man as a reward for something clever he said.When did that change and why? What did the years do? The man in her life was gone. It was a brief number of years, or so it now seemed, but she must have transformed during that time from a girl on the terrace to the sensible businesswoman she was now. She used to compete for men’s attention like the girls on the terrace.  . Does she still compete or does she choose her own fashion and style?It is for her she concludes, and that is fine.

Women in Cities - Venice

I see thousands of new faces when I travel, but in the blend of humanity passing by, one person might spark a curious notion. What is their story? As a fiction writer, I’m not bound to reality, so join me while I fill in the blanks for women I’ve encountered.VeniceVenice, a city so quiet and perfect, tourists wonder if anyone actually lives there. But many do and they are a part of the culture as much as the Rialto Bridge. She was one of those people. Tonight, she went to the Teatro La Fenice, the theater of the phoenix, so named since it rose from the ashes of the former theater that burned down. Was she a phoenix as well, rising from the ashes of her past?She dressed in a long aqua evening gown, suitable for the occasion. She worked hard to retain her slim figure, but her face could not disguise the passing of years.  On this night, the sparkle in her eyes made those years vanish. How could she not glow in the company of this young, handsome man?She loved the opera and her Venice had a fine company. But with the passing of Giorgio, her husband of thirty-two years, she seldom attended. She hesitated to be alone at a festive event. Her dear friend Veronica told her of an escort service she trusted. She thought such a thing sordid, but Veronica assured her they were gentlemen.So, here she stood in the foyer of the Teatro La Fenice drinking champagne with a broad shouldered man in a tux, twenty years younger than she. Others cast glances. She was blind to them. Dignified and charming, he made her smile in a way she could not remember, as though a young girl again. They soon took their seats in the box to which she subscribed. Madame Butterfly was about to begin. While he had made good conversation, she realized now she must have contributed most of it.  He played the part of the good listener.The man focused on the stage as the lights dimmed and she took in his profile with the distinct chin and reflected on what might be. She thought little of women who used escorts and believed they sought just one thing. Yet, here she was, with such a man. He had been charming this night and she never thought about seeking anything else but companionship.Until now. Perhaps?

Women in Cities - Bassano del Grappa

I see thousands of new faces when I travel, but in the blend of humanity passing by, one person might spark a curious notion. What is their story? As a fiction writer, I’m not bound to reality, so join me while I fill in the blanks for women I’ve encountered.Bassano del GrappaThe literal meaning of the name of this town is “the base of the Grappa Mountain.” It was the town of Hemingway where the writer began his career as an ambulance driver in The Great War. Far from the trenches of France, this front pitted the Italians against the Austrians just over the mountains.She worked as a travel guide, arranging trips through the Veneto. The longest wooden bridge in the world spanned the river near her apartment. She could see a bit of its red painted timbers from a corner of her bedroom, a room she shared often with a man of a long-term relationship. After fifteen years, it was over. They both knew it. But where did that leave her after all this time?Now a guide without a compass, she was lost. So much time with a constant in her life now removed. The excitement drained slowly over the years morphing into familiarity. But it was something, and now, even that disappeared.The handsome young man from Rome who flirted with her was a part of the tour. She was flattered. Almost young enough to be her son, she nevertheless agreed to go to dinner with him. She loved the way he looked at her. Was there a spark of desire she saw? He talked about what he wanted to do in life, which made her sad thinking how those decisions for her were long in the past. The excitement of what-might-be squelched by the reality of how-things-turned-out.He left. Had to return to work in Rome. He promised to keep in touch, but she rather he didn’t, although she didn’t say it. She told her friends all about it. It was “a shot in the arm” she said. Although this young man was not destined to be more than a dinner out, she regained her bearings and headed out more comfortable about what-might-be.

Total Eclipse of the Sun

Two minutes. To what lengths will we go for something that lasts only two minutes?For the eclipse, it is booking a hotel months in advance, taking a flight, getting an open spot, and tossing the dice that the two minutes will be cloudless.Nashville was our destination, as it was for a million people. We chose twenty miles east of town for greatest totality. We met a man at the hotel who considered driving ten miles north of that for an extra thirty seconds of totality, a quest in the extreme.The visitor center downtown distributed a sheet with the timing of the event, all in Central Time:11:58 am – 1:27 pm: The moon crosses the sun.1:27 pm – 1:29 pm: Totality.1:29 pm – 2:54 pm: The moon moves away.For the first and last events, keep your special glasses on, but for totality, remove them.We bought two cheap chairs from the local dollar store and sat beside new friends beneath a shade tree. It was a hot day in the low nineties and shade made the wait comfortable. Although the hotel was crowded for breakfast with families in for the event, the grounds around it were not. Everyone seemed to have a different place to go, some to local family, some to a group gathering. For an eclipse, you need not seek a crowd. Anywhere there is sky will do.At noon, on schedule, the moon nibbled at the sun. It became a slow, ninety-minute process as the changes crept upon us. Colors took on a hue seen at sunset, whites more yellow, dimmer. As the sun became a crescent, the light it cast through the tree onto the asphalt parking lot turned from round to crescent as the tight spaces between leaves acted as pinhole lenses. The temperature dropped ten degrees. Birds took flight, dipping along the edges of the grassy area as they do in late evening feeding on bugs and the crickets chirped.The sun remained yellow, but now only a bright sliver, the last visible portion casting sufficient energy to warrant special glasses. At the appointed hour, that sliver disappeared. Totality.Everything changed. No picture captures what we saw with our glasses removed. The sun became a new celestial body. Its corona, now seen for the first time, extended far beyond the limits I expected. The light was the intense white of a hundred full moons. Venus became visible as a bright light to the right. The darkness was as though sunset occurred everywhere at once with an orange glow on the horizon on all sides.For those two minutes, we entered another, surreal world. All the senses dependent on the sun (light, time, warmth) were suspended. But our life in that world was brief as the moon slowly revealed the sun, yellow again as before, and the day warmed.That evening, the local news reported from different locations in the area and the experiences of the people gathered. We learned that a cloud covered the sun in one location at the moment of totality, a risk we all took. Sure, they experienced the cooling, the color changes, the orange horizons; but, totality, that is the two minutes to remember. Lucky me.

Lee Child's Night School

Night School, although bearing a 2016 publication date, is listed as number 2 in the Jack Reacher series that spans over 21 books. It takes place in 1996 when Reacher is still in the Army and has not yet become the man who packs no bag and hops on a bus to the next random location it takes him. I suspect it was written by Lee Child back in the early part of the series as well. Although Child's writing then as now is composed of incomplete sentences devoid of commas, his later writing sets a richer visual image of the setting. The book ends with a snippet of the next book in the series and the change in the richness of the writing is evident. The book takes some time to get up to speed, but the later part is an adventure and worth it, although it ends abruptly, wrapping everything up in a thousand words or less. BTW: I was introduced to Jack Reacher through the movies rather than the books. In the movies, Tom Cruise plays Jack Reacher. So, my image needed readjustment when the book describes Reacher as six foot four and 250 pounds.

The New Grandson

On his first week exposed to the world, I met my new grandson. I spent two weeks visiting each day, watching his gradual awareness of new senses. His eyes remained closed most of the time, only open briefly to the new experience of light. He remained depended on his mother for nourishment exercising his fresh digestive system.Birth, as dramatic as it may be to the mother, to the infant, is an incremental step. He does not yet possess circadian rhythms of night and day. His dreams can only be of sounds and senses, limited as they may be. He can dream only of the touch of loving arms, the sounds of words that yet to have meaning, the blur of lights and colors to unfocused eyes.A day is brief to us. To him, it is a measure of his experience and each of his days show changes. He is awake more, seeing more. Are those sights in focus? Is curiosity awakening?We returned home and only photos allow a look into his life. He’s gained weight as his parents celebrated his first month. Much alert now he begins to absorb his world, putting the pieces together. The months will bring developments. First, understanding the use of his hands, albeit limited. Then developing responses, true human interaction. Eventually making noises, his own nascent language developing. Mobility. First crawling, and eventually the ultimate human achievement of walking.Other animals, like the deer I see in our back yard, have babies that stand, walk, and develop far faster than humans. Even other primates seem to have the edge on homo sapiens in baby development. What evolutionary functions are served by my grandson’s gradual maturity I leave to others to debate. For me, it offers more opportunities to welcome this baby’s accomplishments for years to come. And to love him.

Al Franken, Giant of the Senate

We need relief from political drama, now more than ever. Al Franken delivers a dose in his Al Franken, Giant of the Senate. From the title alone, we understand the author, best known as a comic writer and performer for Saturday Night Live, will deliver his own style of “truthful hyperbole.”Perhaps only in Minnesota, a state that elected a professional wrestler for governor, could the comedian Franken become a senator, albeit with the slimmest of margins against the incumbent. Then again, the whole country made the star of a reality show president, so who knows?Franken won reelection six years later with a comfortable margin and felt more at ease revealing all in his new book. The revelations indicate a more appropriate book name to be Lamb of the Senate in that Franken’s expectations were turned on their collective heads by the reality of the Senate. Franken thought he must know each of the issues on which he voted in depth. Silly man. He has staff for knowing details. And speaking of staff, don’t give credit to staff for brilliant ideas. Those ideas are yours alone. That piece of wisdom came from a staffer.The book is an excellent dive into the workings of the Senate from the perspective of a newbie and you can rely on Franken to keep the conversation light with a joke or two, most at his own expense.I recommend you put political preferences aside and get this book. We need something light coming from Washington.

Al Franken, Lion of the Senate

We need relief from political drama, now more than ever. Al Franken delivers a dose in his Al Franken, Lion of the Senate. From the title alone, we understand the author, best known as a comic writer and performer for Saturday Night Live, will deliver his own style of “truthful hyperbole.”Perhaps only in Minnesota, a state that elected a professional wrestler for governor, could the comedian Franken become a senator, albeit with the slimmest of margins against the incumbent. Then again, the whole country made the star of a reality show the president, so who knows?Franken won reelection six years later with a comfortable margin and felt more at ease revealing all in his new book. The revelations indicate a more appropriate book name to be Lamb of the Senate in that Franken’s expectations were turned on their collective heads by the reality of the Senate. Franken thought he must know each of the issues on which he voted in depth. Silly man. He has staff for knowing details. And speaking of staff, don’t give credit to staff for brilliant ideas. Those ideas are yours alone. That piece of wisdom came from a staffer.The book is an excellent dive into the workings of the Senate from the perspective of a newbie and you can rely on Franken to keep the conversation light with a joke or two, most at his own expense.I recommend you put political preferences aside and get this book. We need something light coming from Washington.

Award Winning Writing

I’m pleased to announce that I’ve won an award for my writing from the Delaware Press Association. I took second place in the Personality Profile category for my blog piece Steve Jobs and Me. I invite you to visit my Blog and check out this award-winning article. Subscribe and you’ll receive an email whenever I post a new entry.

The Shadow of the Evening

The Shadow of the Evening (L’Ombra Della Sera) is a novel that starts with a bucolic summer in rural Virginia for two cousins and ends with a suspicious death in Italy of one of the boys, Alexander, now a man and authority on the Etruscians. His cousin David must find what happened.Early on, the author described a pond at Ashland where the boys swam and I saw an example of rich, textural prose that allowed the reader to feel the ooze between his toes and the cool flow of the stream over his body on a hot summer day. That imagery carries forward into the book.I consider the novel three books: A bucolic summer spent by two boys. The decent into madness of a brilliant man. A mystery to validate a suicide. The second, Alexander’s succumbing to his sickness, I found interesting in that I knew before the chapter started he was schizophrenic. So I questioned what was real as the chapter progressed. The book becomes a page-turning with the unfolding investigation of Alexander’s death.