Broken

I’m almost finished reading Broken A Love Story by Lisa Jones and I don’t believe I’ve ever read a book such as this.  It is hard to put the book down; I want to read it in one gulp.

Arapaho Stanford Addison is a fascinating  figure and Lisa Jones has truly captured him.  Of course, I recognize the Colorado towns Ms. Jones writes about and many of the Wyoming places, also.  However, Stanford Addison is like no one I’ve ever heard about or encountered.  His story is heartbreaking and it is uplifting.

broken_blogIn February I drove up to stay with Stanford and his family for what would be a nearly five-month visit.  I was nervous.  So I did what had worked for me when I was nervous in grade school:  I brought my mom.  Mom was perfect for this expedition.  She was adventurous and friendly and flexible and interested.  She’d grown up in Sweden, spending her summers fishing and eating berries.  Her connection to nature didn’t lessen when we moved to Scotland, nor did it change when she rescued ducklings that were swept through a culvert away from their mother at our home in suburban Denver, or during our subsequent move to Scottsdale, Arizona, where she would prowl the huge cement irrigation canals looking for crayfish that she’d bring back in a bucket and cook for our dinner.

I was fifteen by then, and my friends’ moms drove around in air-conditioned white station wagons and fed their teenage girls what they wanted–Fresca and Space Food Sticks.  The sight of my mother walking through the suburban streets wearing a big hat and carrying a bucketful of squirming crustaceans made me want to die.  But fifteen lasts only for a year, and I enjoyed her unabashed naturalness later in my teens when we’d be hiking in the woods of Colorado and she’d announce, “I’m going up there; I’ll be back in a minute,” then bolt off-trail and return a while later with sticks and bits of dirt all over her shirt, her hands full of mushrooms.  Or we would be walking along on a sweltering summer day and she–in her late sixties by this point–would jump into the river, hat and shorts and shirt and shoes and all, waving as she floated by.

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About hopeseguin

Who am I? I'm still discovering just who I am, I suppose. A. Powell Davis writes that "Life is just a chance to grow a soul."

Posted on October 25, 2009, in Books and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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