I have been a slacker in the sense of blogging. In the sense of living though I have been mildly productive if you don’t count not having a job.
Jay and I visited Wat Arun in the heart of Bangkok. We used eight modes of transportation (Sung Towah, bus, BTS air train, Ferry, Water Taxi, Tuk Tuk, walking and then a Taxi) to see it and then journey back home. It was a fun little adventure as we climbed the steep steps that symbolized human suffering (woe to us beings) and then climbed back down them (going down was far scarier). The temple itself is made up of porcelain plates that were incorporated whole or in bits to form flowers or act as jewels. Recycling at it’s finest. It is a gorgeous sight.
The first of many steps equally human suffering. (Photo credit to Therese)
Porcelain whole and in pieces.
Backing that thing down some steps of human suffering.
On the way back Jay, Keeley (a lovely fellow TCIS teacher) and I decided to take a Tuk Tuk to China town that was near by. We spent the next few hours walking through China town and towards the nearest BTS stop to take us home. We made a pit stop at Sunrise Tacos which has become a Sunday tradition of sorts. The neatest Mexican food you may find ever.
Working our way through the allies of China town.
Jay and his very neat burrito.
I found that Bangkok’s China town simply means there will be more street vendors that will be selling Chinese things (as for the difference between Chinese and Thai things I have not found a difference other than writing). Bangkok is supposedly the number one place in the world for street vendors. I believe it even more each night as our soi somehow expands to fit more street vendors than it had previously held during the day. How it happens I do not know. Tis magic I suppose.
After out trek it Wat Arun Jay had his first full week of school. The past few weeks had been four days long with the beginning of school being a short week and then the Queen’s birthday giving everyone a three day weekend the following week (thanks Queenie).
So, he ventured off on Monday to school and I stayed home as usual. I have been itching to find another good read (along with a job) after I finished The Sparrow (thank you Brandi Hyde…it was an amazing read that I will have to read it again as so much seems to be connected). I found our shared Nook and tried reading Freakonomics. It wasn’t hitting the spot. So, I searched through it once more and came across the Harry Potter series. Long time no see, ‘arry.
Excited children. We are pretty much one and the same.
So, my journey with Harry Potter has once again commenced. I have devoted a days reading each to the first four books but the fifth book contains over 600 pages thus a second day just may be in store for it.
I never went to any mid-night release nights for any of the books within the Harry Potter series but I seemly grew up with him as each book was released.
This is what mid-night release partys are supposedly like. You can not find me in this picture because I was never there.
I never did this. The kid on the left is by far scarier even though they have no wand. I SEE THROUGH YOU FAKER!
I never did this either. People are so creepy.
When Harry entered Hogwarts at age eleven my eleven-year-old self was reading about him doing so. When twelve-year-old Harry was figuring out his way through the chamber of secrets twelve year old Beth was reading about him doing so. Thirteen year old Beth was so happy to find that Harry had a godfather and fourteen year old Beth felt the gut wrenching sting of death as JK Rowling killed off a character for the first time in The Goblet of Fire. Not to be the last either as the three later novels became darker. A more mature audience was reading Harry Potter at this point. Fifteen, sixteen and seventeen year-olds who grew up with Harry were now able to pair the novels with film and compare the two media’s along with the awaited following books.
I remember all this and am re-reading the books for memories sake. I still remember my Dad showing up with the second Harry Potter book after he had come off a night shift (Thanks Dad). I immediately ran off to my room with the book. I didn’t emerge till I had finished it (I believe there is a photo of me camped out on my bed reading with an expression of, “why are you here” being given to the camera). I left my room in the after glow of finishing a wonderful tale. It’s feelings like that at the age of twelve which bring me back to the series ten years later.
Judge me as you will for reading what some Christians would call a heathen text but it is a wonderful story. It capitalizes on the magic but not in teaching children how to use it. Rather on the bravery it still takes to face life each day with a higher power in the trenches with you. If you read it as such you will see it. If you read it as evil I am sure you will see it as so.
So, I am once again caught up in the tale of Harry Potter. I still got excited when Harry had the sorting hat placed upon his head. I still got excited when I discovered he was a parselmouth. I still got excited when Harry met his godfather for the first time and a new hope was still able to rise (even though I knew the outcome) that Harry would finally be free of the Dursleys. I still got even more excited with each of the Triwizard Tournament tasks. Now I find I am dreading the end of the series…yet again. The idea of it ending once more makes my heartache. I hate how attached I get to mere characters but it is an epic journey nonetheless.
Onward, to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix!
Dumbledore’s words for thought (followed by Beth’s swoon):
“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”
“It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to become.”
Oh, Dumbledore how insightful you are.
Dumbledore.