[bksvol-discuss] Re: Listening Woman

  • From: "Jana Jackson" <jana@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: <bksvol-discuss@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • Date: Wed, 20 Apr 2005 22:33:27 -0500

Hi, Jim! Thanks for sharing your story. It's amazing how things that happen to us when we're very small can affect our entire lives. I don't know that I've had an experience like that, but I do know that things were said or inferred to me when I was a little girl that still affect me to this day. Anyway, your story was precious, but I'm sorry that it frightened you so badly. Take care, and thanks for all of your hard work for Bookshare!

Jana

----- Original Message ----- From: "The Pardees" <fpardee@xxxxxxxxxx>
To: <bksvol-discuss@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Sent: Wednesday, April 20, 2005 9:57 PM
Subject: [bksvol-discuss] Listening Woman



Hi everyone,,
I have just submitted Listening Woman by Tony Hillerman from the Wish List. It was not an easy scan. The book was copyrighted in 1978 and it was the first edition. Clumps of pages were loose and some had been taped in. However, with great skill and diligence I was able to get what I hope is a decent scan. The rank spelling was 99.85 and all the pages are there and in order.\
There were a number of errors, which I did my best to correct ,but it really needs a proof reading. Unfortunately, I am unable to read stories about our native Americans. This is due to a traumatic experienced I suffered one Halloween when I was four or five.
I was sitting alone in our restaurant kitchen on an ice chest, which was filled with 100 pound blocks of ice and a large number of crawling lobsters.
I was studying a calendar, trying to discover why each number in a column was increased by seven, when I heard a low laugh and looked up to see the horrible scowling face of an Indian peering around the corner of the doorway. Only the face and one hand were visible, but the hand was brandishing a hatchet. To my knowledge there was only one Indian in the town and she was a very nice woman who made and sold Indian war clubs out of sassafras roots, and this was not a war club, but a bright very sharp hatchet.
The thought flashed through my mind that I might hide in the ice chest with the lobsters but the lid was too heavy for me to lift, so I began to scream and cry.
This resulted in my father dropping the mask and hatchet and coming across the room to put his arms around me and say he was sorry. But to this day I do not like to read Indian stories, besides I have six other Wish List books to do.


Jim









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