Tracy Guzeman Quotes

When Alice was younger, her father had fashioned a rough mask from evergreen needles and lake grass glued to a rotten shell of pine bark, shed like a skin. He secured it to the end of their canoe with heavy yellow cord, telling Alice their ancient Dutch relatives believed water fairies lived in the figureheads of ships, protecting the vessels and their sailors from all manner of ills- storms, narrow and treacherous passageways, fevers, and bad luck. Kaboutermannekes he called them. If the ship ran aground, or even worse, if it sank, the Kaboutermannekes would guide the seafarers' souls to the Land of the Dead. Without a water fairy to guide him, a sailor's soul would be lost at sea forever.

Someone telling you about the future did not prepare you for it. Nothing prepared you for it.

I want everyone to stop telling me to lower my expectations.

His voice was everything she equated with home.

The two of them had fallen into the habit of bartering knowledge whenever she visited. He schooled her in jazz, in bebop and exotic bossa nova, playing his favorites for her while he painted- Slim Gaillard, Rita Reys, King Pleasure, and Jimmy Giuffre- stabbing the air with his brush when there was a particular passage he wanted her to note. In turn, she showed him the latest additions to her birding diary- her sketches of the short-eared owl and American wigeon, the cedar waxwing and late warblers. She explained how the innocent-looking loggerhead shrike killed its prey by biting it in the back of the neck, severing the spinal cord before impaling the victim on thorns or barbed wire and tearing it apart.
"Good grief," he'd said, shuddering. "I'm in the clutches of an avian Vincent Price.

Sarcasm is wasted on those who haven't had a decent night's sleep, my darling.

Facts swooped like swallows, darting across her mind; there was a rush of pride in things still remembered. Singing was limited to the perching birds, the order Passeriformes. Nearly half the birds in the world didn't sing, but they still used sound to communicate- calls as opposed to song. Most birds had between five and fifteen distinct calls in their repertoire; alarm and territorial defense calls, distress calls from juveniles to bring an adult to the rescue, flight calls to keep the flock coordinated, even separate calls for commencing and ending flight. Nest calls. Feeding calls. Pleasure calls. Some chicks used calls to communicate with their mothers while they were still in the egg.

Isn't that an odd thing for a parent to wish for a child? That he would be less than what he is?

I've found I still serve a purpose. I remind people to pray, to calculate the odds, to thank the fates, the gods, good karma, whatever it was that made this happen to me and not them. I'm in the worst sort of club. The one no one else wants to be in.

You can trust him to do what he says, a trait which becomes increasingly rare.

How long did it take to become a gracious person? One who could accept help and give thanks without being resentful of it?

I always felt like half of my life was hers, but I wonder if she didn't feel that half my disease was hers, too.

Before too much longer I'll forget her minute imperfections. That's what you end up missing the most, those little faults. They burrow under your skin. Become endearing in retrospect.

Your parents were far from saints, Alice. It would be generous to say they were ordinary people who made some very serious mistakes. Don't make them out to be perfect. That's too thin a wire for anyone to be able to keep their balance.

Haven't you ever wanted something you couldn't have?

He is a principled man, and compassionate, someone who will remind himself of your best qualities while struggling to forgive your worst. In short, he is a friend.

Alice haunted the mossy edge of the woods, lingering in patches of shade. She was waiting to hear his Austin-Healey throttle back when he careened down the utility road separating the state park from the cabins rimming the lake, but only the whistled conversation of buntings echoed in the branches above. The vibrant blue males darted deeper into the trees when she blew her own 'sweet-sweet chew-chew sweet-sweet' up to theirs. Pine seedlings brushed against her pants as she pushed through the understory, their green heads vivid beneath the canopy. She had dressed to fade into the forest; her hair was bundled up under a long-billed cap, her clothes drab and inconspicuous. When at last she heard his car, she crouched behind a clump of birch and made herself as small as possible, settling into a shallow depression of ferns and leaf litter.

People grieve in their own ways. If you'd for once stop worrying about what everyone else thinks and let yourself get close to someone, you might be surprised to find folks understand. You're not the only person in this world who got handed a life different than the one they expected.

You don't know what it's like to worry you'll start to despise the people who help you, the ones you should love, because they're healthy and you're not, because they're kind and you're this angry, frustrated . . . thing.

The thing she wanted to give him wasn't easily wrapped. If she could cast a spell, she'd offer him this new, slightly careless version of herself, but that person might easily vanish before she boarded the train again.