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my parents visited last week. my mother had some sort of education conference to attend and it being their 30th anniversary my father decided to come along. my mother listened to inspiring speakers while i sat in a faux-mediterranean grotto attempting to explain to my father the concepts of social networking, widgets, and my future job market. when
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whenever my parents came to east lansing and told tales of life there in the 70s, i felt totally gypped because their version of it [admittedly probably somewhat nostaligicized] was so much better than mine. pretzels in beers kind of sounds like that.
also, that grandma's totally wrong--we do have something to compare life too. first off, as she says, there's dream life. second off, life isn't some big collective entity, but rather a series of interrelated parts. as such, we can compare lives. a life where fingers are lost is imperfect compared to say, a life [such as mine, thus far] where no fingers have been lost. it is an interesting sentiment though.
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the book's main characters mostly belong to a sort of new age fatalist sect and as such the believed in predeterminism. being more of a postmodernist or relativist or what have you, i agree with you. but i understand their side as well where life is perfect, no matter what happens to you, because it could not have happened any other way. the sect also argues against comparison, claiming comparison to others is what spurs material want. so as such in their worldview your life is yours alone, and however it unfolds, unfortunate events and all, you cannot call parts of it imperfect because they make you unhappy. it all happens for a reason. again i don't totally believe this (though i find the idea comforting) but i'm just arguing the books/authors point.
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