Antje Wortman
 President’s letter:

Every Last Cuckoo by Kate Maloy was the June book of choice for the Semiahmoo Ladies Book Club. Most of my life I’ve been a reader but I’m sporadic. Months can go by with nary a book completed and then suddenly I’ll have three on the go at the same time. I’ve just completed The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, sneaking it in during the gray hooky playing days of our yet to arrive summer. I get a little resentful at finishing a great book which leaves me wanting more and having to go on to another writer’s gifts. Another new group to meet and learn about, a different style of writing to accustom to. The combination of my mood and the new author’s gift usually suck me into the next read by the end of the first chapter. Every Last Cuckoo captured me from page 1.

Every Last Cuckoo is about you. It’s about me. It’s about our husbands, our friends, our children and grandchildren. It reminds us of how layered and interconnected we all are. It’s about death and loss, about hardship, nature and pain – but there’s a balancing of beauty, intuition, hope, relationships and their wilting and blossoming. Maloy shows us how not to get stuck. The words “When a door closes, another opens” ring through her cherishable book and re-opened my eyes to the people around me.

It’s human nature to look at others as how they relate to us. But dig a little deeper and layers peel to the core of a whole other being. Strangers unearth a wealth of sharing if we allow them. My early hotel career unearthed such a stranger. His name was George Thomson. George was the grumpiest guest ever. He stayed with us at least twice a month for a 3 day stay. The “Good morning Mr. Thomson’s” were never met with more than a rude grunt and scowl – the perfect challenge for stubborn 23 year old me. Be friendly, be professional, he’s a guest I thought. During a Sunday morning checkout after the usual grunt I looked across the lobby and saw a lady and two little girls waiting. “Are those your little girls?” I asked “They are gorgeous!” Mr. Thomson looked around and back at me and melted. His soft spot discovered he started to open up a little at a time. A trust cemented and he stayed only in hotels where I worked and would make his reservations only through me. Mr. Thomson was unusual and would have been easy to dislike if one didn’t dig. His parents died when he was 13 (layer) after that he raised himself (layer) he put his sister through medical school (layer) he became an engineer (layer) he owned an extremely successful company (layer) he was a husband and a father (layers). Mr. Thomson had few overt social skills and they only appeared when others drew him out – probably due to losses in his younger life. He was from Aboriginal people (layer) and we became friend (layers). George Thomson died some time ago – but I still think of him. He taught me not to discount someone because they don’t march to my drum. One person and persistence do make a difference.

Every Last Cuckoo reminded me of George and of his layers, of my friends from the South and in Semiahmoo and of all they are and all they do…of all your layers. I recommend this book. Don’t you find it little sad when the last chapter of a good book ends? It’s like losing a friend…but then, there are new friends and new adventures to discover – so you’ll excuse me if I don’t grieve too long. What are your layers?
Antje