Month: April 2008

Clouds Above The Sea

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Storm II
Levine, Philip. “Clouds Above the Sea.” The Mercy. New York: Random House, 2000.

There is a melancholy air to this poem. Levine is simply describing his parents side by side, watching a storm roll in. He gives more decription to his mother, wanting to give her gifts to compensate for child bearing. She sounds as if she is taken for granted and Levine is just figuring that out. He sounds as if he is imaging the scene long after his parents’ passing. There is a tinge of regret in the language that cannot be ignored.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter “Poetry Pleasers” (p 189).

The Road From Coorain

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Road from Coorain
Conway, Jill Kerr. The Road From Coorain. New York: Vintage Books, 1989.

First and foremost for the record: Jill Kerr Conway was the very first woman president of Smith College. Just had to get that out there since we’re in the area and I thought that was a pretty interesting fact.
According to several different travel websites, April is the start of the best season to visit Australia. Taking that as my cue I decided Road From Coorain would be my very first April book.
My LibraryThing Review:
Jill Conway’s memoir is about her unusual childhood in Australia. Raised until she was 11 on a sheep farm in Coorain, Australia, Conway grows up without other children for companionship. All she knows are her family, (her only playmates being her older brothers), the hard work associated with raising sheep, and the cruelty of mother nature when she doesn’t bring the rains. She doesn’t have social graces, competitive edges or the typical angsts associated with coming-of age girls. Things like sports, fashion and friendships are lost on her when she finally reaches the big city of Sydney. I can certainly relate to all of it coming from an island life that lacked much of the same things.
One of my favorite parts of the book was when Jill goes back to Coorain to help with shearing season. She’s teetering on the edge of adulthood so she sees everything with a different eye and intellect. Comparing her life as it was she notices her mother’s gardens are all dead and gone. The house doesn’t have the luster of cleanliness. It’s decidedly more rundown than she remembered. She allows that the farm is no place for a young person. I see this moment as pivotal in Conway’s life. It helps her reach for loftier goals and makes her examine her own future.
My only disappointment? I wished Conway included pictures. I know, I know. Not all memoirs need mementos like photographs, but she described her personal landscape in such a way that I wanted more. Her house, her sheep, her family. I realize Conway painted adequate pictures of all of it, but it would have been nice to have more.
Favorite quotes:
“Had she known how to tell directions she would have walked her way to human voices” (p 25).
“Being Australian, we exchanged no deep confidences” (p 142).
“I was angry at myself for being so upset by receiving the treatment I ought to have expected anyway” (p 194).

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter called “Girls Growing Up” (p 101).

Yet Do I Marvel

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On These I Stand
Cullen, Countee. “Yet Do I Marvel.” On These I Stand: An Anthology of the Best Poems of Countee Cullen. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1927.

This is Cullen’s first poem of On These I Stand and if order was of important to him, Cullen made a wise decision. The imagery in this first poem is so powerful! How many of us have looked at the atrocities of this world and wondered, if there really is a God, why he would allow such horrible things to happen? Cullen does the same thing – only he takes his “religion” to a whole new level citing the less than savory Greek gods of mythology, evil doer Tantalus & forever doomed Sisyphus. And yet. Yet, Cullen concedes the god he knows must be good to allow him, a black man, to sing with poetry.  

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter “Poetry Pleasers” (p 188).

Ginger Pye

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Ginger Pye
Estes, Eleanor. Ginger Pye. New York: Harcourt, 1951.

Written in 1951 this book has classic charm. It’s written for kids – gradeschool age – but not a bad read for adults either. It’s the story of Jared Pye (Jerry) and his dog, Ginger. It opens with Jerry needing to earn a dollar to buy a puppy. His sister Rachel helps him and before long they have the smartest puppy on the block. It’s not long before Ginger’s talents as the smartest puppy are notice by some unsavory types and he disappears. Of course, being a book for kids it all ends well, but I won’t spoil it for you.
What I loved about the book was the complexity of the story. Ginger disappears in chapter 7 and the mystery remains unsolved until the last chapter of the book. Ginger is missing for six months. In a child’s mind that is a long time. Seven chapters are filled with how the children search and seach for Ginger, but it’s also about how they carry on without him. There are interesting things that happen outside of the main plot.
I didn’t find any quotes that really grabbed me, but I did promise myself to look up mite boxes to see what they really looked like.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in two different chapters: “Best for Boys and Girls (p 21) and “Libraries and Librarians” (p 138). In this last chapter Ginger Pye is mentioned as an aside. Pearl is really drawing attention to Estes’s other book, The Moffats.

Run Not Done

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I could kiss my kisa for being so so so there. I was driving us home and without warning I blurted out how hurt my heart was. Broken, I said. He was patient, logical…comforting…as best as he could be. He offered advice I couldn’t take. “Call” he said simply. No. NoWayNoHow I countered. I can’t. I want to disappear. Really truly. Remove myself as if I never happened. Ever. I’m doing that slowly, carefully, despite Kisa’s “don’t do that.” I can’t help it. Can’t. Help. Despite being angry I am caught. Confused. Embarrassed.
So, I ran. For the first time this week. I know, I know. It’s Thursday. When you have two jobs and a need to catch up it’s hard to catch the run. It becomes less important. Sadly. So, tonight while dinner was cooking, I got on the tread…as an abbreviated 20 minute run – intervals. 12 minute mile (slow end) 6 minute mile (faster side). I found myself sobbing during the pounding parts. Everything hurt. Rob Thomas tells me there’s no getting back to good. Great. My “cool down” was 10 minute mile and it felt ridiculously slow despite not being able to breathe. This run is simply not done.

Dear You: I heard your music and could only think of swamps and being stuck. Damn him and his mind change! Hang in there.

17 days until Darfur.

Accidental Recovery ~ for Nick

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I was researching a poem for April’s poetry month when I came across one I can recite by heart, thanks to Natalie. She sang it during the Hiro shows as one of those ad libs, patter moments: Thought I would share because it’s so darn cute. Imagine a yawn at the end…

The Sleepy Giant

My age is three hundred and seveny-two,
And I think, with the deepest regret.
How I used to pick up and voraciously shew
The dear little boys whom I met.

I’ve eaten them raw, in their holiday suits;
I’ve eaten them curried with rice;
I’ve eaten them baked, in their jackets and boots,
And found them exceedingly nice.

But now that my jaws are too weak for such fare,
I think it exceedingly rude
To do such a thing, when I’m quite well aware
Little boys do not like being chewed. *insert giggle here*
[Little boys do not like being chewed.]

And so I contentedly live upon eels,
And tryto do nothing amiss,
And I pass all the time I can spare from my meals
In innocent slumber  – like this.
[In innocent slumber like this…]

Carryl, Charles E. “The Sleepy Giant.” The New Oxford Book of Children’s Verse. Ed. Neil Philip. Oxford UP, 1996. 95-96. 

Deep in the Green

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DSCN0077
Raver, Anne. Deep in the Green: an Exploration of Country Pleasures. New York: Vintage, 1996. 

For LibraryThing: Anne Raver is a writer and gardener but it’s hard to tell which came first. Her enthuasism for growing things (outside for she doesn’t deal with indoor plants well) shows in every word she writes in every essay. In the beginning I wanted Deep in the Green to be one of those nonfiction journals about a gardener making a life for herself after divorce. Diving into the growing after a relationship dies. Instead, Deep in the Green is best described as a series of essays that barely connect to one another but have a central theme…gardening & growing. As a columnist for the New York Times I guess it’s easy to string a bunch of essays together and call it a book.

Favorite quotes:
“You know how the army is. they send you here , they send you there. Vietnam. Ohio. ‘I learned Thai no trouble, but I never did figure out what language they were speaking in Cleveland'” (p 24).
“Still we are drawn homeward, unable to erase our bloodlines” (p 42).
“I like to learn this way. Like learning to float or ride a bicycle. You can’t imagine doing it before you do it, but you have to imagine it in order to do it. And then you never forget” (p 155).
“I’m not sure what their religion is. Food, maybe” (p 173).

Thanks to this book I learned the latin name for a favorite flower I never bothered to look up (clematis jackmanni) and an interesting fact about poppies being illegal to grow (makes me think about how many times I’ve seen the federal law broken). Probably my favorite part about reading Deep in the Green is that once I got over the disjointed essays I read it with a salivating imagination. Anne Raver writes like I eat – straight from the garden, the bush or tree. I’ve tried to describe that foraging feeling – that satisfaction which comes from eating off Earth’s plate.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter “Gear Up For Gardening” (p 96).

Break Down

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“post traumatic stress disorder”
“post traumatic stress syndrome”
“post trauma break”
“psychotic break”

My psych friend came back to visit me today, and after my latest rant, threw these words back at me. Dropped them in my lap and dared me to deal with them.
“Break down.” She added and smiled with sympathy (or was that empathy?).
“You need to clear the clutter.”
Is that anything like deleting friends?…Because that was my first impulse. I could just dump these words in the garbage and move on. It’s what I do.
She laughed. “Only if you want to. No, it just means stepping back from the psycho mess and surrounding yourself with something less superficial.”
Ahhh… like calling MI back. Scheduling that lunch date with AB. Meeting SB at the gym. Sharing a glass of wine with RB. Picking a good time to talktalktalk to Germany. Celebrating AS’s birthday. Finding time to go shopping (or something) with RT. Finally watching that 3 hour movie with my husband…
My psych friend leans forward eagerly and says “Do more!” like some overzealous cheerleader hopped up on too much coffee. She was looking way too thrilled with me. Way too happy. You mean like run five miles-bake some bread-sleep in child’s pose-finish five books-knit a sweater-feed the hungry-adopt a dog-world peace kind of thing? Was this a test on how well I could treat myself and moi? Inner peace and all that good stuff? Nope. Now my psych friend was looking smug. She could finally teach me something.
“Clear your calendar. Wave bye-bye to obligations and promises.” Of course. Of course! It’s spring and its arrival has made me think about the studio. How to get back in it. How to create a better masterpiece. Suddenly, I realized I didn’t have to. It wasn’t for me so why should I? All those conversations about when vanished and became Not now. Never. I could look at every promise like that and break them all.

When my psych friend got up to leave my office she paused at the door. “You know, breaking down isn’t a bad thing…just as long as you can build back up. Go call Germany.” And with a wink she was gone.

Mr. Dillon

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Getting The Shot

I don’t remember the commercial. It may be just in my head because I can’t even remember the product. All I remember is someone (in a really annoying voice) telling Mr Dillon to “loosen up” because he was on a cruise. I have that voice in my head, right now. Telling me to loosen up. Laugh a little. Let Go a little. Live a little more. But, this picture is the epitome of exciting for me.

Last night kisa was glued to the computer, a funny little smirk on his face as he enthusiastically typed away. “Listen to this,” he throws back over his shoulder to me, “we could take a five hour white water rafting trip followed by lunch in the canyon…only $350 per person.” “Oh.” His face fell. “A seven hour bus trip back…” No thanks. “Ooh!” He was at it again. His face all lit up. “Here’s one: a helicopter ride, followed by four-wheeling safari jeep ride, hike for lunch in the canyon.. (I guess lunch in the canyon is mandatory). Lemme guess. Next, we bungy down to a wild boar farm where we rope an emu for the ride home. Why doesn’t any of these adventure thingies sound exciting to me? Maybe it’s because I picture clumsy moi coming home in a body bag? Maybe it’s because I fear my husband will learn just how afraid of man-made heights I really am? “Uh-huh.” I grunted back, head buried in a book. I only looked like I was reading. Instead, I was trying not to picture a helicopter careening off canyon walls, an open jeep doing somersaults down a ravine. Our bodies looking like rag dolls being flung about. I’ve seen pictures of the Grand Canyon. It’s a long way down. Our screams will last forever and echo for eternity.
So, this is where I need to suck it up. I’m only scared because I’m silly with imagination. If I’ve never done something before I can’t think straight and I think the worst. But. But, But~! If I think about it long enough maybe flying in a bubble sounds like fun. Right? Riiight. I may not be Mr. Dillon and I may not be going on a cruise, but I do need to loosen up!

Conversations of the Painful Kind

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DT

I had a serious talk with my knees, ankles and hips today. I know some people talk to their cats, their Kenmores, and their shadows. Me, I talk to body parts; my body parts, interviewing each one, scrutinizing their replies. I can’t help but be suspicious. How are we feeling today? Are we ready to rock it? I listen carefully. Friday, my hip screamed at me, bared it’s teeth and threatened to bite. Didn’t like the stairs, I guess. Today, a much more subdued response came through, “I’m okay.” Good. Good. Knees and ankles replied in kind. Great. Except. Right foot spoke up just a little. Right where the stress fractures appeared nearly two years ago. Was that a growl? What now? Maybe it’s just a little tight.
I’m a situational runner. I run best when I’m angry, when there is something I need to work out. When the mind is on overload. Running in the gerbil cage forces me to stay focused. If the dryer is loud enough I run in time to the load’s cycle spinning. If the run is long enough I zone out, think of nothing but where this would take me if I was homehome. Would I be in the Cathedral woods or out on the cliffs? Would I be down by the wreck or beyond? More often than not I talk to my legs, asking them for another mile. I barter with my knees, promising a crazy good bag of frozen peas and maybe a steamy bath afterwards…if we get through it. The only one I can’t talk to is my heart. Stubborn and silent it stays. Maybe that’s a good thing. Because despite the silent treatment we usually work it out.

Rockin’ It Mexi Style

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We didn’t end up where we haven’t been so I ran. I promised I would. (thanks for messing with me). Truth is, the running thing is seeping back into my blood. I can feel it becoming as natural as time ticking. Except for this – it’s really hard to run on a full belly of burritos! Seriously. There is this small Mexi place right by where I used to work. Everything is authentic and good, good, good. I pity the person who is afraid to bite adventurously because there isn’t a bad thing on the menu. I could stand in front of that menu, drool coming off my chin, taking forever to decide just how hungry I am. I’m always biting off more than I can chew, more than my stomach can hold. In my greed for great food I gorge.
Last night was no different. We ate and ate. Later, I literally waddled up to the gerbil cage and said a prayer before rocking 3.4 miles in 35 minutes with warm-up. I’m proud of the pace. A month ago I was barely hitting 2.5 miles in that same time. I prefered a 12 minute mile over anything faster. Now, I’m comfortable with 10.5. What a scary thought. What a great feeling. So, B~ I didn’t get the 3.5 I promised you, but I came damn close – so damn close!
Someone pissed me off today and made me shut off my phone. The anger is enough to get me running again but I have to be smart. Last night I heard my hip gnash it’s teeth in pain when I climbed the stairs. Last night I ran hard and I ran happy. I never run stupid. I’ll wait a day. The anger will still be there, but the Mexi won’t. I wonder how far I’ll get?

I Dare Ya

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This is the face that means business. This is the face that says, “mess with me. i dare ya.” This should be my face today. Yesterday, one of my staff didn’t make a deadline which made me look bad. Today, the other shoe drops…with no regrets.
Tonight we go where we haven’t. At least not in a very long time. I’m not sure I’m up to it. I haven’t run in two days Today will be three. I don’t have that Kick In The Azz ‘Tude. And yet, this is the face I should have.

23 days ’til Darfur.

Spoon

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I’m functioning on a little over three hours of sleep and my brain seems to be fixated on fukcing spoons. I just want a clean nonplastic, I repeat – clean spoon. One spoon. One that doesn’t have little curly cues of plastic shavings around the edges; one that doesn’t have dried crude on the handle, water spots, coffee stains, or sharp edges from being chewed up in the garbage disposal. We don’t even have a garbage disposal so I’m not sure what’s up with that. I just know it looks more like a weapon than something I’d want to put in my mouth. I’ve scoured the staff kitchen with little luck. All I need is a utensil with which to eat my yogurt before it starts doing the creepy crawly across my desk. Is that too much to ask? I would really like to enjoy my blackberry parfait before the word culture takes on a whole new meaning. It’s been over an hour. Maybe I can use a straw? Damn spoon.

Post Traumatic

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I went through a little post trauma yesterday. Even though the tanker accident is long over and traffic moves on and I said my peace & prayers I wasn’t prepared for to pass the spot. See, usually everyday I pick up kisa from his work, and usually everyday I take that same exit where the accident happened. For all intents and purposes, I usually mimic the car that caused the accident; trying to get on the highway & blend with the rushing vehicles already going my way. Except for the past four days I had been avoiding that spot. Last night was my first time driving the route since the trucker died…and I couldn’t do it. Kisa took the wheel and took over. What surprised me was how I flinched when he smoothly merged between two cars. Am I scared of traffic? Will I be gunshy from now on? How I winced when we came upon the scene of the accident. Have I lost my aggressive nature? What exactly bothered me? The shiny new guard rail? The workers still trying to pick up pieces of debris & rake over the black scorched earth? The evidence was like a fresh wound, ugly and raw. To me, it was like driving through someone else’s hell and feeling the pain. It hurt and I don’t know why.

April Is…

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April means so many things to so many people. For us New Englanders, it means spring should be here but… we all know not to pack away the gloves or take off the snow tires quite yet. For some people nationwide, it means scrambling to fill out last minute tax forms and making urgent CPA appointments. For me personally, it means two more books from LibraryThing (how in the world did I get to be so lucky?):

  • Franklin & Lucy by Joseph Persico (which came today)
  • Imagine Me & You by Billy Mernit

and the following Book Lust Challenge celebrations:

  • In honor of the best time to visit Australia ~ Road to Coorain by Jill Ker Conway (something I started almost a year ago but never finished)
  • In honor of National Gardening Month ~ Deep in the Green by Anne Raver
  • In honor of poetry month ~ TBA (I’ll read two poems every other book but I’ll start with What He Thought by Heather McHugh)
  • In honor of National Dog Month ~ Apologizing to Dogs by Joe Coomer
  • In honor of Earth Day ~ Gain by Richard Powers

and if there is time:

  • In honor of National Library Week ~ Ginger Pye by Eleanor Estes (a kids book)
  • In honor of National Humor Month ~ A Case for Three Detectives by Leo Bruce

I’m thinking this is a pretty ambitious list but as I learned last month it’s not a big deal if I don’t get to it all. There’s always next April!