Author: gr4c5

I write. I read. I cook. I run. That's me, in a nutshell.

Daniel Plainway

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Reid, Van. Daniel Plainway, or, the Holiday Haunting of the Moosepath League. New York: Viking, 2000.

 One of the reasons why I love reading books that take place in Maine is because I can identify with most of the locations. Another reason is that sometimes I get to reconnect to a place I haven’t thought about (or heard about) in years. Such is the case with Veazie, Maine.

How to describe this book? I think I’m a little thrown off because Daniel Plainway is part of a series (of which I didn’t read the first or even second book). It’s like coming into a discussion when it’s two-thirds over. Daniel Plainway is a Maine country lawyer who is trying to solve the mystery of the disappearance of a neighboring family. When a portrait of his neighbor’s daughter is rediscovered, Daniel begins a journey that changes his life. Along the way he meets the members of the Moosepath League and that’s when the fun really begins.
Reid writes with hilarity. One of my favorite scenes is when there is an attempted robbery of the Moosepath League members. The robber, young and inexperienced, fumbles with the gun, slips on the ice and snow, and somehow hands his gun over to a member of the Moosepath League, knocking himself and the others down. The League members do not realize they are being robbed and try to give the man back his gun and offer him money for his troubles – for they think they are responsible for knocking the young man over. “He considered Thump’s card through a blur of tears, realizing that he had just tried to rob three men, and in return they might have saved his life” (p 51).
Another great scene is when the members of the Moosepath League are trying to deliver a letter. There is great confusion as to exactly who the letter should go to. In the end, after they think they has successfully did their duty, they do not know how to leave, “There mission completed (however unpleasantly) the members of the club wondered, in collective silence, if they should be moving on to other things, primarily any other things that would take them some distance from the present scene” (p 92).

Favorite singular lines: “Gerald Pinkney and Daniel Plainway had known each other since their days at Colby, and Daniel had always thought of Gerald as a slightly antagonized bee” (p 16). I just love the imagery of this “slightly antagonized bee.”
“Those quickest to kindness are also quickest to forget when they are kind” (p 94).

BookLust Twist: In Book Lustin the chapter, “Van Reid and the Moosepath League: Too Good To Miss” (p 199).

Survival of the Twits

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I don’t think I care. Nope, can’t say as if I do. For nearly eight years I have been dealing with you and now I think, no – I know I am done. Done. Done. There have been some others I have ceremoniously said goodbye to, but none quite like this. I’ve done the sliding away, glad you haven’t called route. I’ve done the I’ll Make You Mad Enough To Leave Me routine. Been there, done that. This is different. This is me forcing you out and being really glad about it. It’s Survivor meets Lost. Get off the island and stay off. Trust me, you won’t be missed. Or looked for, much less found. This is me, giving you your walking papers.

I can’t stand mimics. Those people who try to flatter you by trying to be you. It’s just not cool. I believe in residual relationships – giving and taking. Adopting, if you will. I don’t care for copycats. Find your own voice. Your own hobby. Your own island. Let me go my own way. Without you.

Here’s the thing. I liked you. I grew fond of what you could be, until you showed me who you really are. Not who you want to be, but who really lives under your skin (and makes mine crawl). Sound the alarm. Scream bloody murder. Cry wolf. Do whatever you need to do – whatever will help you move on from me. I want you to jump ship or else someone will make you walk the plank. That someone might be me.

The Crazy One

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I’ve given up trying to figure out what constitutes sanity. What makes someone more balanced than not. Isn’t it easier to just say everyone is just a little touched these days? In light of recent events I’m certainly feeling a little undone myself. I think I am relating to Matchbox 20 (or is it Twenty?) just a little too well, “I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired. I know right now you don’t care.”
Last night it was the grip of insanity and the insatiable urge to talk to someone until my heart bled dry. I did not. I dreamed my conversation away.
Today it was the sight of chicken turning my stomach inside out. Covering my plate to keep my dignity. Monsters in the mall. Voices jamming up my thought process.
This afternoon I had to fight the urge to break every pencil in sight. Break them just to say I could. Laughing like I’m losing it. Maybe it’s true. Maybe I am.

Last night I stared into the darkness trying to write words on the walls of my memory, hoping to remember them come daylight. I did not. Phrases slipped away, faded with the dawn, disappeared in the sunlight. Didn’t matter. Not worth much without what went with them. Reasons.

I thought about the bugs, real and imagined. I thought about the eggs that dared to dance across my plate. The quivering of confusion as a heart lay down to die.

I have gone back to running…again. The love affair that I can’t say no to. I simply cannot refuse you. They (all three) have been modest runs: 2.5mi, 2.54mi, 2.63mi – just long enough for me to curse and carry on like the crazy one that I am. It’s in those 25 minutes that I sort it all out. Get it all out. By the time I am finished with the run I am finished with the rant. I come off the treadmill a little weary and maybe, a little wiser. But, I’m still questioning the sanity.

Dewey

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Myron, Vicki. Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World. New York: Grand Central, 2008.

This is the perfect book for me. One of my bestest, bestest friends reallllly knows me. What could be more perfect than cats and libraries in a book? This was one of the best Challenge diversions I’ve had in a long time. It was also a really nice way to wake up my first morning alone in Hilltop. What could be more luxurious than reading in bed for several hours on a Saturday morning?

Dewey Readmore Books was a kitten discovered in the bottom of a library bookdrop in Spencer, Iowa. Despite being nearly frozen to death he demonstrated such charm and love the library director couldn’t help but fall in love with him. From that day forward he belonged to the Spencer public library. He grew up in the library charming every library employee, every patron everyday. Before long Dewey was receiving attention from people all over the country. Before he (and the librarians) knew it, he was an international success. There is no doubt Vicki Myron loved Dewey. Weaving her own personal story with that of Dewey’s, she pasionately describes how much Dewey came to mean to her.

Probably the hardest part (for me) was to read of Dewey’s death. At 18 years old you would think old age took its course on the kitty. When I read that it was actually cancer, I cried. I could definitely relate to saying goodbye to a feline friend that way. I can relate to not wanting her to suffer, either. When Vicki put Dewey to sleep I was right back in my own vet’s office, holding my cat in the exact same way. It’s funny how pets grow to mean so much to us. Dewey was no exception. He not only grabbed the heart of Vicky Myron, but he captured the world.

Pissed at the Postman

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I’m having a problem with my postal service. I have to wonder if this would have happened in my old town and is just symptomatic of the new place.  Here’s what happened: I have this aunt. She doesn’t ask for much. She’s not one of those Why Haven’t You Written type of women. Laid back and cool. Because of that I always try to remember her birthday. Better yet, becauseof that I always try to get a card to her in time. Last Monday I wrote her a lengthy Happy Birthday Here’s What’s Happening With Me letter. Tuesday I stuck it in my mailbox, raised the little red flag and wished my correspondence bon voyage. It had plenty of time to travel across the country (to California) in time for a Saturday delivery. Or so I hoped. I was a wee bit surprised to see the little red flag still up and my little letter still in the mailbox when I got home from work. But, not as surprised when Wednesday AND Thursday went by and the letter still wasn’t gone.

It’s now Friday. Friday the 13th. Will the letter still be there when I come home tonight? With my luck, probably. If it is I’m using another town’s postal service to send it out. Someplace a little more with it. This new town is terrible. It seems you have to have mail coming in to your mailbox in order for these postal people to take mail out of your mailbox. Really. That’s the way it seems. These postal people blatantly ignore the little red flag. How do I know this? How can I say they  IGNORE the little red flag. Simple. The postal person who delivers mail on my street uses my driveway to turn around. Everyday.

Concubine’s Tattoo

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Rowland, Laura Joh. The Concubine’s Tattoo. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1998.

In addition to being a great 17th century Japanese murder mystery The Concubine’s Tattoo is a commentary on honor and relationships. Sano Ichirois the shogun’s investigator who has recently celebrated an arranged marriage. In both his professional and personal life Sano must balance a code of conduct that is morally, politically and, of course, honorably sound. Sano’s latest case (on the night of his wedding no less) is the murder of the shogun’s favorite concubine. Entwined in this murder are complications concerning an heir, long standing cultural differences and rivalries. Rowland displays Sano’s progress on the case through the eyes of Sano’s new wife Reiko, his enemy Chamberlain Yanagisawa, his partner Hirata, and Sano himself as well as many other fascinating characters. One of the best enjoyments of Rowland’s book is her vivid, descriptive use of imagery. The details are so sensuous and alluring. They exquisitely cater to all five senses. Here are two quotes I particularly liked, “Her voice was a husky murmur that insinuated its way into Hirata’s mind like a dark, intoxicating smoke” (p 86), and “The cold air had a lung-saturating dampness” (p 166). 

One other detail I thought I should point out – Rowland is not afraid to describe vivid sex scenes of varying natures. Man on man, woman on woman, husband and wife, illicit seductions, and even rape. The scenes while reminiscent of lusty bodice-rippers are not overly flowery or “heaving.”

BookLust Twist: In More Book Lust in the chapter called, “Crime is a Globetrotter: China” (p 60).

Yours for the Taking

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I should have said Yours for the Keeping because it’s not like we took anything out when we moved in. Things just stayed where they were, left by someone else. We didn’t need to bring our garbage can for the kitchen. There was already one there. We didn’t need to bring soap pumps. The kitchen and bathrooms still had their originals. Lightbulbs. Plant containers. TP holders. It’s like someone fled in the night and I’ve shown up bright and early the next morning. Settling in to the already settled.

I’m reading a new book out of season. It’s called Daniel Plainway or The Holiday Haunting of the Moosepath League by Van Reid. It’s not only out of season (the holiday is Christmas), but it’s also out of order. This is a book to be read later in the Moosepath series. But, all of that is neither here nor there. My point is, I’m reading this book and I came across this passage: “What I need to know,” Gerald was saying, “is there such a thing as a stipulation in a selling agreement that says if something valuable is found after the transfer of the building, it must be turned over to the previous owner?” (Viking, p 17). Do they really want their cheap sunglasses back? How about their Easter basket? And their chopped broccoli in the freezer? These are the things I wonder about. Are they yours for the taking or mine for keeping? Do I really want them?

When the Time Comes

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Span, Paula. When the Time Comes: Families with Aging Parents Share Their Struggles and Solutions. Springboard Press, 2009.

When this book first came in the mail my mother was visiting. She has just celebrated her 60th birthday. Savvy, independent, strong in body and mind I didn’t really think this book applied to her. Needless to say I was surprised when she thought I requested this particular book to review on purpose, because of her. It became an awkward moment because when I scanned the selections for the month I can’t say I specifically chose the book because of her. It is more accurate to say I didn’t pass over the choice because of her. Does that make sense?

At any rate, I found Span’s book When the Time Comes incredibly useful in some respects and (predictably) not so helpful in others. I enjoyed all of the stories about the trials, tribulations and triumphs of caring for elderly parents. It put aging into perspective. Not all parents will age the same way, physically or mentally. Not all parents will welcome the solutions their children have to offer. Not all solutions will work for all types of aging. The variables are endless but Span does a wonderful job trying to tell a different story for each scenario. It was wonderful to have examples to remind the reader, “you are not alone.” I found myself comparing the stories on the page with situations I know in real life and nodding in agreement all the while. On the negative side, the title of this book is misleading. It implies this is a book about aging, and this is not a book for someone who has parents years, possibly decades, away from needing elderly care. By the time my mother deems it necessary to have outside help some of the resources Span lists in her book might not be available to me. Websites disappear, organizations change. While this is definitely a book to prepare children for the aging of their parents, it is not recommended for planning too far in advance. However, should my mother have a stroke or serious accident I could pick up When the Time Comes and start using it immediately.

Too Funny

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I feel hung over. Like I have been drinking for days. My sides hurt from laughing too much. I call it my too funny moment. One Friday night was Rebecca’s show and ice cream with the girls (when we finally got around to getting there). Different conversations happening all at once. Laughter blending like in with the chatter like a symphony. It sounded chaotic, out of tune, in sync, it sounded perfect. I think I’m the only one who finished her ice cream.

A day later and I’m talking to a far and aways near girlfriend. She’s making me laugh with ridiculous stories of body odor out of control, or was it perfume? Either way I can’t stop the tears of hilarity. I match her with one of my own olfactory woes (guys, don’t wear Axe brand anything). Again, I laugh until my sides ache. Too funny.

I like these laughing moments. I don’t get them enough but I need more of them. Probably my best source for laughter (should we really want to torture ourselves with past bizarre incidents and entanglements) is less than a mile away. I like having her close. Her laugh is solid and true. No fake giggles or coy chuckles. There is no other way to describe it other than to say she laughs with her heart. Just the other day as we weaved our way through the aisles of a craft store she recounted the “limo driver gun story” for me. I couldn’t get the details right for my husband a week earlier, “I don’t know – something about a box of cheap condoms, a gun, two gay men, and a limo driver. I can’t remember.”  I had forgotten the tulips. Just to hear her reliving the story made me laugh out loud. Winding through the fake flowers, colored pencils and skeins of yarn I couldn’t help but have that too funny moment.

Color Purple

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Walker, Alice. The Color Purple. New York: Pocket Books, 1982.

To put this on the list is either to admit I never read it before or I don’t remember it. Those are the rules. Supposedly. Only this time it’s different. I chose to reread The Color Purple out of respect…and to get from under the sugar rush I got from other books I’ve read this month. Let’s face it, there is not much sweetness and light in The Color Purple.
Alice Walker has a masterful voice. Just by starting chapters “Dear God” the voice evokes prayer, a quiet kind of desperation. It’s even worse when it’s coming from a child in the beginning. Most people start uttering “dear God” when things turn bad and for Walker’s main character, Celie, it’s always bad. From the very first chapter you learn she is being raped by her own father, tolerating pregnancies and beatings while taking care of her siblings, only to be sold off to a man who does exactly the same. Different man, different children to take care of – same struggles to survive. Yet, Celie is clever, strong and more importantly, resilient. She knows how to make it through the toughest of times. She even learns how to blossom when Shug Avery, her husband’s lover, comes to town. She discovers love, sexuality, and a sense of self.

Favorite lines: “Sometimes he still be looking at Nettie, but I always git in his light” (p 6).
“Like more us then us is ourself” (p 14).
“His little whistle sound like it lost way down in a jar, and the jar in the bottom of the creek” (p 71). Love that imagery!

BookLust Twist: In Book Lust twice: in the very first chapter called, “A…My Name is Alice (p 2), and “African American Fiction: She Say” (p 12).

Powers That Be

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Halberstam, David. The Powers That Be. New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1979.

When I told a friend I was reading this as my last February book his eyes lit up – said that Halberstam was one of his favorites, “for the sheer irony of him.” Whatever that means.

Despite its heft (being 771 pages long), The Powers That Be was an extremely entertaining read. But, I have to confess I ran out of February and didn’t finish it in time. Back to the book: Halberstam’s style of writing is intimate. It is as if he is taking his reader into his confidences – leaning in to tell the reader secrets in a hushed, yet knowledgeable voice. His prose is not gossipy, but rather matter of fact. Yet, there is a hint of society tell-all about it. In one particular section Halberstam states Edward Murrow was “ungodly handsome” (p 40), but then does not offer proof by way of pictures or real description. The reader simply has to take his word for it (luckily I’m old enough to remember what Murrow looked like). Halberstam deftly wraps the political and economic climates around the historical who, what, where, when and why of all media giants. Events like the Great Depression, World War II, the Cold War, Communism, and Vietnam all played a crucial part in influencing print, radio and television communications. How the world received information changed all landscapes – political, economic, social, forever.

BookLust Twist: Mentioned twice in More Book Lust. First in the chapter called, “The Fourth Estate” (p 92) and in the chapter, “David Halberstam: Too Good To Miss” (p 112).

Bob and the Vandals

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I would have liked to have known Bob Dylan in 1962. Right before things started to get crazy for him and even crazier for the nation. I would have liked him as a friend. Maybe less for his music and more for his personality. I liked his sense of humor and can’t help but wonder if he has it still. Are you still funny, Bob? Are ya? I liked his unwillingness to be painted into a corner or labeled like a cheap suit doused with cheaper cologne. I admired his tenacity to keep singing when so-called fans started to protest against his electric sound. I laughed at his ability to dodge questions about being a protesting artist with a hidden agenda or unclear message. What are you trying to say, Bob? ‘I don’t know’ seemed like the perfect answer and he used it all the time. He put everyone from reporters to Joan in their places. Take that! All that was left was (and still is) the whining about how they didn’t understand him (and still don’t).
Imagine being able to write lyrics so crazy good that they flow out of you nonstopping, unstopable. You write so well you can’t keep your own sentences straight. Can’t remember the difference between what you wanted to say and what you actually did say. Don’t even recognize yourself on the radio. I would give anything to write like that for just one day. I’d write the perfect letter. I know who I’d send it to. He’d have to read it because of its perfection. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. Since I can’t write like that, I won’t. Instead, I will listen to Bob. I’ll listen to the vandals take his words and run with them. Tangle them up in blue, steal them for their own. Brilliant by default. Brilliant because of Bob.

Confessional: I wrote this back in August (on the 6th to be exact). I am reallllly pressed for time today so I’m cheating and sending this one up – unfinished.

Cult of Personality

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Paul, Annie Murphy. The Cult of Personality: How Personality Tests are Leading Us to Miseducate Our Children, Mismanage Our Companies, and Misunderstand Ourselves. New York: Free Press, 2004.

Okay. How many of us think of a well toned guy with long hair jumping around in bright colored spandex when we hear the words “cult of personality”? Am I the only one who thinks fondly back to Living Colour days? Probably. I’m showing my age.

At any rate, the book The Cult of Personalityby Annie Murphy Paul is compelling. Fearing it to be a dry, psychology “talk-shop” laden lecture on personality tests I read it along side a fictional psycho-babble book. Oddly enough, I found the nonfiction just as interesting as the fiction. Paul’s book didn’t need the fictional bells and whistles to be a page-turner. Paul has a style of writing that is reminiscent of Halberstam such that you feel as if you are getting good society gossip (like the details of a juicy affair) along with the cut and dried information on how a test was conceived.

BookLust Twist: In More Book Lust in the chapter called, “Dewey Deconstructed” (p 62).

Chocolate for Cheaper

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“Chocolate for cheaper” is what my husband sang when we drove away from just making a huge deal. We were both happy, giddy even, to have found exactly what we were looking for – for less. Don’t you just love a bargain and the way it makes you feel when you score one?
Let me put the reverse lights on – several weeks ago we went on a hunt to find furniture. We couldn’t remember exact colors so we played it safe and just searched for style. What we would like to sit on, lay on, jump on, make out on, even sulk behind if need be. Some style that would fit our lifestyle. After a full several days of sitting, laying, testing, and deciding we thought we knew what we liked. Finally we moved in and could decide on color as well: chocolate. Something rich, something dark. Everything was coming together until we visited Rayless and Flan-again. We liked the sales woman. I will say that. Donny and Marie couldn’t have been more helpful. She bent over backwards to help us…until the manager stepped in. “Can’t get that style in that color. Never mind what the tag says. It’s another $100 to get that color. It’s brown sugar or nothing. The brown sugar is the only thing on sale. Get it in another color and you pay full price in addition to changing the color and that’s another $100, remember?  No ifs ands or buts. That is it.” With heads hanging low and exhaustion nipping at our heels, we took the defeated road home.
Three days later Kisa says to me, “I think I solved our problems. Get in the truck.” So, off to LazyGirl we went. As soon as we were in the door we asked, “Do you have this style? In this color? For this price?” Yes. Yes. Follow me. No. Cheaper. Weaving through the aisles of couches and recliners we stopped short. Made the sales woman turn around. “What? What do you mean cheaper?” When she was done explaining we exclaimed, “that’s $700 cheaper than Rayless!” We know, she said with a smile. Are you still interested?

Like children playing hooky from school we ordered the furniture. Feeling like we got away with something we signed on the dotted line before the numbers could change. We hurried through the paperwork thinking it was too good to be true. We waited for the admittance We Made a Mistake. None came.

“We got chocolate for cheaper. We got chocolate for cheaper!” my husband sang as we drove home. Yes, we did.

March 2009 is…

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March is going to be the month of new leaves. Hopefully, some on the trees but more for me. I am hoping to change some things along the way. Here’s hoping at least. March is also a number of great birthdays (Atty, rock on with your bad five year old self!). I was thinking March was music, but I’m rethinking that (although, Rebecca has come home). Needless to say, March is also a new address that’s keeping me really, really, really busy! *Quick house update: we got the washer/dryer hooked up, hung temp curtains, got the phones rewired, got another phone for man town, picked up a dehumidifier, unpacked all the house boxes, organized the kitchen, and got the cat to hang out in more than one room!*

Here’s what is on the list for March:

  • Concubine’s Tattoo by Laura Joh Rowland ~ in honor of March being the best month to visit Japan.
  • Daniel Plainway by Van Reid ~ in honor of Maine becoming a state in March
  • Drowning Season by Alice Hoffman~ in honor of Alice’s birth month
  • Famished Road by Ben Okri ~ in honor of March being African Writers Month
  • Bethlehem Road Murder by Batya Gur ~ in honor March being the best month to visit Israel

If there is time:

  • Industrial Valley by Ruth McKenney
  • Lone Star by T.R. Fehrenbach

And for fun it is:

  • Dewey the Library Cat by Vicki Myron (a Christmas gift I have been dying to read)

For the Early Review Program it is:

  • When the Time Comes by Paula Span (a nonfiction about preparing for the aging of your parents).