Author: gr4c5

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

Got to Admit

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I have got to admit I’m going crazy. Everything around me is making me madly nuts. But, I’ve also got to admit I have no idea why. I’ve seen promos for some new show about a guy who is actually two different people and I’m convinced that’s my problem.

Take this stupid wedding favor I received at the dreaded Hell Has A Name wedding. It’s a blue crystal and silver rose in a clear crystal pot. There is a part of my that despises this knicknackytacky trinket. It’s only 1 1/2″ high so it’s not in my way, yet there is a part of me that doesn’t know what to do with it. But, there is this part of me that has to do something with it all the same. On this side of my brain it needs to have a purpose, a reason for being in my space. Instead, it just sits there looking remotely pretty.

Then, there’s the other me. I think back to how the bubbly bride hunkered down beside my table and explained the gift to me. Earnestly looking into my eyes she said it came from her country (and everything) and was veryvery special. While she didn’t elaborate on what made it special she had tears in her eyes. There was no way I was going to doubt her sincerity. I predicted I would love it, promised I would keep it. I did all this sight unseen (it was in a box I didn’t open until I got home). Then, I think back to my own wedding and how I hand cut tags for our ticky-tacky bells, an explanation of “why a bell?” in each one. I glowed at the thought of honoring my father, gleamed at the idea of passing on some history lesson (I was a reference librarian after all). I was proud of the bells and hoped people would cherish them in some way. Mom has them hanging on her baker’s rack in the kitchen, but she has bias. Really, I have got to admit they were just as tacky as the rose I am contemplating now.

So, back to the rose. What to do with this thing? The sweet side of me says why do anything? It’s sitting on a window sill, minding its own business while the sour side of me wants it gone, gone, gone. Truthfully, I’ve got to admit I don’t think this pushme-pullme attitude has anything to do with the rose on my window sill…

Emily Post

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Claridge, Laura. Emily Post: Daughter of the Gilded Age, Mistress of American Manners. New York: Random House, 2008.

Let me start by saying I love biographies. When I requested Emily Post as a July bonus book from LibraryThing’s Early Review program I really didn’t think I had a chance of getting it. After all, this would be my 18th ER book if chosen. Crazy. But, there is was, on my doorstep, without fanfare on Friday. No notification, no nothing. Just a hit and run from Mr. UPS man.

Because it came so late and unannounced I couldn’t fit it into my August list. The July bonus book became a September review just like that.

Emily Post is a biography laden with details – chock full of history and background. Reading it was like wallowing in words, almost too many words. At times I got bogged down by the excessive descriptive narrative while other times it helped explain Emily’s reactions to the lap of luxury world around her. This biography is not limited to Emily’s life but extends, in detail, to the people around her. What is important to note is Claridge’s exhaustive research into not only the history of Emily’s era, but the political and cultural climate of her time thus drawing a complete and compelling picture of Emily Post beyond etiquette.

Have This Time

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I am trying really hard to not always write about the negative. It comes out so dramatic and unfailingly stupid. Except, it’s really hard to write about anything else when the sole purpose of the write is the rant. The negative is what got me here in the first place. Back in the day I would crawl around the rooms in my mind and pick out the crap that bugged me the lost. Writing was like opening a window and chucking the worst offenders out. While most of the stuff found a way to crawl back in, some of it was banished forever. If only one out of twenty crapoids disappears for good then mission accomplished I say.
Here’s the reality of my existence: I am dramatic. I am sensitive to the world around me and hypersensitive to how it treats me. When my mother tells me I’m not ready to handle a house (and maybe should get a condo instead) it hurts my feelings. How much of a failure after 40 can I feel? A lot. When people joke that my near-two nephew “didn’t kill me” I get nasty. It’s almost like these people still see me as 16 or something. I tend to shut down and shut out. Okay, so I won’t share the house-hunting antics with those who naysay. So, I won’t mention how my nephew made my heart fall out when he balanced himself on the edge of a 15 foot drop.
So. Those are my negative notions – the things I need to toss out of the attic. Will they find an open window in the basement? How soon will they crawl back into my head? I don’t know. Guess it’s up to me to secure the house. For now, I have. This time.

Postcards

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Proulx, Annie E., Postcards. New York: Fourth Estate, 2004.

This was a hard book to read. Really dark and disconnected. I prefer books that have more flow to them. I haven’t read a lot of Proulx. I have to admit I don’t really even remember the title of the one I did read. How pathetic is that? I’m looking forward to the short stories because I think they will have less opportunity to be so disconnected and choppy.

I think what struck me about Postcards was how powerful the language was. While the plot was hard and gritty, the way it was told was strong and confident. Almost like someone yelling emphatically, if that makes sense. It’s the story of a farming family in New England. They are torn apart by the departure of the eldest son, Loyal. He has just killed his girlfriend and left her body under a pile of rocks in a nearby field. While the death was an accident, Loyal’s leaving and the slow disintegration of the farm was not. Tragedy follows the family wherever they go. The beauty of the saga is how each chapter is punctuated with a postcard. It’s these postcards that illustrate the changing times both for the nation and the family. Loyal often writes home, careful not to tell anyone where he really is. He continues to stay disconnected and this is apparent in what he shares with his family.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter “It was a Dark and Stormy Novel” (p 128).

Heartbreaking Work

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Eggers, Dave. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. New York: Vintage Books, 2001.

I didn’t even have to touch this book to know it was going to be great. It landed on my desk upside down. the first words I read from the back cover were, “Yes lets and then can we leave and run in shallow warm water.” I was intrigued, to say the least!

It’s the story of Eggers as a young adult faced with having to take care of his younger brother after losing both his parents to cancer. It’s sad and funny. Witty and sarcastic. It took my much longer to read because I had to drink every little word. I read the Rules and Suggestions for Enjoyment of This Book, the Preface to this Edition, the Contents, Achknowledgments, even Mistakes We Knew We Were Making which contains notes, corrections, clarifications, apologies, and addenda. Too funny.

A few of my favorite lines:
“I have visions of my demise: When I know I have only so much time left – for example, if I do in fact have AIDS as I believe I probably do, if anyone does, it’s me, why not – when the time comes, I will just leave, say goodbye and leave, and then throw myself into a volcano” (p xiii)
“Beth and I take turns driving him to and fro, down the hill and up again and otherwise we lose weeks like buttons, like pencils” (p 55).
Then there’s this scene. I don’t know how to describe it other than to say I’ve been there: “I want to put the box somewhere else…The box which is not my mother cannot go in the trunk because she would be livid if I put her in the trunk. She would fucking kill me” (p 383). This is so, so, dare I say it? Heartbreaking.

BookLust Twist: Pearl really liked this book. It’s mentioned four different times between her two books Book Lust and More Book Lust. From Book Lust: in the chapter “Memoirs” (p 152), and “The Postmodern Condition” (p 191) and again in the preface on page xi. Then again in More Book Lust in the chapter “And The Award for Best Title Goes To…” ( p 12).

Dog Handling

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Naylor, Clare. Dog Handling. New York: Ballentine Books, 2004.

When it comes to chick lit I think there has to be a trick to reading it. At least for me there are two tricks. Suspension of belief, first and foremost…and the ability to laugh out loud at some of the nonsense.

Dog Handling is the story (cute story!) of Liv Elliot, a soon-to-be married accountant in London’s Notting Hill district. When Liv’s fiance breaks off the engagement she flees to Australia to mend her not so broken heart. Australia brings new friendships, a new career opportunity, new men (of course), and a whole new way of dating them. Liv’s outlook on life changes once she learns the rules of “dog handling.”

Traditionally, I am not a big fan of mind games, overextended cliches and predictable sappy-happy endings and Dog Handling had all of the above. It took me sometime to stop making Bridget Jones comparisons and seeing Liv Elliot in her own bumbling, lovable, all’s well that ends well movie. Once I was able to get past all that I truly enjoyed the story. The characters were delightful and the plot, humorous. It was a great summer read.

Favorite lines: “After all, a foreign city is a foreign city, and until she knew the precise location of the nearest places to buy newspapers, tampons, and beer she wasn’t taking any chances” (p 40).
“Liv had been cutting split ends off her hair with a potato peeler” (p 232). What a great idea!

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter “Chick Lit” (p 54). Where else?

September Is…Late

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September is…well. That’s a loaded dot-dot-dot if I ever saw one. Where do I start? September is my wedding anniversary and the anniversary of so many other things…and also my adversary of so many different things. I celebrate being alive in this month, but I also celebrate a death in me. Both are equally important to where I am in life, who I am to myself. There is someone across the miles who understands exactly what I’m not talking about. But, but. But! Back to the books. Now that I have cleared the cobwebs and in the name of good BookLust books, here’s what’s on the list:

  • Code Book: Science of Secrecy from Ancient Egypt to Quantum Cryptography by Simon Singh – In honor of the month the National Security Act was signed
  • Diaries of Jane Somers by Doris Lessing – in honor of Healthy Aging Month
  • Far Side of Paradise by Arthur Mizener – in honor of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s birth month
  • Good Enough Parentby Bruno Bettelheim – in honor of National Child Month
  • Nowhere Cityby Alison Lurie – in honor of the month California became a state

For LibraryThing and the Early Review program I have two books:

  • Emily Post: Daughter of the Gilded Age, Mistress of American Mannersby Laura Claridge
  • The Dangerous Joy of Dr. Sex and Other True Stories by Pagan Kennedy

(if you are keeping track, Claridge’s book was supposed to be read month last and I think Kennedy’s book is an August review…)

For the fun of it I want to read What I talk about When I talk about Running by Haruki Murakami because everyone says it’s the book to read. So, I will read.

 September is also a Rebecca show! My mother might be coming down for it. Dare I hope? That would be cool. I want to see if Sean is around…

Friend of the Devil

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They say the house has lost its character. Lost its charm. It’s no island home. Home no more. Electrified. Modernized. Resized. Beautified.

Italian tile bathroom. Slate counter tops. Stainless steel appliances. Wide arches. Leather couch. Tiffany window panes and copper hanging lanterns. Piece by piece, bit by bit, this artist’s home is dismantled, broken down and built back up as a modern day palace. Real nice. Someone said. Classy said another. At least they kept the artwork…Gone are the kerosene lamps, the rustic galley kitchen, the cozy rooms with creaking floors. More windows to let in the light. Less trees to block the wind. Everything is open, has flow.

There is a reason why the word “bittersweet” exists. Such negative and positive rolled into one mouthful we struggle to swallow. Bitter because the changes are so modern. Sweet because the changes are so modern. Room by room it’s a child growing up. Rooms like faces changing.

At least the view remains the same.

September is a Confession

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Golden Days End
Golden Days End

I am all messed up. Turned inside out and tired. Really, really tired. Here’s the deal. I went home with a reading plan in place. I knew everything I wanted to read and even the order in which I would do all this reading. I even made a big deal about lugging all that stuff home. It didn’t happen. I got to Maine and everything fell apart.

In a stream of excuses here’s what happened: I didn’t bring the right books. I didn’t bring enough to books. I chased my nephews around instead of turning pages. I scoped out the neighbor’s new porch. I gorged on blackberries and crab apples. I couldn’t make time for the library let alone the internet. I held hands with my husband. Hiked huge hills with great friends. Watched sunsets with a glass of pino between my knees. Ate savory and sweet scones from Sweet Bob. When I did pick up a book it wasn’t one on my list (Islands by Anne Rivers Siddon comes to mind).

So, here’s the deal. I just escaped paradise. I’m just back and I’m just out of sorts. I don’t want to take a shower for fear of washing away my island residue. Last night I slept with the light on because the silence on the street was not the silence of the ocean. For once, the cat wasn’t the compatible companion. I have no clue what books I am supposed to be reading for September. I have no clue and right now I don’t care.

So, September is: slogging through tons and tons of email. (Yahoo = 234, Google = 565, LibraryThing = 3, work = 199, RealEstate = 66). September is Rebecca Correia on the 12th. September is Sean Rowe’s new album. Otherwise, September is slow to start.

August Was…

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Where did August go? Sweet August raced by me like lightning in a stormy sky. For reading I was all messed up. I read two books out of turn and one completely by mistake! So much for planning! Anyway, August was:

  • All is Vanity by Christina Schwarz (Others will tell you Schwarz has put out better, but I say this one was good, too!)
  • Boy with Loaded Gun by Lewis Nordan (really, really interesting book)
  • A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers (another nonfiction…okay, I admit it. I read this out of turn!)
  • Postcards by E. Annie Proulx (really dark!)
  • Devil in a Blue Dress by Walter Mosley (I need to explain this one!)

What I admitted defeat on was Far Field because it just wasn’t light reading for the last month of sumer. I’ll pick it back up again eventually.

For the Early Review Program on LibraryThing:

  • Blackbird, Farewell by Robert Greer ( a really fun whodunit about a basketball star murder before his big NBA contract even began).

For the fun of it:

  • Top Chef: The Cookbook by Brett Martin
  • Islandsby Anne Rivers Siddon

August was also Sean Rowe, the Police, and Swell Season. It was getting a chance to hang out with really good friends, even for a second. It was Monhegan and a restoration of resolve.

Not the Real Deal

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I am here. I would say “I am home” but I still have the salt on my skin and the wind in my hair from the boat ride. It’s too soon to say anything other than I am back. Like leaving a lover I cannot be untrue to, if that makes sense.

I left blackberries, rosehips and a mocha dream in the fridge. I left sour apples on the tree and artwork in the gallery. I left kisa on the porch staring at the ocean (left that, too). I left the sunshine for five hours in a car talking to myself.

My phone is officially turned back on. My email is once again active. I have crawled out of a coma of contentment to rejoin the workforce; the living.

643 pictures and not one rainy day. Rocks. Sea glass. purple and blue mussel shells. I’m scratched from the brambles. Bruised from who knows where. I read the wrong book but drank the right wine. Cooked for friends. Cooked with family. Laughed at my nephews. Laughed with my sister. I think I did everything I wanted and thensome. But, somehow I wasn’t done.

So much to say about being home and leaving it. This is not the real deal. Not yet at least. More later. xoxoxo

Sarah’s Challenge

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See Sarah Smile!
See Sarah Smile!

This is my friend Sarah. We started off as coworkers. Even though she has moved onto bigger and better things we have remained friends. She has a huge smile and an even bigger heart. Here’s the proof: she walking a full freakin’ marathon for charity – yup 26.2 miles in one day. Here’s her story:

You are a charity walking machine, but this is your biggest yet! What made you sign on?  

 Last year I walked the half marathon and I loved it. Even though i was sore for a few days afterwards. I asked my dad to participate with me this year and he really wanted us to walk the whole marathon. I knew I couldn’t get a better walking partner than my dad (who has RUN many marathons) so i agreed to walk the full 26.2 miles!

How are you training for it, besides one foot in front of the other?

My ideas for training started with a book, and a set schedule but I struggled to get into it. Yesterday I walked 6.2 miles, and i am feeling it. my plan is to walk at least twice during the week for 3 miles or more, and then do my long walks on the weekend. my long walks will be 10, 13, 18 and 21 miles. In September I will start to shorten the mileage to get ready for the event.

When and where does this HUGE walk take place?

This is the part that hooked me both last year and this year. The walk is the Boston Marathon route. I have watched my dad run this marathon so its an honor to be able to experience this with him. Especially since neither of us our in running condition to do the real marathon. This is the next best thing.

This is something I asked our friend Rebecca: most athletes I know have a ritual or lucky talisman – something that inspires them before the event. What’s yours?

The things that inspire me most at these events are the volunteers and the photos that remind of us we are participating. The marathon has a mile marker with a photo of a child who is battling cancer. Those kids are fighting for their life, all i have to do is keep walking.

Here’s another question I asked Rebecca: Are you walking in anyones honor or memory, and if so, what is his/her story?

i am not walking for one particular person but for the general cause. I am amazed at the courage of anyone that goes thru cancer. To be honest, I am scared of someone I love or myself having to go thru something like that. I admire the strength of those who have cancer, their loved ones, and the people in the medical field who try to beat the odds and get them through it.

I’m not trying to guilt anyone but if walking a marathon and asking for your help in donating can help the fight against cancer then it is the least I can do. It is what I’d hope someone would do for me or someone I loved.

Speaking of donations, how much $$ do you have to raise?
my dad and i need to raise $250 each.

How can people donate?
my website is http://www.jimmyfundwalk.org/sb08

my dad’s site is http://www.jimmyfundwalk.org/bb

if you can donate that would be awesome. no amount is too small.

To learn more about you or the walk where can people go?

if you do not want to donate online, email me and we’ll figure something else out

my email is sburke81@yahoo.com

And when is that walk again??

September 21st

All in Shock

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My mother’s email read, “D died suddenly. All in shock.” No sh!t. Shock is an understatement. Kisa came to bed and said, “I think I know what happened. Yaz went into the hospital early this morning and D couldn’t take it.” Despite my self stunned state I smiled. He had a point and could possibly be right. No one loved the Red Sox more than D, except maybe his daughter.

I want to think that’s exactly what happened. Home is just too small of a place for mysteriously sudden passings. Things like that just don’t happen. We read about them in the news. We see them on television. They shock us yet we manage to shake our heads and say Glad that wasn’t here. But, but. But! In our little world when people die we usually see it coming from a long way off. Like a ship on the horizon we see the approach and brace ourselves for the arrival. We have time to think, time to prepare. Even my father sent us signs. Headaches, high blood pressure. We should have seen it coming a mile away yet we chose to be stunned.

“All in shock” is definitely an understatement.

Edited to add: Nothing could have prepared me for the passing of LeRoi Moore. It seems so unreal. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that a founding member of the Dave Matthews Band, just 46 years old, is dead. I have to blink my eyes and scratch my head. Three days of bad news. Is it September already?

Regularly Scheduled Rant

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This is what I should have posted:

I don’t out and out ask for assistance all that often. I don’t always spell it out and say Help. Me. But, those close to me know when I am searching for support, hunting for help. In so many words I asked and in so many ways they answered. Such was last night.
For reasons unknown I have been feeling silent and still. Like a pond with hardly a ripple. I wanted a wave of life and laughter to wash over me and lift me out of a self-induced torpor. Let’s go out I told my go-to girls. Where? They were surprised when I told them. It’s not like me to not have a plan. It’s not like to me to not know what I’m getting myself into. They only knew I needed their support and they answered the call. Wish we had a rally song because I would be humming it now.

Pouring rain. Little sleep. Too much wine. A borrowed car. Running late. Leaving early. None of it mattered. We converged on Jill like a hurricane and ordered vodka, chocolate, and chilies. We rolled our eyes at the cliches and silently cheered on the gold. Smoke and strobes.  Run songs ruined. When the time came my friends rallied around me like a fortress. Not letting a single thing hurt me or help me lose control. When I said I was done I didn’t know it until I was surrounded by support.

Now it’s the morning after. I’m hearing Sublime. I’m hearing something about bitches. Sublime bitches? You betcha. Thanks, ladies.

All Plans Have Changed

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I wanted to write about spending time with my good, good friend. How we ran together (only 3.5mi but still…), rolled our eyes at family issues (pass me the bottle), caught the Closer bug together…
I wanted to write about how two great people stepped up and came out with me Friday night. I don’t ask for help very often and my requests aren’t always clear, but they answered the call despite weather and wine and one way streets.
I wanted to write about this one particular house we saw yesterday. It’s the perfect marriage of funky and functional (read = moi & kisa). Dare I say perfect?
I wanted to write my apologies for playing phone tag with two very special people. I am sorry I keep missing the ring so much it becomes rang. Don’t ever think I don’t need you.

Instead, I have cancer on the brain. When I got the call I went cold. “Make her some Natalie cds” my mother urged. “You know, the soothing stuff…” She went onto to say things like, “you won’t recognize her… administering her own chemo…needed to be on Monhegan… metal rods because her bones are so brittle… the whole family is here…” After a little while I stopped listening. All I could hear was my heart pounding & breaking. I kept thinking too young. Too fukcing young. When will this disease go after the sour grapes? When will it turn away from the angels on earth and settle a cold eye somewhere else?

I think it goes without saying that all plans have changed.