Author: gr4c5

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

Deep in the Green

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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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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!

March Was…

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March was a disaster for reading. Despite spring break and Easter both in this month I really didn’t get a lot of time to really read. Kisa and I had to take separate cars a few times to work, we had a trip to Maine, I didn’t make any super-long-cook meals, kisa didn’t play any super-long video games or get sucked into super-long boreMEtotears movies, and almost every night I preferred sleep over putting words and sentences together. But, for a month of “not” reading I think I did okay:

For LibraryThing: Wrack & Ruin by Don Lee

For BookLust:
Carter Clay by Elizabeth Evans
Dalva by Jim Harrison
Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
Continental Drift by Russell Banks
Three Roads to the Alamo by William C. Davis (started by didn’t get through).

An extra: Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

So, I got to everything I said that I would. I think I should get bonus points for attempted a nearly 800 page book so late in the month! My favorite was Continental Drift by Russell Banks. I still think it should be a movie.
Next month I have two LibraryThing books – one fiction and one nonfiction. I’m looking forward to them.

Solo Strength

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Last night, when all the friend saving was said and done, I took a desperately long bath. Car accidents and drunkenness aside. The water is where I calm myself. I like to sink beneath the surface and listen to the world from underneath. Everything always sounds echoed and hollowed. Warped and wavy. The dripping spout sounds like a tuning fork. The African cd sounds more like muffled birds than joyous voices. I like the warmth of the water, cradling me. Steam rising from the surface. Last night I stayed silent and unmoving letting the water become as calm as can be. I wanted to become just as still, just as calm. With only my nose above water I willed myself to be slow and easy. A ladybug crawled over the spout and paused to investigate the drip before making its way along the rim of the tub. Every time it stopped I thought about its journey and wondered if it would join me in the water. A solo ladybug going somewhere. When it finally disappeared from view I thought about Aaron, about alcohol, about aborted engagements and mourned one and all. Not my lives, nothing to do with me, but I will miss them just the same.
While my muscles were still warm from the bath I practiced sun salutations for half an hour. There is something about moving from pose to pose as slowly and silently as possible that makes me feel whole. Strong. Centered. Solitude is my saving grace. My breath was just as quiet as in the bath. If I thought I could communicate with you through mental telepathy I would have said I’m finished with the anger. Silently I would have said I’m done being raving mad. Because while I didn’t want to talk to you at such a late hour I wanted you to know I’m fine. But, thanks for being there.

Here’s the thing. I’m finding I’m learning to let go of anger and hurt more easily. I have found my solo strength.
 

Are You Afraid?

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I can’t tell you how many times I have heard someone say the words “I hate change.” Why is that? Yes, to both: why am I hearing it so often and why do people hate change much? Here’s why I ask – I just took a pretty intensive course on leadership and how to direct “my people” through changes. Basically it was all about how to hold their hands during that “transition” phase. Please. Six weeks of Be Sensitive to their feelings. Six weeks of Be Gentle with the speed of change. Six weeks of Be Patient. I aced the course because I just regurgitated the touchy-feely statements but, I’ll say it again. Pahleeease! Give me a freakin’ break. I’m tempted to warm up some milk and make sure everyone has a blankie on hand for sleepy time. If everyone were allowed to resist avoid change we would still be tapping out our love letters in dots and dashes.
Here’s the thing. Change IS hard. I’ll admit that. Change can be intimidating, especially when you don’t see the need for it, or can’t imagine the future any differently. But, consider the alternative. Same is dull. Same is same old-same old. I couldn’t imagine having the same job, the same schedule, the same life year after year. You know you’re really in trouble when your ex from three years ago knows where you’ll be on Any Given Thursday. What’s worse is when that ex is right…ALL the time. I don’t want someone to expect me somewhere because I’ve always been there. To be that predictable is pitiful. Pitiful and seriously sad.
I don’t have the same job I had six months ago. Traded it in for something a little more stressful, yet a little more stimulating. I don’t have the same relationships I did a year ago. Traded them in for deeper, more meaningful exchanges. I don’t listen to the same music I did two years ago. I’ve opened my ears to bands with names like Dumpstaphunk and JuJu and Sonny Landreth. I changed my mind about movies. I found a new Indian restaurant and discovered I actually like bananas now. I am in a transitional phase with my family. I guess you could say I am changing all the time. While I’m not always comfortable with change, I’m always looking forward to the new me.
One more example: someone very dear to me is saying goodbye to a life she has known for years and years. No. In my opinion she was born to have this life and she’s letting it go. Like hearing about a divorce of two really, really good friends I was shocked. At first. Then she said it: I. need. a. change. She’s assures me it’s for the best. Suddenly I see. Suddenly, I get it. Change is good for her and she is not afraid. For everyone else, I’ll bring out the milk and cookies.

Stop This Moment

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Someone called me this Grim Reaper this morning. I seem to circle death like a big ugly vulture. I’m like the black widow of the highway. Just last night I was thinking of how haunted I am (still!) by the man hit obliterated by several cars on the highway. I want to talk to him. I want to ask him where was he going? Did he really think he could cross four lanes of traffic in the darkdarkdark of winter? Did he know he was going to be mangled beyond recognition, no legs, no arms, no head- only clothes to make the man human? Then, I want to know to know why there weren’t any flowers, no makeshift memorials to mark someone’s mourning? Wasn’t someone saddened by your untimely demise? Doesn’t someone out there wake to find a void without you day after day? Aren’t you missed by somebody? Even now?

This morning on our way into work (I was driving) kisa and I caught the tail end of an accident of a different kind. Different, yet it was another horrific moment on the highway. Blacker than night smoke and a fireball at least 50 feet high. Cars starting to pile up, break lights glowing. Everything coming to a halt. Here’s what is rumored to have happened: a tanker truck carrying gasoline and diesel was cut off, he swerved to avoid hitting the car that had just cut him off, ended up hitting someone else, swerved again to avoid further damage and ended up hitting a third vehicle, partially going over a bridge and finally burst into flames. People rushed to his rescue. Here’s what drives me nuts. Conditions of any driver involved: unknown. It’s hard to imagine anyone surviving something like that. 

Here’s what I do know. Three cars and a truck. At least four different people going somewhere. Going about their business on the same highway. Four people in the same place at the same time. Not one of them said “I might lose my life today.” Not one of them said “Later I am going to be in the accident that will make the headlines. I will be lucky to be alive.” No one kissed a spouse goodbye and thought “Maybe I won’t see you later.” If kisa and I had left on time we could have been in that mess. Ten minutes earlier and we could have been that fourth vehicle. We could have. Could have.

Something to think about: A man from North Hampton, N.H. climbs in his truck and starts his long journey home. Another man settles into his compact car and turns the key thinking about March Madness. A woman looks over her shoulder as she backs down the driveway. She’s meeting a friend for coffee. Another woman pulls her seat belt across her lap as she pulls out of a parking spot. She has one more stop before heading home. Ordinary. Not one of them expects anything different.

Posted in Bad

Not Just Anyone

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paint it blackYou know that feeling when someone does something and you see it one way and that someone else sees it another? There is that weird disconnect between It Means A Lot and It’s No Big Deal? All night long I was stuck in the land of limbo.
First there was my JustFries man, making the trip to come hang out with me. Me, myself & moi! I invited. He accepted. Just like that. It was cool. When I thanked him for coming (because it meant a lot) he shrugged (like it was no big deal). No, really. It meant a lot. I want to join the Revolution and see you soon.
Then, there was the band. They weren’t even supposed to play. So what? I had driven over 2 hours to see them. So what? They didn’t owe silly me a performance. They could have turned around and driven back to wherever saying sorry! Your loss! Better luck next time! But, they found a place to play. And play they did. I loved Breakdown and Sympathy. They probably didn’t even get paid for their efforts but, but! But, they played as if they were each getting a cool mil. It was priceless to me.
Finally there was MrMissYou. My highlight of the night. I would have driven three times as far to hear a dedication like that. It may have meant nothing to you, but it meant the world to me.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that in the company of amazing people I find myself thinking I’m not just anyone. It’s no big deal to you or you or you, but it means everything to me.

There was only one other person I really missed that night. Maybe next time?

Continental Drift

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continental driftBanks, Russell. Continental Drift. New York: HarperPerennial, 2007.

This book was spellbinding.
Thing on LibraryThing: Russell Banks really knows how to tell a good story. On the surface, it’s about Bob Dubois and his downward spiral. Bob is a New Hampshire man who seems to have it all: a wife, two kids, a decent job, a house, a boat to take out on the weekends and even a girlfriend on the side. His problem: greed. He is a man who compares himself too often to the people around him: his brother, his best friend. He doesn’t let go of grudges or jealousies all that easily. Feeling like the man who has nothing to lose, he gives up everything to move to Florida for a “fresh start.” His tale is just the vessel for Banks to describe a society fueled by the overwhelming need for more and more. Excess is not enough. Bob soon learns the meaning of “good enough” when his life spins out of control.
One of my favorite parts is about halfway through the book, the two brothers, Bob and Eddie, are trying to have a conversation. Each one takes a turn to say something then the other responds. Only they aren’t talking about the same thing. Bob is trying to explain to Eddie that he (Eddie) needs to take away a handgun because Bob doesn’t understand himself anymore. He’s afraid of what would happen if the gun stays in his possession. Eddie responds that he has ulcers and his epilepsy has come back. Bob says he doesn’t want to kill anyone and Eddie reponds that he hates fukcing his wife. It’s comical and sad.

My favorite quotes:
“He’s never skied on water before; in fact, he’s never skied on any kind of surface, despite having been raised where people drive from cities hundreds of miles away just so they can spend a few hours careening down mountains on slats strapped to their feet” (p150). Having gone to school in “ski country” yet never skied, I can identify with this!
“She and her father never speak of the event again, not to each other and not to anyone else. There’s nothing to say about it to each other that is not already fully understood, so they remain silent about it, almost as if it never happened” (p 176). Can’t you just see this scene in a movie?
“There’s a mixture of passivity and will that he does not understand. They risk everything, their homes, their families, forsake all they know, and then strike out across the open sea for a place they’ve only heard about” (p 340). What struck me about this quote is where it’s coming from: Bob. Doesn’t he realize he’s just like them?

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter “It Was a Dark and Stormy Novel” (p 129). Pearl isn’t kidding. I’m surprised this hasn’t been made into a movie yet.