Don’t get me wrong. I love to cook. I absolutely adore being in the kitchen, making my own meals, creating my own plates of goodness. But, but, but. There is something to be said for the man who can bring it to the table himself. I’m not talking about the guy who blah, blah, blah brags about how great his meals are. I’m not talking about the guy who sounds positively gay discussing his creme brulee, knife skills or turducken. I’m talking about the quiet guy…the guy who sheepishly says, “yeah… I guess I can try” when I mention starting up the pasta or pan searing the sausage or something. I have a soft spot for the man who, despite being scared, somehow serves something special. I love, love, love the humble guy cook. The guy closet chef who has no clue what he’s doing…but tries anyway.
Over the course of one Sunday I served up International servings: Swedish meatballs with smooth sour cream and bright current jelly, Polish kielbasa -cooked long with spicy-sweet BBQ sauce, and Thai chicken bites with lime, cilantro and vibrant green curry. The time before that I was exploring the ocean with garlicky, clilantro-y, citrusy salmon (my first time taking a pair of pliers to a fish). None of these dishes compared to the meal already made for me. Ready for my mouth the moment I walk in the door. He says he can’t cook. He says he has no clue what he’s doing. He tastes good to me.
Author: gr4c5
I write. I read. I cook. I run. That's me, in a nutshell.
Say It In Song
If memories are the stories of my life, music paints the pictures of my past, my present and my unknown future. The yet-to-come is contained in lyrics not yet listened to. I haven’t heard them. The heartbeat of songs not yet sung. The melody unknown. Not mine, not yet.
For now, I’ll hear the here and now. That’s what I should do. Here and now. I’ll listen to it over and over, chase it down, hunt like a phantom obsession. I know what I like. I know what’s not mine. “Gonna get what’s mine. Wild horses couldn’t keep it from me. Papa says I’m a golden child. The whole world’s gonna fall at my feel. It’s all coming to me. ~ Natalie Merchant” The soundtrack to a time I can’t compete with. Never forget. A time so sweet. Wish you were there again.
A child grows in the womb, a mother gives up her tumored fight. A grandfather finds his beloved wife. A man finds love on the run. A woman prepares for her own run. The heart of life beats on. Carries on. I hear it in song. So, sing to me.
Tomorrow is Today
I’m literally at a loss for words today. If I could climb into the attic of my mind, and you watched me, you would find me picking up stray thoughts, turning them over and over, considering them – weighing the weight of them, pondering their importance and, ultimately, putting them down again, not discarding, just avoiding. I have a few things up there in that attic. I am still in mourning over a quiet death. I am still not feeling 100% well. Both my heart and body are on the mend. It’s just taking a little longer than I expected. There is more.
I ran last night. While I am happy to have faced the Gerbil wheel again I know not to get too excited. I could fall off again just as easily as when I got on. I know myself. I’m still feeling an October hurt. I’m still nursing a December disappointment. 2008 hasn’t come quietly. But, the good news is I ran easily. I ran confidently. Rubber raced under my feet while I watched three miles tick by. Simply starting over.
Tomorrow I see a friend. Someone to listen to. I don’t want to talk about me. I’d rather forget me for a while. I’ll let the attic lay dark, let the thoughts sleep quiet. It will be nice.
Obsession with Words
Everyday I listen to a song that has me in angry tears. I listen to it two, three…okay, sometimes even more than three times a day. I have no idea why I am so addicted. Drawn to pain, I really can’t turn from it. I told myself there’s a nice drum fill in it, but that’s not it…really, it’s these words:
“Every morning waking in a fever, wet, and shaking. My heart inside me pounding, muddy water all around me. Cold, shocked and speechless. Can anybody reach us? And, why? Oh God, why?…
Gone and lost my patience with this hopeless situation. Oh yeah, I’m alive, the lonely sole survivor. Spared me for a reason, picking up the pieces. But, why? Oh God, why?”
Oddly enough, whenever I cook (the last four or five meals, anyway) there’s another song kicking around. I’ve been singing, “I never meant to be so bad to you…one thing I said I would never do. One look from you and I would fall from grace and that would wipe the smile right from my face…” and a picture a chick doing gymnastics on television sets. How very bizarre!
These words couldn’t be further apart in terms of meaning, time, artists and space. Yet, inside my head, here they live side by side. Day in and day out I am obsessed with the words.
From the Sky
Is it wrong to have favorite moments from a funeral? Is it wrong to find small laughs and smiles amid the sorrows? We approach the “home” in a black clad seriousness, create small family clusters and murmur small talk about illnesses; it’s the weather’s fault. We all agree. Nod seriously. We want to avoid the real reason why we have gathered. Soon enough it is time to start. Quietly, we shuffle to seats and send furtive glances at the flower laden casket. So many flowers. Tissues and tears emerge in front of just-reminded, grief-stricken faces. We haven’t lost sight of why we are here, after all.
Funerals are for the living, of this I am convinced. It is our chance to praise, to love, to remember, to pay respect, to say goodbye. We may even realize or learn something for the first time. He didn’t miss a day of work. Made his girl pay her own bus fare home on their first date. He lost friends in the war and never, ever forgot their names or their faces. He was dedicated to worrying about family so you didn’t have to. He shared a love of Red Sox with his grandson. He had a Beloved Wife and shared over 60 years of marriage with her. He died of a broken heart.
At graveside the air is crisp, the sky a brilliant blue. Taps is played and suddenly a strong wind blows up, shaking snow from the overhanging tree. A saluting soldier is hit squarely in the face with a Mother Nature snowball, yet he does not flinch, doesn’t move – not an inch. Doesn’t move a muscle. A final joke played from beyond? We all glance at the flag covered casket in wonder. He loved to laugh, too.
But, that, I knew.
Americanization of Benjamin Franklin
Wood, Gordon S. The Americanization of Benjamin Franklin. New York: Penguin, 2004.
Benjamin Franklin celebrates a birthday in January (on the 17th day in the year 1706 to be precise; in other words, today); hence my reading of his biography (one of many on my list).
Let me say first and foremost that Mr. Franklin is a personal hero of mine for advocating for libraries so much! If it were not for him who knows where my profession would be. I do not, however, approve of his treatment of his wife Deborah. Can you imagine being married to someone who insisted on living in a different country (and only returns home after your death)? Even Franklin’s friends made no mention of Deborah’s passing after he returned to America.
Wood’s biography deals mostly with Franklin’s political aspirations and most pointedly, his “switch” from supporting Britain to supporting America (hence “americanization” in the title). Of course, Franklin’s involvement in postal services and electricity were also touched upon, but only because they are important elements to Franklin’s history.
My favorite quotes:
“Things that struck him as new and odd were always worth thinking about, for experiencing them might advance the boundaries of knowledge” (p 62).
“…but Franklin thought the electrical charge necessary to kill large animals might end up killing the cook” (p 64).
“The degree of Franklin’s Revolutionary fervor and his loathing of the king surprised even John Adams, who was no slouch himself when it came to hating (p 154).
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter called “Founding Fathers” (p 91).
You Call Yourself
You call yourself a fan when all I can think is fraudulant fanatic. You are given gifts and all you can do is gripe, bitch and moan. Crass complaints instead of compliments. Questioning and quarrelling. There is no gratitude or grace in your words. There was no reason beyond simple generosity yet your greedy little heart wanted more and more. You turned a deaf ear to the offer and called for much more. Before, during and after. Laid before you were the new words from a broken heart, a soul bared still grieving, yet all you want are old words, sung too many times over. New doesn’t excite you. You want yesteryear as if nothing could be better. If you can’t move on why move this way at all? You didn’t read the letters outlining the expectations. Didn’t you know your gifts came with a purpose? Of course not for you only listened to what you wanted, disappointed when you didn’t get it. You embarrass me.
There is a rudeness to you. You wave your paltry collection like some sultan. Did you think there would be gratitude on bended knee, a bowed head murmuring thank you for all you have given? You think your donation is the salve to soothe the situation. The end all, be all answer to the cause.
You call yourself a friend when you don’t pay back debts or walk two way streets. I won’t ever acknowledge you. Unlike you, I walk away from the past when it becomes meaningless, useless, stupid and loud. There is a time and place for everything and you aren’t anything. Not to me at least.
So, call yourself fan. Call yourself friend. Then tell yourself you failed at both.
The Dollmaker
Arnow, Harriette. The Dollmaker. New York: Avon, 1972.
Weighing in at 599 pages this book truly can be called a saga. It’s the story of Gertie Nevens, a simple country woman from Kentucky during World War II. After her husband moves to Detroit, Michigan to find work in the factories, Gertie follows with her five children. Life in the city is cold, dirty, and unkind. Gertie learns of prejudices against “hillbillies” and the importance of the word “adjust”. There is tragedy and triumph with human frailty constantly hanging in the balance. At times I couldn’t believe the hard times Gertie and her family faced. It almost seemed too much to bear. Gertie’s strongest moments are in the very beginning of the book when she has to save her baby from a life threatening illness. After moving from Kentucky it’s as if the city steals Gertie’s strength and spirit.
“…for after the bright whiteness of the hot little room, the cold rain and dark were like old friends” (p 38).
The government owed them at least one man who could fix anything and never got drunk” (p 108).
“‘Are you busy?…Yes and no…I’m in the worst kind of business – tryen to make up my mind'” (p 260).
“She stood, her mind, as always, stumbling around, picking up words, laying them down” (p 538).
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter “Big Ten Country: The Literary Midwest” & the section ‘Michigan’ (p 26).
Sweet Sorrow
Over 15 years ago I was roaming the streets of New York City, oblivious to the fact that at home a life was slowing slipping away. Unable to communicate the seconds of precious life ticked by while I took in Cats and the Russian Tea Room. I got there in time but I never forgave myself for not getting there sooner. I just never thought it would happen again. Dancing around New York City while death danced too close at home. Too much to understand.
You will never know how guilty I feel for not being there. I should have held your hand. I should have seen you through the pain. I know you will tell me it was bad timing, that it just happened that way, but when you choked back the words I knew I should have been there. You tried to tell me you were okay. Even if you were, I wasn’t. Forgive me for taking a little time to get over the irony – for the exact moment I closed my eyes in exhausted slumber, he closed his eyes for good. Forgive me for feeling far away and failed.
I’m here now.
Just a Song
Sometime ago I said that life was too busy for supporting & following & being obsessed by music. I think what I meant was these days I am being far more selective about the music I hear and how far I’ll go to stand before it. Recently, I went on a Natalie binge. Call me crazy, but four years is too long to go without hearing that voice live. Unlike myself I wanted a night upclose and a night far away. Unlike myself I made no attempt to remember the setlist. Unlike myself I made no attempt to get the perfect picture & in fact, refuse to post the ones that actually came out decent. I’ll leave that for some other adoring fan to do. Here is a list of the songs I heard. They are not all from the same night, nor are they in the “correct” order. The time listening to Natalie was too precious to worry about perfection.
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Carnival~ this is the only one I will fess up to putting in the correct order. Every single time she came out on stage this was the song she performed first. It makes sense. This is her ode to New York; a nod to the city she adores. I have to say I was spellbound when she first appeared. It really had been too long. “Wide eyed misfit prophet, on a traffic island, stopped. And he raged of saving me.”
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Build a Levee ~ This is a personal fave of mine. “You’ll fall under an evil spell just looking at his beautiful face.”
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I’m not Gonna Beg ~ Where’s the boa? “I know ‘once upon a time’ and ‘ever after’ is a lie.”
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At the Fair ~ Introduced as Robert Frost this is a Bonnie Raitt cover…” I swear another night is fallin'”
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Sonnet #73~ Natalie was asked by the Royal Shakespeare Company to collaborate with Gavin Bryans for his Nothing Like the Sun project & put a sonnet to music. She chose #73 and said a few words about the Black Death and how many people died…typical Nat. “When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang.”
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The Equestrienne ~ A story about a circus by Rachel Field. Natalie created a song out of part of the story involving a white horse. “See the girl in pink on a milk white horse.”
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Janitor’s Boy ~ A song written by Nathalia Crane when she was 10 years old. Natalie put it to music & sang it in a 1920’s vaudville sort of way, very fun and flirty. “He’ll carry me off I know that he will, for his hair is exceedingly red: and the only thing that occurs to me is to dutifully shivers in bed.”
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If No One Marries Me by Laurence Alma-Tadema~ “And when I’m getting really old, at twenty-eight or nine I’ll buy a little orphan girl and bring her up as mine.”
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The Man in the Wilderness from Mother Goose~ a strange little poem about a man in the wilderness and asking about strawberries in the sea…
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Texas ~ a new song of Natalie’s that seemed a warning about having it all. “I don;t mind if I have to kill a little honey bee.”
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Life is Sweet ~ I have to admit I cried during this song. I think Natalie avoided singing it one night just because someone requested it. The jury is still out on that one…”It’s high time you make up your own sweet little mind.”
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Wonder ~ the anthem is still strong. The best part was Natalie’s special guest, “How I confound you and astound you.”
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Golden Boy ~ and to think we have so many more Golden Boys to talk about since Columbine. “Meteor rise from obscurity and all it took was a killing spree.”
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Go Down Moses ~ this is probably my favorite song. It’s haunting and hurting as only a song about Katrina moving through New Orleans could be. “But it so hard without you…cold shocked and speechless can anyone reach us?”
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Giving Up ~ another new Natalie song…
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The End ~ If anyone remembers Natalie’s 2004 tour they will remember the peace banner Natalie held up during Gulf of Araby. It was back for The End. “When we give up the barrel and the blade…”
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Tell Yourself ~ Natalie tested us with this one. She said “I wrote this for my 13 year old niece…any guesses?” “You’ll never be like the anorexic beauties in the magazines.”
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Village Green Preservation Society~ Who would have thought The Kinks would show up in a Natalie show.? Erik & Gabe helped Nat make this hysterical.
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Break Your Heart ~ while I miss the horn section on this song the cello was a good replacement. “See the push and shove for their rewards”
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From the Time You Say Goodbye~ what a lovely surprise. I never thought I would get to hear this love. “Keep a prayer within your heart that the time will surely fly”
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Tension ~ although this was just a snippet it was awesome to hear Natalie’s very first song. “A thought mistaken for a memory”
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Kind & Generous~ The time to give Natalie gifts… “My love and respect for you”
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Letter ~ I know I have never heard this live before. “but the truth it would reveal knowing you brought me pleasure…”
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Motherland ~“Where in hell can you go?”
I will never be able to really write about this experience. It was a pleasure. Special thanks to Germany, Scotland and to the great city of New York.
Don’t Ask Me
Have you ever had an experience so profound you can’t really open your mouth to share it with anyone else? You want to selfishly hoard the time as your own and talk around the moment that really moved you, speaking of smaller, less important parts of time. All the while there is this avoidance, this slight tremor of anxiety that someone else experienced your moment and will want to share it back to you, to vocalize it, trivialize it, and in the end, ultimately destroy it? With the damage done and the moment passed there is nothing left to do but turn the whole thing away.
I have yet to really talk about 363 W 16th Street and the things I saw and heard there. I’m holding them close, holding them sacred, as to not lose the importance of the profound experience. Don’t ask me. Yet.
Sky Reaching
Sometimes, sometimes all it takes is a different perspective to right a wrong, heal a hurt, or just plain move on from something. I spent a lot of time looking up this weekend, both literally and figuratively. I found the cure for complacency is insecurity. I found that the push and pull of heart strings can be both painful and pleasing. I cried a little this weekend, but definitely laughed more. Friends who were a little too big for me are starting to fit better, closer. Perspectives do change when you get closer and I like what I see.
I went into a sea of nobody I knew and somehow felt better about the face in the mirror when I got home. I still don’t understand black sunglasses in the dark, wearing the sound of disgust on your feet, or gypsy cabbies. What I do know is that I was glad to share that world, for a little while. A little while is all I needed. We came confused about Chipotle and left with wrong trains and missing Starbucks. The city didn’t change us, yet somehow, in some way, I’m different. Looking up has a different look to it.
So, to you and you. I will see you later. And we’ll look up some more.
Funnies (with spoiler)
Lennon, J. Robert. The Funnies. New York: Riverhead, 1999.
Tim Mix’s father wrote a comic strip based on his family. Growing up, this comic strip was a source of embarrassment to Tim. Yet, when his father passes away and Tim’s only inheritance is the very comic strip he hated, he decides to try his hand at taking over the strip. Tim is a sarcastic, barely ambitious man who is terrible at conversation, worse at relationships both personal and with his family. This is a formula that always works – the unlikable, unlikely hero goes through a metamorphosis and comes out a pretty decent guy. In the end he doesn’t succeed with the funnies, but he gets the girl.
“This time the pause was longer, a nice slack length of rose to hang the conversation with” (p 52).
“I pushed gently at the sore spot in me and it hurt enough for me to turn away as I talked” (p 132).”
“Susan offered me a bite of her corn dog. I refused, still queasy from the Centrifuge of Death, but didn’t tell her this, and I feared that this rebuff without explanation would give offense. Then I came to my senses and simply let it go. It was a wonderful feeling, like dropping off a box at the Goodwill” (p 155).
And my favorite quote, “I let happiness run its course through me, knowing that it wouldn’t last, but also knowing it would always be there somewhere waiting for me, if I made the effort to find it. This understanding seemed an almost criminally excessive piece of good fortune, but for the time being I accepted it without question” (p 274). For some reason this reminded me of me.
BookLust Twist: From Book Lust twice. Once in the chapter called “Brothers and Sisters” (p 46), and “Families in Trouble” (p83).
Thousand Acres
Smiley, Jane. A Thousand Acres. New York: Fawcett Columbine, 1991.
I’ll admit it. It took me forever to even want to read this book even though it has been sitting on my book shelf for months, right within easy reach. I tried picking up Moo a few times and something made me keep putting it down. I have no clue why. I assumed A Thousand Acres would be the same difficult to pick up experience. I was wrong. Once I got into it, Thousand Acres was fascinating, troubling and oh so true to family life. I’ve never lived on a farm. I’ve never set foot in Iowa, but thanks to Smiley I knew exactly what both would be like.
One thing I didn’t understand, nor will I ever, is how a family can so completely and utterly fall apart. By the end of the book not one family is intact and it’s all because of a thousand acres.
“You shouldn’t think somethings changed just because you haven’t seen it in thirteen years” (p 11).
“It was exhausting just to hold ourselves at the table… You felt a palpable sense of relief when you gave up and let yourself fall away from the table and wound up in the kitchen getting something, or in the bathroom running the water and splashing it on your face” (p 101).
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter called “Big Ten Country: The Literary Midwest (Iowa)” (p 27) and Book Lust in the chapter “Growing Writers” (p 107). Personally, I think Pearl also could have put this in her “Families in Trouble” chapter. Not to give anything away but…who tries to poison her own sister? Who does that?
Beyond the Black Stump
Shute, Nevil. Beyond the Black Stump. New York: William Morrow, 1956.
Nancy Pearl likes Nevil Shute. There is a whole chapter on him in More Book Lust. This being my first “Shute book” I was enchanted. Beyond the Black Stump is about an American geologist, Stanton Laird, who is assigned to dig for oil in Australia. Stanton is a stand-up guy with a secret in his past, but when he meets and falls in love with Mollie Regan in the Australian outback, he realizes can’t compete with her past. This is the story of two people too different to make it work. It goes beyond race or religion. Prejudices and historical resentments run deep for both families. Despite the plot being predictable I enjoyed getting to the conclusion no matter how obvious it would be.
“It’s the greed for the gold, the curse of the modern age. Avarice kills more men than any physical disease, I am afraid. These men will not make old bones” (p 136).
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter “Nevil Shute: Too Good To Miss” (p 199).
~*LunaSea*~ 