Behind Diary Door

dscn0085.jpgHow does quicksand turn into a luxurious mudbath? When do the fires of hell turn into a day at the beach? When you let yourself go. Friday night I had dinner with a friend and I was able to share things normally kept under lock and key. I worried about revulsion & recoil, but it never came. I don’t know what made me do it. At the last possible minute I felt I needed to come clean, bare my soul and announce this soul’s dark horse. It was at that instance that I felt the weight of something else leave my shoulders…the burden of taking it all so personally. My job, my family, my marriage. It all seemed so, so, pressing. So heavy, like a fat lady sitting on my lungs, not letting me breathe.
At that instance I knew I wouldn’t feel betrayed by the changing of the guard. Instead I would welcome the chance to stand watch. It’s my turn. Instead of feeling powerless and unprotected I would build my own coat of armor and suit up for whatever came my way. I’ll send the Old King out in high style and I won’t begrudge him for leaving.

And so it is time to turn to my family and friends, to dedicate time long overdue. I need dinner with my dearest friend. I need a laugh that is loud and long. There is someone I miss tremendously but I have a feeling he is otherwise preoccupied. Maybe I’ll text him on a lonely night. Maybe he’ll answer. In the meantime, my thoughts are on Bethel and blueberries.  

Abyssinian Chronicles

Abyssinian ChroniclesIsegawa, Moses. Abyssinian Chronicles. New York: Alfred A Knopf, 2000.

This took me absolutely forever to read. In the beginning Athenian Murders seemed more interesting. No, I take that back. It seemed a faster read. Honesty is the best policy. Then, I started Autumn Across America. Juggling two “landscapes” as sweeping as Abyssinian and Autumn wasn’t easy. Both are elaborate, even panoramic, if you will. Very descriptive. But, enough excuses – back to Abyssinian Chronicles.
This is story of Mugezi. It is more than a coming-of-age chronicle. It is Mugezi’s life story from childhood to harsh adulthood in the span of twenty years and the necessary means it took to survive each and every day. In addition, it weaves in the landscape of Uganda, the politics of the 1970s, society, religion, violence,  and the family traditions of African clan. It is panoramic and profound. Isegawa’s language is harsh, his subjects, brutal. For example, the children Mugezi looks after are caller “shitters.” A line that made me laugh outloud was Muzegi’s aunt’s warning to a woman who was letting herself go, “If she did not take care, Nakibuka thought, soon birds would be nesting in her hair, baby hippos snorting in her belly and hyenas rubbing their rumps in her armpits” (p 162). If you are anything like me, you read that sentence and said “whaaaat?” I read it twice, said “whaa?” and then laughed out loud. I have no idea what it means (especially the hyena part) but it was funny. Female cattiness. I can relate to that. But, probably the section I can relate to the most is a tie between politics and family. First, politics: “Local politics were also at work: you never bit the hand that fed you… Consequently, there was much turning of the other cheek and much patience in the hope that everything would turn out right in the end” (p 218). Words I should take to heart in my present situation. Now, family: “Grandpa’s old lawyerly dreams boiled inside me. I felt I had stepped onto holy ground” (p 341). I felt that way when I was training for the Leukemia Society…something about fighting the ghosts of cancer, cradled in my grandmother’s name…

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter “Africa: A Reader’s Itinerary” (p 3). While I called Isegawa’s novel panoramic and sweeping Pearl describes it as sprawling and ambitious. Either way it’s 462 pages long. I think you get the point.

ich liebe Dich

I paced the confines of love this weekend. The brutal kind, the tender kind and everything in between. I was witness to the hurt of fragile, barely-there love and the powerful, we-will-battle-mountains kind. I don’t know which moved me more. One kind had the lovers circling like angry animals, captured and caged, tormented and furious. Hell bent on hurt. The other was like a gentle whisper, a barely-there sigh, the scent of roses on the wind. Arms around each other, protective and private. So different!
I witnessed a healing love this Saturday. I am grateful I was invited to share in their day. It taught me a lesson I had truly forgotten. Love conquers all pain. Love challenges the spirit to continue when all seems lost. Love dares happiness in the face of despair. When he announced “I be wed” instead of I thee wed we all smiled, but deep in my heart I knew what he meant. He is anxious to join two lives into one perfect union. To get over the brutal past. Soon they will leave the U.S. and settle in Austria. They will open the perfect B&B and raise a perfect boy. They will move past the tragedies of there and then because what is more important is here and now.

Here and now. Live your life as though you will not wake to see tomorrow. Live in the way that makes you truly happy. Don’t sell yourself to the tragedies of yesterday, nor to the fear of regretting tomorrow. See the good thing you have in front of it and love it like no other. Make sacrifices only for the good of your heart for life is too short for anything else.

And don’t settle for fettucini if there is no alfredo.

Autumn Across America

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Teale, Edwin Way. Autumn Across America. New York: Dodd, Mead & Co., 1965.

I’m sure hundreds of books about traveling across the country have been written (I’m thinking specifically of Steinbeck’s Travels With Charley among others), but this is one of my favorites. It is a great combination of science and ecology, history and socialism with personal antidotes sprinkled throughout: a story of a deaf, mute man who lost his dog; the antics of sea otters playing in the surf; pages from John Muir’s diary and lines from Emerson’s poetry, to name a few. You can tell that Teale loves the land and everything above, around, on and in it. He has stories about birds and butterflies, deer and dogs, trees and turtles, flowers and faces. He introduces you to wonderful people, interesting facts. My favorite part, which I read outloud to kisa, involved scaring a pond load of birds only to have them all react in precisely the same way. Not one bird reacted more than another. They all did the exact same thing at the exact same time. I found that so fascinating.

My favorite line, by far, “We had, for the space of a whole glorious autumn, been time-rich” (p 356). Wouldn’t that be nice? Where would you go if you had a whole season to travel in?

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter appropriately called “Nature Writing” (p 173). Pearl writes, “…these books beckon us to emulate Teale’s own travels…” (p 174).

Today’s Lesson in Hats

hatsI have been schooled on secret security tactics. I have the pictures to prove it. I have been confounded by  no-clue keys leaving me clueless. I have been bombarded with banded business cards. He has shaken his head and laughed at me, not wishing my predicament on anyone. Funny, because he put me here. What could been next? Where is the next lesson coming from? To say that I waited with anticipation would make me a liar pants on fire. I dreaded whatever would happen.
Today’s lesson: hats. He came to me with paintings of hats. No. Let me clarify – each crude, ugly, painting had a hat in it somewhere. An Indian wearing a turban, a Mexican wearing a sombero, a military man wearing a helmet…you get the point. Hats. Elephant wranglers and Turkish dancers…all wearing hats. He came to me with hats; said he wanted them hung up. Was he kidding? Afraid not. He leaves me not with wise words or great guidance, but with hats.

Dreams of Diego

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My cousin is getting married. We could say “finally” but that wouldn’t polite. It’s our next big trip and I can’t wait. Hello, southern Cali! I love the west side of where we are and now I’m wondering if we can’t sneak in some southwest while we’re at it. Arizona? New Mexico? Nevada? I’m not a big fan of BigCityBrightLights and all that, but Vegas could be fun…for the food. Doesn’t Emeril have something out that way? I want to buy something turquoise, just to say I was there. I want cowboy boots in black. I want to see the Painted Desert – the place where Natalie says “the stars are so many they seem to overlap.” I wonder if they would rival Monhegan’s celestial night, but we’ll see. Speaking of rivalries, I want to see the San Diego zoo. Could it go head to head with my beloved Bronx? I want to see the Diego library. Five years ago Library Journal pronounced it the best library in the country. It’s public, but I’m not prejudice [inside joke for all those paying attention to my earlier rants, haha 😉 ]
Okay, so I’m suppose to go for my cousin’s wedding but here’s what I’m looking for: great food, beautiful animals, a plethora of books and the big, wide ocean. Not necessarily in that order.

ps~ The above pic is actually Colorado, taken by kisa. The only “western” pic I have on flickr…

Eyes & Orbits

Strange days, indeed. I found myself on the treadmill, running like the wind at 10pm. Later that night a storm rocked its way through my sleeping town, bringing its own high wind. Restless. Mother Nature and I are stormy restless, pacing our universes, begging for reprieve.
I love Google mail. It allows me to see the first line of someone’s message without opening the whole thing. Because of that preview, I opened someone’s mail this morning. There is calm after this storm. I am in the eye right now – where everything is still and silent for now. I have a minute to breathe and tell someone I love her dearly. I know she is worried about me. I have fragmented to the point where I’m worried about me, too. But, here’s what I want to tell my sweet friend: I will open up to you and you alone when I come to that place of acceptance. Right now I am railing against the rules of my life. The rules of my everything.
I am sorry hurt has you cornered, too. Orbits, indeed. I wish I could help you. Maybe in helping me I can help you? We will talk soon, I promise!
xoxoxoxo

This Should Be Me

Well, turn the beast around and there you have kisa and me. Horse’s ass…that would be me. Beloved kisa and the jackazz. I’m angry to the point of breaking something besides my heart. I want to throw something, punch someone, hide somewhere dark and dirty. He brings things out to his car and laughs at his new I-Could-Care-Less-Attitude. I miss the heart that bled for this place. I miss the I Would Do Anything attitude. I stand back helpless and watch him pack. When he holds up a mug and asks “want this?” I want to puke. Did they beat him down that badly? Does he hate this life that much? Did I push him too hard?
I negotiated for a better life and I got it. Some may say my attempt was feeble, the response, lame. But. But, I have never wanted for more than what I need. Ever. Can I help it if I hate this stage of the game? Feeling like I crawled over a still-warm carcass to grasp the tarnished prize. Watching him walk away is getting harder everyday. I don’t even know his shoe size so how can I even think about standing in them, forget filling them.

For You Only

Dear You,

 Thanks for not pushing me. Thanks for not “checking up on me.” It’s true that I haven’t checked my email, opened my mail or answered the phone. This little blog has been my only real form of communication with the outside world. I’m in lockdown mode. I’ve rolled over and played dead because I am more own worst enemy right now. I am both the hawk and the squirrel right now.
Tomorrow I leave for New York City…the Bronx to be precise. I couldn’t be happier to get away from everything here. I feel the vomit of disgust rising and it’s best if I step back before I say something too vile. I want to explore every inch of the Bronx zoo. I want to be a kid again. I want to escape my world for just a little while.
To RT~ give your grouch the biggest hug in the world and tell him I love him…even if he likes a guy who sings like nails on a chalkboard and dances like a snake on crack. I am sorry for his loss.
To NM~ to say thank you for something I haven’t seen seems odd but bear with me. As they say, I am in transition.
To MI~ see you tomorrow. I’ll be the one wanting to pet the animals with a balloon tied to her wrist.
And to you, I know you mean well. I’m just not used to pushing; to be greedy when all I feel is gratitude. I’m not afraid, just don’t feel I need to be awarded.

love, me

Big Dog Bite Me

big dogTalking at me. Everyone is talking at me. G says let’s negotiate. He has dollar signs for eyeballs and greed is in his back pocket. He thinks he can whore me out for a price. K says I’m outta here and good riddance. Middle finger raised on a gentleman’s fist. Head held proud with a fukc you behind the smile. A is offering advice as a friend yet I cannot hear what she says. My husband is offering strategy as a partner. Take ’em for all they’re worth. Don’t sell yourself short. Where have I heard that before? The head honcho is calling me dude. Am I in his back pocket? What should I do? I can’t even ask what would Jesus do without offending someone…mostly myself. The only religion that can help me now is the one called confidence. The big dog can no longer bite because that dog is me. Bigger than what I planned on, bigger than who I am right now. Big man on campus. This is what you wanted. They say its a marriage. New wife…new life, right? How many things can I go about changing in my big corner office?
He says I’m tough on people. That I expect too much and I’m pushing buttons. Better than pushing you. Did I push you? Did we throw cups of hot, scalding coffee at each other to see who ducks faster? Did we?  If we did, did I win? I didn’t feel the sting of boiling brew so I must have. Big dog me. This isn’t how I wanted it to be. Everyone talking at me.

Beloved Death

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When Natalie Merchant wrote ‘Beloved Wife’ she was criticized for writing from the point of view of a man. People couldn’t accept a character out of norm so suddenly she was either lesbian or just plain nuts. The point was missed; the lyrics completely unheard. What she was saying was far more unacceptable, far more controversial to our social norm. We don’t like people to die.
We  marry our soul mates. We spend forever and a day with them. Day in, day out is all about being with them, living and loving til death do you part. Ten years turn into twenty until an anniversary of gold looms. “For 50 years, simply my beloved wife.” He or she is all that we know. For life.
What happens when that bond is broken by death and our partner of forever is gone? How do we hang onto a life we no longer know? How do we accept one half of what used to be us and we? Natalie asks the tricky question – “would it be wrong if I should just turn my face away from the light, go with her tonight?” Dying of a broken heart happens all the time. Can we let it happen? “Surrender all the joy in my life, go with her tonight.” As a family member, can we let someone die because they believe being there is better than being here now?
When someone looks at you with empty eyes and swears they won’t live to see their next birthday are you being selfish by saying “Yes, you will. We love you”? When does love become too selfish? Is it possible to love someone beyond the boundries of enough? When is acceptable to let them go?

a depth so deep
into my grief
without my beloved soul
I renounce my life
as my right
now alone without my beloved wife
my beloved wife
                                       ~Natalie Merchant

Athenian Murders

Athenian MurdersSomoza, Jose Carlos. The Athenian Murders: a Novel. New York: Fahar, Straus & Giroux, 2002.

I read a review where a critic described this book as Russian dolls, one larger stacked upon another. It is the most accurate description I can think of. The Athenian Murders is indeed a story within a story within a story. The largest doll story takes place in Greece in the time of Plato. In fact, Plato’s Academy is center stage. Athens is plagued by the mysterious murders of several men and before the city can erupt in terror Hercules, the Decipherer of Enigmas, must solve the who-dunnit. Footnoted within the story is the second story – the nameless translator who has his own story to tell as he translates The Athenian Murders. Of course, there is a twist at the end with another story.
It took me a little while to really “get into” this story. I have to admit, I get annoyed by repetition and the word eidetic – let’s put it this way – eidetic or eidesis is used 50 times in the first 100 pages. Talk about repetition!

I have to ask. Is the scar on the right cheek (as mentioned on page 210), or on the left (p 217)?

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust and the chapter titled “The Classical World” (p 60).

Time Tempted

There are so many things crashing around in my head I couldn’t write a straight-up, this-is-my-life blog even if I wanted to. Like a maze of the brain I’m not even sure which way to start and it feels like there is no getting out. No way out.

The stupid things: there is a wasp buzzing in my office and there is a phone guy banging on my window. I don’t want the wasp to sting me, nor the maintenance guy to break the glass. I’m distracted by the worry of either (or both) of these things happening. I realize the wasp is just looking for a way out and the phone guy is just trying to rewire my office. Yet, I worry all the same. Don’t break my skin, nor my window.

The serious stuff: XCP needs registrations. I haven’t called the publics for liason capabilities. I just got the okay. ACE needs library interaction. We’ll set something up for the second week of school but it all takes planning. PALS starts in 3 weeks and I don’t think we are ready to serve our own public never mind theirs. I have a class in two days and I haven’t even looked at the schedule. Should I be worried that security clocked in but lied about where they went? Should I be concerned that I’m ignoring the vacation time I’m supposed to be taking? I don’t like butting heads with the clearly not here.

The other life: We bought a treadmill and I nearly ran 2.5 miles in 35 minutes. That doesn’t seem like much but consider this – warm up AND cool down are included in that 35. I’m getting there but I’ll blog elsewhere about the details. Grandad is giving up the fight. I hope he sees ghosts. My friend is pining for a married someone and she can’t walk away. Won’t let go. I don’t know who is hurting more. Cape Cod seemed a necessary journey if only to call it home. I recognize the damaged goods in myself. Thank you letters are not flowing from the pen like they should. What more can you say beyond simple gratitude? I got your letter. I’m just thinking of something to say beyond HowAreyou?

Time tempted: I made chicken tortilla soup last night. Red peppers and sweet vidalias sauteed with chunks of chicken, salt, pepper, coriander, thyme and cumin. Fresh salsa. Avocado, lime, tomatoes, cilantro, homemade tortilla strips seasoned with chili and cajun spices. Pepper jack cheese. Served with chili-lime corn on the cob and cold beer. Summer fiesta. Tonight I want to smoke pork chops in sweet apple wood chips. Serve them with crispy garlic green beans and chunky apple sauce…or maybe roasted broccoli and spicy apple rings made from Grannies. I don’t have a lot of time to think out meals.
Two nights ago I slept in fear of calf cramps. Last night the dreams were worse. I see you as I want you to be.

The Guardians

The GuardiansCastillo, Ana. The Guardians. New York: Random House, 2007.

I received this book as one of those Early Reviewer books from Librarything.
Four different first-person voices tell the story of The Guardian. Regina (middle-aged, sassy entreprenuer looking after her brother’s son, Gabo), Gabo (Regina’s nephew. Serious, religious, older than his 16 years, heaviest on the Spanish, started running with a tough crowd), Miguel (a teacher and activist, has a laid back way of looking at the world around him, sizes people up accurately, has an interest in Regina), El Abuelo Milton (Miguel’s grandfather. He is described as being blind but can see Regina clear enough to call her a Helen of Troy goddess), The voices are accurate for each character. True to the elderly, Milton is always thinking about the past, Miquel remembers his activism days, Gabo searches for religious expression, and Regina tries to hold everything together.

The premise of this story is these four characters join together to solve the mystery of Gabo’s missing father after he disappears while crossing the Mexican border. Intertwined in the plot are political statements about drugs, the environment, gangs, immigration; as well as humanitarian statements about culture, relationships, families and community.

I find it interesting that Regina & Gabo both mention how avocados are the only thing Regina can’t grow in her garden. They also both mention changing the dog’s name. It’s as if both are trying to make excuses for these things.

Literary references mentioned:

  • One Hundred Years of Solitude by Garcia Marquez,
  • 1968: The Year That Rocked the World by Mark Kurlinsky,
  • Communist Manifesto by Friedrich Engels and Karl Marx,
  • The Idiot, Crime and Punishment, The Brothers Karamazov and The Gambler by Dostoyevsky,
  • Das Kapital by Karl Marx,
  • The Jungle by Upton Sinclair,
  • The Underdogs by Mariano Azuela,
  • Things Fall Apart by Achebe, and
  • The Second Coming by Yeats.

I know I’m not supposed to quote the book until it’s been published, but I can’t help it. I identified with Regina the most because all my favorite quotes came from her. “Not knowing when you are being teased also comes from being alone for inordinate amounts of time” (p 49). “Not being elegant doesn’t mean you don’t have class” (p 138). “No dream is too big when you are that young” (208).

Absent Friends

Absent FriendsBusch, Frederick. Absent Friends: Stories. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1989.

“From the New World”
Norman is a man returning to his childhood home after his father’s passing to divy up belongings with his sister, his last surviving family member. I found myself yawning through this short story as it’s a well-known plot. Son is disowned for marrying outside his color (although they blame it on something else). His father leaves him $2,000 while his sister, Anna, gets everything else. Norman feels disconnected from Anna. The clever parts: Norman is a film producer so the story is told in script language, from Norman’s p.o.v. One particular scene is played out like a poker game, with conversation acting as the card values – bluffing and backstabbing. My favorite line: from page 61, Tess (Norman’s wife) is talking about love, “that shows you…how chewed up and spat out and stepped on on the sidewalk that word can be.” 

“Ralph the Duck”
You never learn his name. He’s some security / maintenance guy at a college taking classes on the side. He calls himself “the world’s oldest college student” even though he knows he’s not. When he gets a ‘D’ on an assignment (called Ralph the Duck) he lets the disappointment leak out.

“Comrades”
I pictured a tightrope walker when reading this story. The walker carries a pole called “Relationship” and when he waivers to the right he is feeling loving towards his wife. When he teeters to the left, he has animosity. The couple decides to divorce as amicably as possible but the tension and anger is always just below the surface.

“Orbits”
A commentary on getting old. On parenting. On life slipping away, unstoppable. My favorite line, “Her mother limped into the house and they sat in the memory of her tension” (p 100).

“Greetings From a Far-Flung Place”
I could relate to this story. She is a singer in a second rate band. She travels around with a group of men and no one in her family can understand her life. Her sister is married, has a kid, lives the suburban life, and is lonely. Mom is widowed and can understand sis better than singer.

“Naked”
Seen through the eyes of a 13 year old boy. He witnesses adult relationships and experiences changing loyalties. My favorite line, “And I still don’t know if he meant wait for seconds or for years” (p 125).

“In Foreign Tongues”
A group of people in therapy talk their way through their problems outside of sessions. Lonely in the middle of Manhattan.

“Gravity”
The gravity of growing old, getting older. The gravity of weight, of life. The gravity of death. Seriousness and weight.

“Dog Song”
What’s that Harrison Ford movie where he’s a lawyer, gets shot, and has to relearn his life (only to discover he’d been leading the double life of infidelity)? “Dog Song” is like that. Richard is a judge who gets into a horrible car accident (on purpose?). As he slowly remembers the accident, details start to surface. He was in the car with his mistress…

“One More Wave of Fear”
Family life in Brooklyn. One kid’s memory of growing up – from catching squirrels in the attic to going on nature walks with the fam. My favorite line sums up that age, “I didn’t want to be mistaken for someone who cared about birds” (p 201).

“North”
I could mistake “North” for so many things. Kelly divorces her husband because he won’t look North of her female features, She wants to head North – two hours to the Adirondaks – but she doesn’t. “North” is the story of a woman who needs an internal compass.

“Reruns”
“Reruns” was tricky. A doctor’s estranged wife is kidnapped by terrorists in the Middle East. The doctor could care less if she is released but for the sake of his children he plays the part of concerned father. In the end the reader is left wondering how much does he not care?

“Name the Name”
This was actually one of my favorite stories. Told from a traveling teacher’s point of view, he travels to children who can’t be in school for whatever reason. A 12 year old is 7 months pregnant, a girl tries to commit suicide and is on a ventilator, his own son is in jail for nearly two weeks. It’s about commitment and responsibility – owing up to the name.

“To the Hoop”
After his wife commits suicide a father and son struggle to get back on track. Using basketball as for “getting back into the game” both literally and figuratively, both father and son learn to try again. I think this passage sums it up,”He was on the stairs, and something like “good night” trailed his slow and heavy-footed climb. So I was alone, with ham and good intentions, and the usual fears that ranged from drugs to teenage schizophrenia. Jackie had died alone, and in silence. She had left us no word” (p 267).

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust and the chapter “Frederick Busch: Too Good To Miss” (p 48). This is the second collection of short stories I have read from Busch so far.