Powers That Be

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

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

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

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

Bob and the Vandals

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

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

Cult of Personality

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

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

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

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

Chocolate for Cheaper

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

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

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

March 2009 is…

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

Here’s what is on the list for March:

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

If there is time:

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

And for fun it is:

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

For the Early Review Program it is:

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

February (2009) Was…

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February started the month with a big ole bang. First, there was the Gee-I-Couldn’t-Have-Predicted-the-Winner-of-This-Matchup Superbowl. Then, there was me. Turning 40. Then, add in Smiley’s birthday, a rockandroll party and approval for financing, a memorial and a visit from mom… all in the first week! Like I said, February started with a bang! Then it turned into the wait and see month…which ended in a house!

For books it it was:

  • Cult of Personality by Annie Murphy Paul. A fun, informative read!
  • The Extraordinary Voyage of Pytheas the Greek by Barry Cunliffe. Not so fun.
  • The Good Patient by Kristin Waterfield Duisberg ~probably one of my favorites of the list.
  • The Color Purple by Alice Walker ~ really, really hard to read. So sad!
  • Fool by Frederick Dillen ~ very psychological.
  • The Inn at Lake Devine by Elinor Lipman ~ very cute.
  • Bedtime for Frances by Russell Hoban ~ speaking of cute!
  • Not a Day Goes By by E. Lynn Harris ~ a very, very quick read in honor of Black History Month
  • A Reconstructed Corpse by Simon Brett in honor of National Theater Month even though the acting in this mystery doesn’t take place on a stage…
  • Tracks Across America by Leonard Everett Fisher ~ in honor on National Railroad Month
  • The Powers That Be by David Halberstam ~ in honor of Scholastic Journalism month

As you can see, I did a lot of reading during that “wait and see” time! In the end, February was full of emotions as well as books and finally, finally a house!

I didn’t get to A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens and I started When the Time Comes by Paula Span – an Early Review book (review coming in March).

Bedtime for Frances

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Hoban, Russell. Bedtime for Frances. New York: Scholastic, 1960.

Sometimes it is difficult to reread something from your childhood. I hate to admit that. Really. To me, that implies a loss of something special. I hit a roadblock when I reread Bedtime for Frances. Simply put, it is a cute little story about a badger that can’t fall asleep. She finds many reasons to stay awake: she needs kisses from her parents, she needs another glass of water, she hears a monster, and she sees a monster. The list goes on and on. This isn’t a badger only phenomenon. As a kid I can remember not wanting to go to sleep and finding a million reasons why I shouldn’t. Once I overheard my parents watching a program in the other room. It was Billy Joel talking about piano lessons. When he demonstrated the exercises he remembered from childhood I jumped out of bed and came running; for those were the very same exercises I had been practicing just the day before. But, back to the problem with rereading some books for kids. Instead of finding Frances cute or even laughable I was annoyed with her dare I say, childish antics. I identified more with the parents who wanted to eat their cake, drink their tea and watch television in peace. I couldn’t understand why they gave into every little Frances whim and request! In the end Frances fell asleep despite having a real life distraction to really keep her awake.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lustin the chapter, “Russell Hoban: Too Good To Miss” (p 113).

Living in Limbo

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As you might have guessed, we have started living in the new house. It doesn’t really feel like OUR house yet. The cat won’t come out from under the bed. In every room there seems to be a reminder of the old owner. Behind ever closet door a secret dying to be told. To date I have found 21 cans of diet soda, ten rolls of Christmas wrapping paper, 5lb hand weights, eight bottles of beer, three pairs of sunglasses, a model corvette kit, binoculars in a fancy case, all kinds of baskets in different shapes and sizes, a Mickey Mouse phone, four Christmas plates, a huge Italian style serving tray (that spins!), an Easter basket (literally), a Halloween dish, tons of gift bags, spare change, bags of epsom salt, coat hangers, large bike hooks…Curtains stayed on some windows. Candles still stand silent and dark in the fireplace. Expensive phones are still plugged in. When someone asked me what kind of housewarming gift the sellers left I didn’t know what to say. These people didn’t want to leave. Why would they want to thank us for moving in when they obviously didn’t want to move out?

On the other side of moving in is moving out. Middle Street is still a mess. We made a mad late night dash to retrieve a few things. Clothes for work. Hoses for the washing machine. Wrenches for the treadmill (that’s another story altogether!). Contact lens solution. Indiana’s favorite toy. My ipod. tivo box. The coffee maker, milk, sugar, coffee and (forgot the) coffee scoop. Coming back was like thieving. We snuck in and scrambled to take what we needed. It felt furtive. We rushed around stuffing bundles of things in bags without really knowing what we were taking. “Entering and breaking and taking in every room.” So we were. It looked like miniature bombs had exploded in every corner. I couldn’t find more than one spare pair of underwear to save my life yet I found a toe ring embedded in the bedroom carpet.

Later, much later exploring the aisles of a super-scary Super Wal-Mart I felt criminal. In my coat pockets I had a cordless phone, a cell phone, nail scissors, nail clippers, tweezers, a cat toy, a head of garlic, one pair of underwear, a box of picture hangers, a box of thumb tacks, an ipod, a toe ring, a receipt from Starbucks, a to-do list from last year, a wallet, two sets of keys, a wad of cash, and two days worth of mail. I’m surprised I wasn’t searched on the way out.

It will be awhile before I feel that there is a place for everything and even longer before everything is in its place.

Icing the Wings

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 Take me home

We don’t know when we will close. How silly is that? The biggest purchase of my entire life and I don’t know when it will happen. I knew there was trouble last Thursday when kisa said there was a “miscommunication” with the seller’s lawyer. Whatever that means. Unprofessional moment #1. It was hard to go to bed not knowing the plan for the next day. No idea of the walk-through; no idea of the closing. But, I had a good idea it wouldn’t happen at all. A feeling of helplessness was mounting and all I wanted to do was vent – to cry on someone’s shoulder. I’m at the point where I just want to be done with this whole thing. Anticipation is giving way to frustration.

Friday comes and goes. Kisa and I are at the mall. Anxiety is creeping in and people are starting to look stranger and stranger. I couldn’t admit to being okay. We try to stay busy to stay focused. I’m buying candles to light the gloom: gardenia, tea & honey, cedar & pine, and HomeSweetHome (as if!). When we get home every time the phone rings I retell the story and it gets funnier and funnier. It all comes down to a bad boob job. Suddenly, I’m making breast jokes like a guy.

Finally, it’s Sunday and we are back where we started. It’s Thursday night in reverse. We don’t know when we are closing. We don’t know anything. It’s as if we are on a plane, sitting on the tarmac. We are about to embark on a fabulous, once-in-a-lifetime vacation. There’s nervous energy in the air. We are excited. We’ve planned for weeks. But, we’re not moving. Minutes turn into hours and there is no explanation for the delay. The idea of going anywhere seems slim, yet we do not understand why. The captain comes on and to say there has been a miscommunication with the tower. Whatever that means. All we know is that we aren’t embarking on that fabulous vacation. We’re stuck looking at the airport terminal. Our bags are packed – have been for days. Yet we cannot move.

Tracks Across America

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dscn0495Fisher, Leonard Everett. Tracks Across America: The Story of the American Railroad 1825-1900 with photographs, maps, and drawings. New York: Holiday House, 1992.

My father-in-law has a love affair with trains. He can’t wait for me to move out of his house so he can set up his ultimate railroad village complete with snow covered trees and a ski loving community. I can’t say I blame him. There is a romance associated with the railroad whether it’s the real deal or in miniature.

I think Fisher’s title would have been only slightly more accurate if he had added the word quotations to “with photographs, maps, and drawings” because that’s all that was missing. In addition to an informative narrative and the before mentioned photos, maps, and drawings Fisher includes fitting quotes from Charles Dickens, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Woodrow Wilson as well as song lyrics and poetry fitting of the railroad era. While Tracks Across America is a condensed version of the story of the American railroad Fisher makes an effort to include all aspects of the history including life before the railroads, the building period, the Civil War, Native American “resistance” (really hard to read), famous robberies and disasters, and progress with bigger and faster engines.

One of the best discoveries was learning the origin of the phrase “wrong side of the tracks.” You were on the wrong side if the wind blew the soot and dirt from the trains in your direction. It was considered in poor taste to have a church or home “on the wrong side” but my question is this, what happened when the wind changed direction?

Favorite quote: “…that rails were to a train what water was to a boat; and that if a bridge was necessary to take a train over a river, then that bridge had a perfect right to be there” (p 47). This was Abraham Lincoln’s argument during his 1856 trial defending the railroad against a steamboat’s claim of damage.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter called, “Riding the Rails: Railroad History” (p 200).

Ignoring the Signs

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1464807804_308eacfdbbWe are right in the middle of a messy divorce. Not that we want to be. We didn’t mean to put ourselves here – it just became part of the deal by default. But, in the grand scheme of things it has taught me a valuable lesson: stay away from drama. Run, don’t walk, from situations out of your control.
I learned of an on-coming train wreck last night. My first instinct was to jump from the track. My second was to stay and see what happens. High drama is always highly amusing. Except when there is the potential to get tangled up in it. I really, really don’t want to be involved. I was there before. I feel like I just got free of it. Why get in the way again?
Last night I ignored the signs and stayed on. Last night I wanted to believe. Today, I see things differently. Much differently.

There is a scene in some chick-flick movie. Of course I don’t remember the name of it. Bette Midler plays a meddling mother. She loves her daughter too much to be of any good to her. In the end she picks a fight to end the relationship. She does it on purpose to put some distance between her and her daughter. It’s painful – but necessary. Something she must do. At the time I didn’t understand the ending. Thought it was stupid and unnecessary. A royal WTF? Now, I get it. I am at that point. I get the point. All I want is for you to be happy. I’ve said it a thousand times. You mean the world to me. Butbutbut, I refuse to be part of the approaching drama. There is no way I can be involved and be accused. Again. If I can’t live my passions out in the open without having them distorted and distrusted I don’t want to have them at all. I refuse to defend what I hold dear.

Don’t hate me for pulling a Bette.

For a Reason

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It’s like a mantra. Things happen for a reason. Things happen for a reason. Things happen for a reason. I know this to be true. We didn’t succeed with the first few houses because they were not ours to have. Something bigger and better lay at the end of Ivy. The timing was all wrong in November. February couldn’t be more perfect. Things happen for a reason.

When my friend decided not to walk the twenty miles for Project Bread. I was not surprised, yet disappointed all the same. It took me a day to think things through. Would I walk without? Would I want to? It took me a week to bail myself out. Things happen for a reason. In reality, walking for hunger is a good cause for someone else. I am wedded to the crusade against cancer and domestic abuse. Been there, done that. Keep doing this. I decided to walk away from the Project Bread walk and find my Just Cause. 60 miles in three days. For breast cancer. This I can do. This I don’t mind doing on my own. I walk for Nor. I walk for me. This is the walk I am meant to walk.

When my friend of 35 years had a heart attack I had mixed emotions. A long history of ups and downs, goods and bads clouded my real emotion – fear. You don’t want people your own age to die. It’s not your time so it shouldn’t be theirs. Butbutbut, things happen for a reason. For the past three months I have wallowed in self indulgences. Since Thanksgiving I have been giving into temptations of every persuasion. Fat and lazy, I have become. When someone told me I looked beautiful I knew it was a lie. A sweet lie, but a lie none the less. I’m heavy. My heart failing friend woke selfish me, myself & moi up. Things happen for a reason. As soon as this house thing happens I am running back to healthy. I swear.

When a good, good friend brought up a painful memory it was hard to face it. Hard to take ownership of it and say yes, I really did do that. It’s unimaginable now, but yes, I really, really did that. Blame game. Pointing you out for no reason other than to strike out. Things happen for a reason. I’m glad you brought up the past and that awful time. I’m still struggling with what happened and more importantly, why butbutbut I’m done burying that past. I can dig it up and say I take responsibility for being so awful to you. I take all the blame for the blame game. It wasn’t you. Never was you. Sorry I said it was you. I’m seeing things better now that I’m so removed.

Man on the Bus

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A true story.

The man needed to take his cat to the vet. She had stopped eating and was starting to vomit. All the time. He had her in a carrier. He had a carrier for his cat, but no car for himself. His cat came first, always. So he took a bus and took his cat to the vet. Cancer, they said. Nothing we can do, they said. They did not charge him. So the man left to take his cat home. Went to the same bus stop he got off from. When the bus pulled up he slowly climbed aboard, holding his carrier more carefully than before. A cat dying of cancer needs more care. He took his seat with a sigh.  “No animals on the bus” the driver said looking up in the mirror. What do you mean no animals? But, that is how I got here, the man replied. “I don’t care. No animals on the bus.” The bus driver was louder now, glaring back at him in the reflection. “You’re holding up my schedule. Get off my bus.” But, this isn’t your bus. The man argued back. So, I’m not leaving. The bus driver, furious now, ordered everyone else off the bus and called the police. The man with the cat stayed where he was.
When the police arrived they questioned the driver. The man with the cat looked down on the interrogation from his high bus window. The police officer’s arms were folded across his chest. The bus driver was gesturing wildly. Soon, the officer climbed onto the bus and headed back to the man with the cat. “What seems to be the problem here?” he asked. No problem, the man answered. I just want to take my cat home. She’s sick. “It’s a law – no animals on the bus.” The police officer looked at the cat. You will have to arrest me because I have no other way home. Take me in handcuffs, the man replied. And that is what the officer did.

But, the story doesn’t end there. On the ride to the station the man with the cat and the cop got to talking. The officer mentioned he had a cat. The man with the cat mentioned he was bipolar and relied on the goodness of strangers to help him cope with his disease. The officer mentioned his sister was bipolar. Soon they were exchanging stories about the ups and downs of illness, human and feline. Instead of taking the man with the cat downtown he asked him where he lived. Then, he took the sick man and his sick cat home.

Inn at Lake Devine

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Lipman, Elinor. The Inn at Lake Devine. New York: Random House, 1998.

This kind of fiction reminds me of delicious junk food. Tastes so good going down but does nothing for you later. I found The Inn at Lake Devine very easy to swallow – read it over the course of two days while keeping up with two other books I had going.
How to describe this book? Simple, yet not. It’s about Natalie Marx, a young Jewish woman looking to start a professional career as a chef. As a young girl she learned first hand about “polite prejudice” when her family is denied a reservation to a Gentile-only, family-run resort in Vermont (The Inn at Lake Devine, of course). This exclusion creates curiosity in Natalie and she sets out to get herself invited as a guest. Fast forward ten years and through some near incredible coincidences Natalie finds herself entangled with the Inn at Lake Devine family once again. Only this time she is all grown up and ready to face the stereotypes and the complications of the heart head on. Of course it involves falling in love with the “enemy.” Under the cute romance there is an honest commentary on what it means to marry outside your religion, what it means to be accepting of societies different than your own.

Favorite lines: “‘I wipe the fuzz off peaches when a customer wants nectarines”‘ (p 61). Love the sarcasm!
“Most beautiful and moving in a repertoire of beautiful and moving carols was Silent Night in German and English, by candlelight” (p 95). That’s my favorite part of the service, too.
And one more: “‘Natalie can tell whether boiling water has been salted just by sniffing the steam,’ said Kris” (p 170). Damn, she’s good!

BookLust Twist: From Book Lustin the chapter, “Elinor Lipman: Too Good To Miss” (p 146).