When the Time Comes

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Span, Paula. When the Time Comes: Families with Aging Parents Share Their Struggles and Solutions. Springboard Press, 2009.

When this book first came in the mail my mother was visiting. She has just celebrated her 60th birthday. Savvy, independent, strong in body and mind I didn’t really think this book applied to her. Needless to say I was surprised when she thought I requested this particular book to review on purpose, because of her. It became an awkward moment because when I scanned the selections for the month I can’t say I specifically chose the book because of her. It is more accurate to say I didn’t pass over the choice because of her. Does that make sense?

At any rate, I found Span’s book When the Time Comes incredibly useful in some respects and (predictably) not so helpful in others. I enjoyed all of the stories about the trials, tribulations and triumphs of caring for elderly parents. It put aging into perspective. Not all parents will age the same way, physically or mentally. Not all parents will welcome the solutions their children have to offer. Not all solutions will work for all types of aging. The variables are endless but Span does a wonderful job trying to tell a different story for each scenario. It was wonderful to have examples to remind the reader, “you are not alone.” I found myself comparing the stories on the page with situations I know in real life and nodding in agreement all the while. On the negative side, the title of this book is misleading. It implies this is a book about aging, and this is not a book for someone who has parents years, possibly decades, away from needing elderly care. By the time my mother deems it necessary to have outside help some of the resources Span lists in her book might not be available to me. Websites disappear, organizations change. While this is definitely a book to prepare children for the aging of their parents, it is not recommended for planning too far in advance. However, should my mother have a stroke or serious accident I could pick up When the Time Comes and start using it immediately.

Too Funny

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I feel hung over. Like I have been drinking for days. My sides hurt from laughing too much. I call it my too funny moment. One Friday night was Rebecca’s show and ice cream with the girls (when we finally got around to getting there). Different conversations happening all at once. Laughter blending like in with the chatter like a symphony. It sounded chaotic, out of tune, in sync, it sounded perfect. I think I’m the only one who finished her ice cream.

A day later and I’m talking to a far and aways near girlfriend. She’s making me laugh with ridiculous stories of body odor out of control, or was it perfume? Either way I can’t stop the tears of hilarity. I match her with one of my own olfactory woes (guys, don’t wear Axe brand anything). Again, I laugh until my sides ache. Too funny.

I like these laughing moments. I don’t get them enough but I need more of them. Probably my best source for laughter (should we really want to torture ourselves with past bizarre incidents and entanglements) is less than a mile away. I like having her close. Her laugh is solid and true. No fake giggles or coy chuckles. There is no other way to describe it other than to say she laughs with her heart. Just the other day as we weaved our way through the aisles of a craft store she recounted the “limo driver gun story” for me. I couldn’t get the details right for my husband a week earlier, “I don’t know – something about a box of cheap condoms, a gun, two gay men, and a limo driver. I can’t remember.”  I had forgotten the tulips. Just to hear her reliving the story made me laugh out loud. Winding through the fake flowers, colored pencils and skeins of yarn I couldn’t help but have that too funny moment.

Color Purple

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Walker, Alice. The Color Purple. New York: Pocket Books, 1982.

To put this on the list is either to admit I never read it before or I don’t remember it. Those are the rules. Supposedly. Only this time it’s different. I chose to reread The Color Purple out of respect…and to get from under the sugar rush I got from other books I’ve read this month. Let’s face it, there is not much sweetness and light in The Color Purple.
Alice Walker has a masterful voice. Just by starting chapters “Dear God” the voice evokes prayer, a quiet kind of desperation. It’s even worse when it’s coming from a child in the beginning. Most people start uttering “dear God” when things turn bad and for Walker’s main character, Celie, it’s always bad. From the very first chapter you learn she is being raped by her own father, tolerating pregnancies and beatings while taking care of her siblings, only to be sold off to a man who does exactly the same. Different man, different children to take care of – same struggles to survive. Yet, Celie is clever, strong and more importantly, resilient. She knows how to make it through the toughest of times. She even learns how to blossom when Shug Avery, her husband’s lover, comes to town. She discovers love, sexuality, and a sense of self.

Favorite lines: “Sometimes he still be looking at Nettie, but I always git in his light” (p 6).
“Like more us then us is ourself” (p 14).
“His little whistle sound like it lost way down in a jar, and the jar in the bottom of the creek” (p 71). Love that imagery!

BookLust Twist: In Book Lust twice: in the very first chapter called, “A…My Name is Alice (p 2), and “African American Fiction: She Say” (p 12).

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.