You didn’t think I would take you up on it. You are oh so wrong. I updated my ‘about me’ page and was able to change most of it. I think you owe me a peanut butter and pickle sandwich. Love, me.
Death Comes for the Archbishop
Cather, Willa. Death Comes for the Archbishop. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1929.
Father Vaillant and Father LaTour are two friends on a quest. Death Comes for the Archbishop is their story of the attempt to establish a diocese in New Mexico – a landscape fraught with corruption and a complete breakdown of religious morality. On their travels we meet other notable characters such as Padre Martinez and Dona Isabella. They add violence and greed and drama and intrigue to an otherwise seemingly simple story of a religious quest.
While Death Comes for the Archbishop is Cather’s self proclaimed “best written book” I had never heard of it before the Challenge. In the beginning it seemed like an easy, quick read but after I got into it I realized it had amazing depth and powerful symbolism.
Impressionable quotes:
“When they were tramping home, Father Joseph said that, as for him, he would rather combat the superstitions of a whole Indian Pueblo than the vanity of one white woman” (p 219), and “…it was the Indian manner to vanish into the landscape, not to stand out against it” (p 265).
BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter”New Mexico” (p 167).
Accidental Walk Two
I didn’t mean to walk today. Wow. That sounded weird. Weird and incredibly. What I meant to say was I wasn’t supposed to put in a training walk for Project Bread today. I have a partner for this endeavor and I would prefer to put in the walks with her. But, here’s the deal. I have had a sore throat to the point of pain for almost a week. Someone with a lot of medical credentials at the end of her name asked me if I thought not being able to swallow for a week was normal. Okay, she had a point. I had been living on a “hot” diet for a week – anything cold killed my throat. I wanted nothing more than another week in bed.
Instead I found myself on the treadmill. Trying to read and walk at the same time. I wanted to walk two miles just to say I did. Laundry spinning behind me. Snow falling outside. Kisa on his way home. Me, trying to read The Biggest Elvis, book bouncing up and down. Just to say I did. I ended up walking to a program called “Rolling Hills.” Alternating speed, alternating incline. It was funny, trying to balance the book while all this was going on. In the end it was 35 minutes, 1.6 miles…and no sore throat. Whle I didn’t make two miles I’m psyched. I think I could get used to this walking thing.
Red Death
Mosley, Walter. A Red Death. New York: Norton, 1991.
This was a quick read for me. I was first introduced to Walter Mosley’s work this past summer while renting a cottage on the island. It was a paperback in the cottage’s collection and I “borrowed” it for awhile. I like the orginality of Mosely’s voice. It is complicated and cunning, sarcastic and sexy, tough and tender all at once.
Red Death is Walter Mosley’s continuation of his debut novel, Devil in a Blue Dress. In Devil in a Blue Dress we meet Ezekiel “Easy” Porterhouse Rawlins, a hard drinkin’, hard lovin’ unofficial Los Angeles detective who has an eye for the ladies and is a magnet for trouble. In Red Death Easy gets himself tangled in yet another scandal, this one political. Taking place in the 1950s, Easy faces the paranoia brought on by Communism and the ever present racial tensions as he deals with not only the IRS, but the FBI. Both want him, but for very different reasons. As always, Easy doesn’t shy away from trouble. Once again, Easy is sexy and dangerous all at once.
Favorite lines: “I like to use my legs , especially when I had thinking to do” (p 24).
“He loved us in the strange way that he felt everything” (p 74).
“Dreams are wonderful things, because they’re a different way of thinking” (p 235).
“I made like I was friends with people and then I planned to do them dirt” (p 276).
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter, “Walter Mosley: Too Good To Miss”
Project Hunger Walk One
Project Hunger Walk One – No Laughing Matter.
Gone are the days I can hitch a ride without feeling selfstupid. I hate inconveniencing anyone. I hate relying on anyone. Carpooling with kisa is completely different. We both end up in the same place each night. When it’s all said and done he’s always going my way anyway.
This night was different. She needed me to get her to the gym and I needed her to drive me there. Worked out perfectly that we could work out together. Truth be told, I’m more out of practice than out of shape when it comes to being in a gym. Signing in, finding an empty locker, scanning the cardio equipment for something not in use and a little less than out of order and never mind finding two together.
She got the treadmill in front of me and I ignored the people to the right and left. Or tried to. What is it about treadmills so close together? Like bald tires on black ice my eyes kept sliding over to the chick chugging along beside me. She wasn’t running…yet. But, she was cruising. To avoid further jealousies I busied myself with starting my workout. At first glance I couldn’t figure out my machine. It’s like reading a book in French for hours and then trying to read German. Everything looks nothing short of hieroglyphics. My treadmill at home is completely different than the machine I was now trying to decipher. Sensing complete ridiculousness I pressed “quick on” and started moving.
Speaking of silly, it felt completely stupid not to run. It took everything I had not to crank up the speed to at least a casual jog, an offhand trot. Walking seemed…well…slow. So slow! Out of boredom I pretended I was walking in my grandparents’ day. Ten miles. In the snow. Uphill. Both ways. Then, slowly, I started to feel shinsplints. My ankles started to ache. I wasn’t making fun of not running anymore. This was actually going to take some work. Suddenly this walking thing was no laughing matter.
So, seriously: 2.2 miles/35 minutes. So it begins.
And So It Begins…Again
Every once in a while an opportunity comes along that seems almost too perfect to pass up. They are the moments that grab you by all the attention you have; so much so that you can’t look away.
I was on Face trying to save face. Normally, as my sister can tell you, I fly under the radar on FB. If she catches me “on” she considers it just that…catching me. Then she chats. Most of the time I don’t mind. It’s early morning and no one will notice. But, as a rule I don’t spend more than a minute looking at my own face. I say a few things to other faces and I’m outta there. But, back to the other night. I allowed myself to be “caught” by four different people (none of them being my sister, go figure)…for almost two hours.
When I was finally let go I came away committed. And with that commitment came the profound understanding that not only was I back on the TrainingForSomethingBig bandwagon, but that I was actually happy about it. And what’s more – I was looking forward to every little thing about it.
So, here’s the deal. We are walking for Project Bread. 20 miles. May 3, 2009. You read that right. Walking. 20 miles. I have kisa on the brain when I think about running anything more than five. I see his stern face and his No.Remember.Your.Knee look. It’s a look of concern. It’s a look of caring. But, it’s also an I’ll Kick Your Azz look. He was the one who had to put up with me directly after The Fall.
Duly noted. So we walk.
Choice Cuts
Kurlansky, Mark. Choice Cuts: a Savory Selection of Food Writing from Around the World and Throughout History. New York: Ballantine, 2002.
I like nothing better than a good cookbook. A close second to a good cookbook is reading books written by cooks. Mark Kurlansky does one better and combined the best of food writing from soup to nuts; covering techniques, ingredients and even ethnic origins of food. Then, there’s the introduction. How can you compete when the introduction is titled, “Better than Sex” (p 1)? I mean, come on! Out of the thirty chapters five six really grabbed my attention. More than the introduction, you ask? Mais oui! How could I not be seduced with chapter titles such as these: “Rants” (p 115), Poultry, Fowl, and Other Ill-Fated Birds (p 210), “Loving Fat” (p 303), “The Dark Side of Chocolate” (p 330), “A Good Drink” (p 361) and, “Bugs” (p 380). See, aren’t you the least bit curious about that last one?
Everything about this book is based on one simple subject – food. Kurlansky takes that subject and explores everything having to do with it. From growing, hunting, buying, and preparing to smelling, eating, and savoring it. The art of cooking, the downfall of rotting, from killing to cultivating. From Cato to Chekhov, Kurlansky finds quotes, essays and passages from a multitude of well known individuals, some with lives centered around food like M.F.K. Fisher and Elizabeth David and some not like Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway and E.M Forster. Whether focused on an ingredient like garlic or chocolate, or a technique like faking venison or baking bread, or a location like favorite restaurants or markets, Kurlansky covers it all. It’s historical and cutting edge. Technical and funny. Poetry and dissertation. Well worth the read.
Favorite passages: “A blonde seems humbly to beseech your heart while a brunette tends to ravish it” (p 39), “So don’t worry about me down here eating nothing and [makeing] an ass of myself. I have had strange eating habits since I was a boy (Ernest Hemingway)” (p 61) and, “cook-books have always intrigued and seduced me (Alice B. Toklas)” (p 182).
BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter, “Mark Kurlansky: Too Good To Miss” (p 146).
A side note: Before I knew what Choice Cuts was really about I assumed it had something to do with meat. After all, Kurlansky has written about solitary food items such as cod and salt, too. So, thinking this was a book about edible meats nothing disturbed me more than seeing an illustration for what I thought was a squirrel. I was close – it was a dormouse.
Bird Song
It has taken me some time to come to terms with her passing. Doesn’t seem right. More than doesn’t feel fair. I’ll say it yet again – cancer just isn’t fair.
They came to the island as love birds; a dating, doting couple. Binoculars and a sense of biology, they came to the island year after year to love the birds. The years gave way to marriage, kids, property, and a dog. A sense of belonging to the community became so strong the island couldn’t remember a time without them. It was as if they had always been there.
I don’t remember the first time I met her. It was that long ago. I can only remember her as I last saw her four months ago. Feisty and forcing fresh baked cookies on us, she commanded from the couch. Slipping water through a straw she surveyed the world outside her kingdom. A huge picture window afforded her a priceless view. She smiled as she watched a pheasant family creep jauntily through the high grass. Father pheasant’s neck arched and stretched searching for bugs, pecking as he went. His eyes were bright, watchful and wary. He paused as if to say I know you are there and she paused, the glass lifted halfway to her lips, as if her stillness could keep him there.
Binoculars, books and Bean gear. She was always ready for the birds. She kept a journal of the season’s best spyings. A log of feathered friends encountered throughout the seasons. As she grew sicker, too ill to hike her ornithology conquests had to be counted from the couch. Her bird’s eye view of the birds was limited to the ones who came to her big picture window. Mostly it was the pheasants. Soon she could tell us how many families were in the area. How many babies were born that year. Always the pheasants. They became her friends. That is why when I see a family of pheasants I will always think of her.
Snobs
Fellowes, Julian. Snobs. New York: St. Martin Press, 2004.
This seems like an odd choice for a Christmas season pick. After all, this is supposed to be peace on Earth, goodwill towards men time. With a name like Snobs it doesn’t seem to fit, but this is in honor of one of Nancy Pearl’s gift choices for the holidays.
Edith Lavery is middle class society with big upper class ambitions. When she inadvertently meets the Earl of Broughton, Charles, it is with an admission ticket to tour his home in her hand. Little does she know, but the introduction, with her good looks, is also her ticket to upper echelon snobbery. Soon Edith works her way into the aristocratic family by marrying Charles. As his wife she discovers the high life isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be and finds herself becoming bored. The real trouble begins when Edith’s wandering eye settles on a less than successful actor. Things turn from bad to worse when it’s more than Edith’s eye that starts to wander. What makes this hungry-for-status story so funny is the wicked clashes of culture. Julian Fellowes seductively pokes fun at all types of cliques: actors, the fashion world, the genders, society, but none are funnier than the English.
Sarcastically good lines: “To an outsider it seems a vital ingredient of many marriages that each partner should support the illusions of the other” (p 5).
“…Mrs Lavery was passionately snobbish to a degree verging on insanity…” (p 12).
“Edith rolled her eyes. ‘She’s beside herself. She’s afraid she’ll find Bobby in the shower and it’ll all have been a dream” (p 40).
“At least he seemed to feel that something momentous had taken place, even if her body had never left the station…” (p71).
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter, “A Holiday Shopping List” (p 114).
January is…
What is it about a new year that inspires so much ambition? Where does that fresh start attitude really come from? January is so many things to so many different people. For me it is simply all about the books:
- Death Comes to An Archbishop by Willa Cather in honor of New Mexico becoming a state in January
- Biggest Elvis by P.F. Kluge in honor of the King’s birthday and P.F. Kluge having a January birthday as well.
- Book of Puka-puka by Robert Dean Frisbie in honor of National Geographic month
- Devices and Desires by P.D. James in honor of January being mystery month
- Red Death by Walter Mosely in honor of Walter’s birthday being in January
- Guns of August by Barbara Tuchman in honor of Barbara’s birthday being in January
I haven’t decided on any “if there is time” books because I don’t think I’ll get through what I have chosen (Guns of August is over 500 pages long). Also, I don’t know if I was chosen for a LibraryThing Early Review book for January. I guess we’ll find out by the time I write “January Was…”
For Christmas I received only one book, Nourishing Wisdom by Marc David. A gift from my sister, I plan to read it over the next two to three months. It’s not all that long (185 pages) but I want to take my time with it.
For other resolutions it is running just a little more, maybe drinking coffee a little less. It’s eating a little more healthy, maybe seducing the vending machine a little less. It is writing there more often, maybe blogging here a little less. It is giving up crutches and leaning more on the ones who matter most. Like I said, it is so many different things. I want to thank Sarah and Gnash for their inspiration. Both have amazing ambitions and they have no idea how much I will be cheering them on throughout 2009.
‘Sippi (with a spoiler of sorts)
Killens, John Oliver. ‘Sippi. New York: Trident Press, 1967.
In honor of Mississippi becoming a state in the month of December I put ‘Sippi on my list. What an incredibly expansive, volatile story! It follows the lives of two very different people growing up Wakefield County, Mississippi in the 1960s. Carrie Louise Wakefield was born into white money privilege about the same time as Charles Othello Chaney was born into black poverty servitude. “Chuck” and his family worked as servants for Carrie Louise’s extremely wealthy family and would forever be intertwined in each others lives. Over the ever growing turbulent years, events like the Vietnam war, the Civil Rights Movement and the death of Malcolm X stoked the fires of racial unrest. Despite Carrie and Chuck’s vastly different upbringings they both manage to go to college, see a world larger than little Wakefield County. Black and white becomes more and more complicated.
Favorite lines:
“…seriously wondering how a little bouncing hunk of human essence could possibly emerge from this organized confusion” (p 4). If you couldn’t guess Killens is describing childbirth.
“She was time enough and overtime” (p 69). Here, he’s describing a beautiful woman.
“He had been daydreaming in the nighttime” (p 129).
“Actually he had drunk the kind of whiskey that would not let you walk. It made you run. He was running drunk” (p 218).
A few complaints. It took a long time to get to the only place the story could end up. Some places were a little drawn out and repetitive. And, yes – I’m gonna blow it – the sex scenes between Carrie and Chuck are a little drawn out and more than a little ridiculous.
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter, “Southern Fried Fiction” (p 208).
December Was…
December started off being my fresh start. New houses, new atttitude. It would have been a return to charity walks (or runs?) had a little thing called house hunting not gotten in the way! December ended up being a really, really difficult month. Lost another house, craziness at work, mental health taking a trip south, a passing of a friend and coworker… Here are the books I read escaped with. It may seem like a lot but, keep in mind, I cheated. I was able to read the first two in November.
- The Quiet American by Graham Green ~ I read this in three days time…in November. Was really that good!
- A Dangerous Friend by Ward Just ~ Another book I read in just a few days time, again…in November.
- Anatomy of a Murder by Robert Traver ~ probably one of the best court-room dramas I have ever read.
- I’m a Stranger Here Myself: Notes on Returning to America After Twenty Years Away by Bill Bryson ~ funny, but repetitive!
- A Family Affair by Rex Stout ~ very strange yet entertaining.
- Lincoln’s Dreams by Connie Willis ~again, strange but entertaining!
- Shoeless Joe by W.P. Kinsella ~ okay. I’ll admit it. This one made me cry.
- ‘Sippi by John Oliver Killens ~ powerful – really, really powerful. That’s all I can really say.
- Snobs by Julian Fellowes ~ silly story about what happens with you combine boredom with good old fashioned English snobbery.
- Choice Cuts by Mark Kurlansky ~ really interesting, but a bit dry at times (no pun intended).
For LibraryThing it was the fascinating Honeymoon in Tehran by Azadeh Moaveni (really, really good).
Confession: I started Le Mort d’Arthur and couldn’t deal with neither volume one or two. Just not in the mood for the King, no matter how authoritative the version.
So. 11 books. Two being in the month of November and nine as the cure for what ailed me.
Edited to add: someone asked me to post “the count” at the end of each “— Was” blog. What a great idea. I will be starting that next month – something new to start 2009 with. Thanks, A!
Meditation Monday
My sister gave me a book on awareness. At this current moment the book is nowhere near me and I’m too lazy to get it. So, I won’t be telling you the title at this time. But, I’ve added it to my January list of books to read and I will be “reviewing” it in my half-azzed manner.
What got me thinking is the idea of mind over matter. December was an awful month because I let it be. My car was in the shop no less than five times. Ordinarily that wouldn’t be such a big deal. Kisa and I carpool all the time, but it sucked something out of me. A sense of independence was lost. I lost sensibility, too – trying to make plans without transportation was just plan stupid.
We “lost” three houses. Since we never really had them, technically, I’m overreacting. I’m making a big deal out of this real estate game. I’m letting my emotions get the better of me whenever the houses get away. I guess I make it emotional because it seems like we have been losing for so long.
We lost two friends. That we did. When N died all I could focus on was 49 was too young to die. Her kids are teenagers – at that perfect age when mom just starts to become human, possibly even a friend. I couldn’t get to the point of relief that she was no longer suffering, no longer fighting a decade long battle. When T died all I could focus on was how stupid it is to be alive. Senseless and stupid. I’m angry because I’m selfish.
Death has had me mean. When someone blurted out “he’s just going to die anyway” I wanted to agree, I wanted to say, “I think you’re right” but I couldn’t . You don’t wish death on someone just because the statistics say it’s time. What is time to someone 22, 49 or 92?
December was an awful month for work, too. I vow to give reviews in November next year. To plan better. To direct better. The whining will stop. The whimpering will stop. I had a chance to talk to my boss one on one. He said the sign of a good leader is recognizing exhaustion; knowing when you are dangerously close to your breaking point and need a break. He ordered me to take the entire vacation off and do something a little less “urgent” with the time. It was the best advice someone could give me. He doesn’t need to know I didn’t refuse work from somewhere else!
So now I’ve meditated on most of what bothered me in December. Most of it was out of my control, but I let it get to me just the same. In the process I learned a valuable lesson. Let go. I didn’t send Christmas cards to people who have never sent me one. I’ve given my last gift to someone who never has the decency to say thank you. I’ve let go of superficial signs of sentiment. It’s time to pay attention to what really matters.
Shoeless Joe
Kinsella, W.P. Shoeless Joe. New York: Ballantine, 1982.
This week of reading seemed to be all about dreams. First, Lincoln’s Dreams by Connie Willis and now Shoeless Joeby W.P. Kinsella. The movie “Field of Dreams” was based on Kinsella’s book. I don’t know if my memory of the the movie chased my reading, but it seemed easier to get through the 224 pages faster than usual.
Ray is a man possessed by love. Love for his family, love for the sprawling farmland of Iowa, and most importantly, love for the game of baseball. It’s this love that makes Ray take chances with all three. Spurred on by a mystical voice Ray builds a left field out in part of his cornfield. But, the voice doesn’t stop there. Soon it has Ray driving to Vermont to kidnap J.D. Salinger and from there the adventure really begins. Battling debt, childhood devils, and indecision Ray leans on his ever-understanding wife (and later, Salinger) to build a cornfield stadium that only a few can understand. It’s a magical story, perfect for Christmastime when the season is all about dreams and believing in the impossible.
Favorite lines: “Mark’s party is bulging with tweed and intellect” (p 47), and ” This is a carnival. People pay to be disappointed” (p 175).
BookLust Twist: In Book Lust and More Book Lust. From Book Lust in the chapter, “Growing Writers” (p 107), and from More Book Lust in the chapter, “Big Ten Country: The Literary Midwest (Iowa)” (p 26).
Just Have to Say
So. Merry belated Christmas and all that happy hoohaw. I had one of those “nice” times. Eating lots of great food, watching one child open gift after gift after gift after gift…and did I mention the gifts? Well, you get the point. It seemed silly after a while. We left four hours later for a little while. I thought I would nap or run or something. Instead kisa made me open gifts. Knives and money – Lamson Goodnow knives and JJill gift cards. I’m not sophisticated enough for Jill, but I love their stuff just the same. I amsophisticated enough for the chef knives, though! Those, I do know how to use! Cannot. Simply, cannot wait to dice my way through some unsuspecting innocent vegetable. Funny, how I was just talking about knife skills at the staff lunch….weird. Anyway, back to the day. After trying to find graves in the snow we went back for more great food and…you guessed it…one child opening more and more gifts. Somehow she kept track of every bitty baby and barking furbie puppy. Four going on fourteen they all said.
Later still. Tried to call mom. Didn’t go all that well. Why am I the one holding the bag of guilt when I wasn’t the only one who went away? Every sentence was torturous and drawn out. Pulling answers from her mouth was worse than the proverbial teeth. Everything felt battle ready and weary. Long periods of silence on either end. Nothing to say. Nothing to make it better. Sorry I asked. Sorry I couldn’t say anything except Sorry I couldn’t be there.
Later still. Tried to find a friend. Found I was too late. Sighed and went to bed.
Too distracted to send cards this year. Each one went out as a reply instead of a greeting. Lame. I still don’t know what is causing this delayed reaction in me. I need to get over this Don’t Care attitude before 2009. Someone else claimed the new year for themselves. Yet, I say you have to share it with me. I just have to say you better.
