I’ve been achy and almost silent for three days now. Sore throat and sniffly. I hate being sick. I missed out on getting my car fixed, a dental appointment and those crazy after Christmas sales. My cell phone is dead and I’ve only answered my sister via email. A sorta self-induced vow of silence. I have no voice to speak of (although I would make a great obscene caller).
But, things are looking up. January is the month for music. Natalie. Natalie. Natalie. Natalie. sirsy. Greg. Here Comes the Bride. In that order. I’m nervous about Natalie. I’ve never had a good time at general admission shows. I’m short and shy which means I won’t see much. But, it will be good to hear my favorite voice again. And again. And again. And again.
Looking up indeed.
Fer-De-Lance
Stout, Rex. Fer-De-Lance. Pennsylvania: Franklin Library, 1934.When I saw this book arrive in the library van box for me I got very excited about the cover alone. It’s beautiful! I didn’t even know it was my requested book, just that it had a gorgeous cover. How’s that for judging a book by its cover? I have heard so much about Rex Stout and his Nero Wolfe mysteries but had never read one before now. I have to admit, I didn’t really care for the character of Mr. Wolfe. He seems to spend a lot of time bossing other people around while being very, very particular about his own activities. The story is actually told from the point of view of his assistant, Archie Goodwin, who seems to do all the legwork work solving mysteries since Wolfe never leaves home.
So, the plot to Fer-De-Lance is this: a man is found murdered. Clues in his room lead to the death of someone else. Ultimately, it’s the solving of the second death that leads to the truth of the first death. It’s a fun story. Here are some of my favorite quotes:
“I made some sort of conversation so O’Grady’s ears wouldn’t be disappointed” (p 39).
“Maybe your salary is the only rope that holds Saturday and Sunday together for you” (p 48).
“It is always wiser, where there is a choice, to trust inertia. It is the greatest force in the world” (p 190).
“A genius may discover the hidden secrets and display them, only a god could create new ones” (p 246).
BookLust Twist: From Book Lust and the chapter “Rex Stout: Too Good To Miss”
This Is Me
This is me saying goodbye to 2007. The dog and I have decided we are ready to wake up to a new year. Wake me when it’s over, won’t you? While this year wasn’t particularly terrible, it ended with an I-hate-fall moment and I am so ready to move away from that mindset.
Here’s the deal: I normally have scoffed at anyone making a new year’s resolution. I mean, why bother. You are full of crap and you know it. As a rule I don’t make them because in my mind, MY new year is my birthday, the day I turn another year older. A new year just begun. I end up making the same resolutions everyone else made a month earlier (because I’m full of crap, too). I end up not sticking to the resolutions just like everyone else. I’m not different, definitely no better. It’s pretty pathetic, actually. This year I’m not a scoffer. I’m a maker. I made a list of resolutions and for once, I’m not going to announce my good intentions to the entire world. I’ve done enough “this is IT!” ranting as it is.
This is all I will say. I am changing some things. See if you can tell what they are. Take a good look at this me because this time next year I won’t be.
Have You Found Her
Erlbaum, Janice. Have You Found Her, A Memoir. New York: Villard Books, 2008.
I often say “I couldn’t put it down” to describe a page turner; a really good book. I just finished Janice Erlbaum’s Have You Found Her and I have to say first, it only took me six hours to read. Only six hours because not only was it a real page turner, but it was a too-good-to-stop page turner. It was a roller coaster of a read. Emotional and unpredictable. I felt every one of Janice’s highs and lows like they were happening to me.
To sum up the plot is to sell it short. To say it is the story of a woman’s journey through a relationship with a troubled homeless teen is to leave out the heartaches, the loves and hates, the hardness of being homeless, the despair of addictions. In addition to asking “what next?” from chapter to chapter the reader is also left asking “how is this possible?” Janice’s experiences are so fantastic and her feelings vibrate so strongly that every page is a live wire of tension. This is not your typical “soul searching” memoir for the author, her subject…or the reader.
I only found one discrepancy with the detail. Janice finds out her homeless friend has been discharged from a hospital back into the care of the shelter where Janice is a volunteer. Because if “rules” Janice must wait two days until her schedule volunteer day (Wednesday) before she can seek out the girl. Yet, when Janice arrives at the shelter she says she knows Sam was discharged on Wednesday when in fact, according to detail, it would have been a Monday (page 73). This is a small oversight in an otherwise fascinating and haunting story.
Seasick
I want to say see you next year. I want to say maybe next time. I want to make promises I know I can’t keep. Life isn’t fair and Mother Nature is a cruel mistress. Next year my better half gets the call. I know what he will say. I know what he deserves to say. We aren’t going anywhere. It’s our turn to stay put. His family derves a merry christmas delivered on the right day, too.
I cannot make promises I shouldn’t keep. I cannot be unfair to my partner for life.
But, but, but. Know this – I was ready for you. I was ready to come back to you. For this first time in 15 years I was prepared to face all the haunts and hells of yesteryear. Just because it isn’t happening this year doesn’t mean I won’t be ready some other time. I will face you and I will win. Seasick or not, I will succeed.
working it not
What do you do when the heart goes one way and the mind wanders another? When is right really right and wrong isn’t totally out of the question? One eye on the weather, one heart waiting for disappointment to crest so it can begin to ebb away. Subside. Anticipated sorry is worse than anything I could bring on myself.
The tide of bad timing is fast approaching. Try as I may I want to dodge it, duck under it, let it crash over my head and then let it move on without me. To say we have been planning this all year would be a lie. No plan, just the remembrance of a promise. We said we would be there. We assumed we would. We wanted to. Seriously. The promises broken would break my heart. When I say I want to go home it’s not for the sake of space. It’s not about the place. It’s never been about the place.
24 hours
Iles, Greg. 24 Hours. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2000.
A kidnapping mystery set in Mississippi…sort of an odd read for the holiday season, but December is the month Mississippi became a state.
Here’s the storyline: Basically, this guy, Joe, has set up the perfect kidnapping scheme. He targets a doctor who has a spouse and child, learns all he can about the doctor’s family and then while the doc is at an annual convention he kidnaps his/her child. His cousin (a hulking man with the IQ of a chipmunk) holds the child in a remote location while his “wife” entertains the male parent and Joe entertains the female parent for 24 hours. They call each other every 30 minutes and if a call is missed Cousin Chipmunk kills the kid. In the AM one parent wires the ransom to the other parent so the kidnapper doesn’t have any connection to the withdrawal. The money is always an amount the doctor can afford and the kidnapping always works because the child is worth more than getting the money back or calling the police. The detail that makes the whole thing work are the every 30 minutes phone calls. Everything hinges on those calls and the convention – because the convention is the guarantee the doctor will be separated from the rest of the family for at least 24 hours.
Despite the brilliant plot I have two problems with detail. In the beginning both parents are told their family has been scrutinized and studied in great detail. The kidnappers claim to know everything about the family. If that is true then why did they not know their latest kidnapping victim was diabetic? If they knew everything how did they miss such a large piece of a child’s life? The second problem with detail is on page 164 – one of the kidnappers says “You have to chill, Will!” and is delighted by the rhyme of the doctor’s name, yet two pages later Iles writes, “Why don’t you at least face the truth about something, Will.” It was the first time she [the kidnapper] had used his Christian name” (p 166). No, actually it wasn’t. She told Will to chill two pages earlier. Ugh.
All in all, this moved fast and was a constant page turner. Every time I had to put it down I was at “the good part” and hated to stop reading. The end is a little over-the-top dramatic and there are loose ends, but well worth the read.
BookLust Twist: In More Book Lust in the “Southern Fried Fiction (Mississippi)” chapter (p 208).
Age of Grief
Smiley, Jane. The Age of Grief. New York: Fawcett Columbine, 1987.
A collection of short stories. Instead of summarizing them I have decided to quote my favorite lines instead because there was one from every story.
- Pleasure of her company~ “I felt like your child or your sister or something” (p 25).
- Lily~ “Love was like an activity, you had to put in the hours” (p 33).
- Jeffrey, Believe Me~ “Who can tell the lifelong effect of a cacophonous conception” (p 60), and “you would indeed be spending the night but in a near coma” (p 64).
- Long Distance~ “Can a melancholy sound have a quality of desperation?” (p 71)
- Dynamite~ “When they would ask me, I was fine, too, but I had the excuse of making bombs, something, I told myself, they didn’t want to know (p 96).
- And finally, the novella, The Age of Grief~ I couldn’t find one or two quotesI liked best -too many to mention so I won’t mention at all; and I can’t tell you what I think of this final story. A dentist and his wife (also a dentist) go through the ups and downs of marriage & parenting. It’s haunting because I can’t imagine this kind of grief.
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter “Big Ten Country: The Literary Midwest (Iowa)” (p 26).
The Body is Water
Schumacher, Julie. The Body is Water. New York: SoHo, 1995.
I love it when reading fits the day. I don’t know how to describe it other than the perfect marriage between a book and time. It was snowing, sleeting, windy and freezing cold. Every so often a gust of wind would send pellets of freezing rain drumming against the windows, yet the Christmas tree glowed softly, the cat purred at my feet, a balsam candle burned bright, a fleece blanket was thrown over my lap, a cup of tea at my elbow and I was content. If I could ignore the wind, all was quiet, all was still; the perfect time to lose myself in The Body is Water.
I’m still reading December picks and The Body is Water celebrates the month New Jersey became a state, oddly enough. It’s also the story of single and pregnant Jane, and her return to her New Jersey shore childhood home. In one sitting I read 184 of the 262 pages.
“All my life I’ve never been certain of where I should be” (p 20).
“In a crisis, other families probably rush to hold the ailing person’s hand; our family rushes to the general vicinity of the crisis and putters around, hoping the patient will spontaneously recover on her own” (p 61).
“No matter where I lived, I never knew my way around; there was no ocean, no rushing noise of a heartbeat from the east” (p 230).
“I start to cry, remembering the days before my mother died, before Bee slept in another room. That was when we loved each other best and didn’t know it” (p 262).
I ended this book sobbing. I connected with Jane even though she was the younger sister (Bee was four years older); even though Jane lost a mother and I lost a father; even though she became a mother and I remain sans motherhood. I connected through the simple loss of a parent, the soothing sound of the ocean, and the complex closeness of sisters.
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lustin the chapter called “Jersey Guys and Gals” (p 129). This also could have been mentioned in chapter called “Maiden Voyages” (p 158) because this was Schmacher’s first novel.
Little Porcupine’s Christmas
Slate, Joseph. Little Porcupine’s Christmas. New York: Harper, 1982.
Cute. Cute. Cute! Felicia Bond illustrates this story and, for those of you who don’t know, Felicia Bond is the illustrator for another favorite of mine, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. This isn’t about a mouse. This time it’s a porcupine who can’t be in the school play because of his sharp and pointy quills. It’s a typical story about how cruel “kids” can be towards an outsider, But, but, but, in the end Little Pocupine prevails and proves his worth. The adult in me hates stories like this because the other animals are never corrected when they say “you’re too — to participate. You don’t belong,” all because he is different. I worry (too much) that kids reading the story will learn that it’s okay to push someone outside the popular circle because that someone is different. I’ve been there and it isn’t fun. But, that’s the stoic, always serious adult talking. Take the book at face value and it’s a cute story about someone who is unique finding his niche and belonging after all.
Note: This story is also called How Little Porcupine Played Christmas.
BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter “Christmas Books for the Whole Family to Read” (p 56). Pearl calls Little Porcupine “heartwarming.”
He Didn’t Like
When we were kids we used to joke that while she loved kids, he hated them. She was jolly, he was a jerk. She was exuberant. He was sour. We had names for him behind his back, maybe about his ears. I don’t remember. We were kids that had a gang of jokes all about him. I played along with the cruelty even though I knew better. Why is that? Last night kisa and I watched the Breakfast Club. Even though my husband swore it was a classic I was getting it confused with other Molly movies. I kept waiting for her to make a dress or something. At one point I was struck by how serious the “club’s” conversation had gotten. They were talking about whether or not they were truly friends and what would happen on Monday. Molly’s character brought up peer pressure and how, come Monday, they would all go back to the groups they knew and life as they knew it would carry on. Losers would still be losers. Geeks would still be geeks. Jocks would still be jocks.
I was that girl. I knew Mr Didn’t Like Kids was actually kind. Yet, we were mean. People would be surprised to know how kind. Still we were uncaring. It’s a secret I’ve kept and I don’t know why.
Miracle
Willis, Connie. Miracle and Other Christmas Stories. New York: Bantam, 2000.
A collection of short stories centered around Christmas.
- Miracle ~ Lauren reminds me of me. She’s well-meaning yet corner cutting when it comes to Christmas. Her cards go out on time and she buys gifts for everyone in the office yet something is missing. Enter Spirit of Christmas Present, a environmentally exuberant specter sent to show Lauren the real meaning of Christmas.
BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter “Connie Willis: Too Good To Miss” (p 248).
Bright Lights
This time of year is always so bittersweet for me. I ache for something I can’t really put my finger on. I have everything I need and get things I didn’t even know I needed. I am surrounded by love with every postage stamped surprise. Every house lights up the darkness with colors crazy and cheerfulness. I want to catch the lights, clutch them tight, and carry them through spring- carry them always.
That song about having yourself a merry little Christmas gets to me. “Soon we’ll all be together if the fates allow” is a sad line. The fates are cruel. Someone is always someplace else. Always. When I was younger I was selfish. I wanted every love of my life in one room, no matter what the cost. I was desperate to have my heart’s full, my soul’s content at Christmas. Greedy because I couldn’t decide. I wanted the best of both worlds and blood was not thicker that water, but just as equal as my essential life force. I needed them together.
Tonight we gathered with family. Twenty people young and old came together. Traditions celebrated and carried on. Did a sister know of the tears swallowed? Her gesture earned applause but really, really we wanted cry. We will not be all together ever again. Again, the fates won’t allow.
If Only
On a paper place mat, in a restaurant in Rockland, Maine there was a story about never forgetting your loved ones. The place mat was scalloped edged and covered with squares of different ads in brown ink. Joe’s Towing Company (cartoon guy waving out a tow truck window), Andrea’s Flowers (drawing of roses in a vase), Fax It Fast! (stick figure running with paper in his balled hand), The Law Offices of Schwartz, Kaplan & Kirn (fancy scroll work around the phone number)…Hidden among the sales pitches were the words about not forgetting the loves of your life. Carry them still.
In the book I just finished, Boy’s Life, McCammon takes that place mat’s secret sentiment a step further, “I wish there was a place you could go and sit in a room like a movie theater and look through a catalog of a zillion names and then you could press a button and a face would appear on the screen to tell you about the life that had been. It would be a living memorial to the generations who have gone on before and you could hear their voices though those voices had been stilled for a hundred years” (p 346).
Imagine that for just a second, if you will. Imagine sitting in that dark, silent theater. The book of names on your lap. Before you open it, do you know who you want to see again? Do you know who shouldn’t be forgotten? Or, has it become too late and someone has slipped through the cracks of your memory and all you want is to be reminded again? Or, do you want to see someone you’ve never met? Me, I want to meet kisa’s paternal grandmother. I think it goes without saying that I want to meet my namesake. To hear her voice. There is a whole list of names I could push buttons for!
The place mat is long gone. The theater of memories doesn’t exist (yet). What will you do to keep loved ones who have been silenced alive?
Port
I dreamed again of sailing away. I don’t know why cruise ships are my reoccurring objects of choice. Where am I going? Why can’t I stay?
Last night we argued about going, staying, returning. We weren’t really fighting, but rather frustrated. We weren’t angry just refusing to be audibly agreeable. There was no comfort in compromise because we wouldn’t come to it. Not without confrontation. Certainly not out loud. I know I say one thing and mean another weeks later. I know what I say is true for the moment the words are uttered. I know I frustrate you as much I frustrate me & myself. I know it sounds like lying when I change my mind to suit my heart.
When I said I didn’t want you there and that I would be happier without you that wasn’t a lie. Not at that moment it wasn’t. At that moment miserable me didn’t want to deal with unreasonable you. My understanding wasn’t adequate when arguing with you. Facing facts is hard when fixated on fantasy.
Today is a different story. I want us to sail away. Together. Let’s take that journey the best way we know how. Our plans are scattered, seat-of-our-pants as they say. Who cares? Coming. Going. Staying. Let’s play it by heart and see what happens.
~*LunaSea*~ 