Things Fall Apart

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Achebe, Chinua. Things Fall Apart. Portsmouth: Reed Publishing, Inc. 1992.

achebe I started The Plague (you all have read Albert Camus) before I got sick. Not a good thing while you’re puking as you can surely imagine. So, I’ve started Things Fall Apart, instead. It’s another Booklust choice (of course). My library has a pretty cool edition complete with a list of principal characters, a glossary of terms, a background history of culture, and suggestions for further reading – all before you even get into the story by Achebe. I’m only at the part where it’s announced that Ezeugo, the wife of Ogbuefi, is murdered. Page eight. More later.
12/7/06: Puzzlement: Okonkwo learns that when is father is called, “agbala” it’s not only another name for a woman, but it’s also a term for a man without a title, a purpose. A seemingly derogatory term for sure. But, wait! The Oracle was also called Agbala and people came from all over to consult it. Maybe being called, “agbala” isn’t so bad after all.

Booklust Twist: this is categorized as “African Literature in English” and as a companion read with Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver, and King Leopold’s Ghost by Adam Hoschild (Book Lust, p.15 & 63).

Shoot Me Now

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When you’re not feeling well everything stops. You can’t imagine driving a car, eating a meal or getting dressed. Lifting your head is even a chore. Such was my downfall last night. I started out feeling achy and blamed it on the run. Later it progressed into something worse. Whether it was food poisoning or the stomach flu, it definitely involved the digestive system in the most horrible way. All night long. A L L night long. I read an entire book in the bathroom. By five a.m. cramps had me curled in a fetal position on the cold tiled floor wanting someone, anyone to shoot me. I mean really, Shoot. Me. Now. Instead, I crawled to my husband and asked him to take me to the emergency room. It hurt that bad, but we didn’t go. Instead he took care of me myself and moi all by himself. Minute by minute, hour by hour. It seemed irrelevant that he had a Patriots game to go to later that morning. He stayed by me, loved me sick and all. He would have held back my hair if I asked.

Ten hours later and the Patriots won. I’m starting to feel better. I haven’t moved from the bedroom and I’ve watched more episodes of America’s Next Top Model than I care to admit. I missed work and I’m afraid to eat anything. Ugh

So, if I blew you off today, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t wish my day from hell on anyone.

An Unofficial Rose

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Murdoch, Iris. An Unofficial Rose. New York: Viking Press, 1962.

I read this book in practically one night. I have mixed feelings about Murdoch’s Unofficial Rose. For starters, I never felt like I got to know the characters well enough to care about what happened to them. To be honest I was disgusted by them, all of them. The relationships could be broken at a whim. Marriages meant nothing. It reminded me of a throw of the dice. Partnerships came and went, were formed and were broken again. Nothing was permanent or sacred.
The thing I liked the most was the suspense. No one knew who was really being honest with anyone else. I didn’t know where anyone’s true heart was laid. Okay – here’s a spoiler: son wants to run off with his young mistress. He demands money from his father in the form of the sale of a beloved painting just so he can run away with said mistress. Father sells painting, even though it was his prized possession (and the very item he thinks he married his wife for). Son’s wife has a chance at divorce and a new relationship with someone who might love her and she admits loving back. She declines just in case cheating hubby changes his mind and comes back to her. I was irritated with her but I did not know the character enough to care.

Booklust Twist: Nancy Pearl recommends anything and everything by Iris Murdoch (Book Lust, p.162).

Not Hot Chocolate

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Hot CocoaSo…Today was the Hot Chocolate Road Race for Safe Passage. I don’t know why I was so nervous but I was. I woke with wind in my ears and concern that was all in my head. I haven’t run outside in ages. Treadmills don’t give you cracks in the sidewalks, unexpected hills, uneven pavement, face-slapping leaves, wind in your face, nor other crazy runners vying for spaces around you. It’s completely different and I felt completely unprepared. My rocking husband bought a bagel just so I could use the restroom for one last nerve-induced pee. Once at the race site I searched for S. I wasn’t going to run with her but I knew it would make me feel better just to see her before all the madness began. Not only did I find her, I got to hang out with her, waiting for the IGuessThisIsIt start. We laughed about not so fauxs and Coming Out. It helped relieved the tension. Big Time.
Once the race started I felt bad I left S behind, but I knew I had to keep pace or else. I knew I would need to push myself the entire way. Believe it or not, that was my downfall, utterly and completely. Even at mile one I realized I was running too fast. I knew I would never last at that frantic pace, but I couldn’t slow down. My mistake was I was getting caught up in the speed of racers around me. I’m out of shape. I’m not the runner I once was, even for that briefest of times. My favorite moments during the race? Finding my husband by the side of the road, searching for my face. I saw him before he saw me. To surprise him I ran right up to him and announced, “kiss a stranger!” as I planted a wet one on him. It was a great pick-me-up and left me smiling for the rest of the run.
I have no idea how long it took me to finish. My PR was not important to me at all. I finished, handed in my “tag” and kept walking. Looking for S, looking for my husband. Unbelievably, I found them both within minutes. Did we get hot chocolate? Did we join the post race festivities? Did we search out award winners and speeches? No. We went to DD so my hubby could treat us to iced (?!) coffee and a gingerbread latte. Thank yooooooouuuuu! We talked running and racing while talking to the carseat locals. I think I even found S her future husband! 🙂

This “race” wasn’t about racing at all. I wanted to do something to announce my return to the run, I wanted to do something with my legs for a good cause and I wanted to cheer on my friend. This is something that deserves repeating. I am proud of my friend. Like I told her, she has huge courage – bigger than mine. She has never run outside. She has never run without music. This was her first “run race” and she hasn’t been running all that long. Me? I wouldn’t have had the guts to take on anything public, anything I’d have to register for! If anyone has read my LLS running blog, you’ll know I stressed about running without music for weeks before I actually did it. I literally had to ween myself off my mp3 player! I am proud of my friend.

Hey, S. Did you see the evening news!?
Hey, J. Thank you for your never-ending support. You so rock my world.

You Tried Again

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You tried again to connect to me. You invited me out and from the moment you did, we both knew it was a mistake. From the moment the invitation left your lips your eyes betrayed your true feelings, your true mistake. If there was ever a time you wished you could reach out, grab those words back, and cram them into your mouth, this would be it. Take them back if you could, I am so sure you would, because you should. Was it because of my instant dismay? How badly did it roll across my face? Your invitation deflated me. I was getting comfortable with the Let’s Not Push This. Your invitation disappointed me. No was on my lips but I didn’t want to be the one to offend. Lamely, I mumbled something about checking my schedule. I looked at my feet and the clouds, anywhere and everywhere save for the space between us. You have always said you are the smarter of the two of us. Imagine my relief when you brilliantly thought of a way to retract your invite. You were skillful, yet transparent. I see how it is and I want it that way.

Sorrow

Last Chance Workout

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Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m a huge fan of NBC’s show Biggest Loser. I could be lying in bed at 11:30pm and after watching an episode I want to get up and run laps. Seriously. It’s instantaneous Right Now inspiration that gets me every time.
Tonight, I pretended I was a contestant on the show. I really felt like I was getting in a Last Chance workout when I boarded the treadmill to hell. This was to be my only run before the “race” on Saturday. My last chance to get in a little CanIDoIt cardio and boy, did it suck. Well, I should clarify. The run itself was awesome – 3.31 miles in 35 minutes. Rock that. But, my athletic preparation left something to be desired. Where should I start? Biggest LoserBefore I even started I realized I was decked out in sweat sucking cotton. I was inviting chaffing without even realizing it. Had I not learned anything? Mile one I realized I forgot a sports bra. I’m no Double D. I’m not even a bouncy C but still, I knew that I would pay for not protecting the goods. Mile two I realized I forgot to put on deodorant…no wonder no one was to the left or right of me! Mile three and my clip started to slide out of my sweat soaked hair. What was I thinking? Where was my common sense? I felt ridiculous. Luckily, with the help of the Stones, Robinella, Natalie, sirsy, and KT I got through 35 minutes without too much embarrassment. I’m ready for the Hot Chocolate Race.
And speaking of that – I’ve been wrestling with something, a dilemma of sorts. Part of me wants to take my time, stick with S – run when she runs, walks when she walks, and just be there to cheer her on. There’s another part of me that views this ‘new’ attitude as something that needs to taken out for a test drive. I want to take myself out, open her up and see what she can do. How will I run this race if I don’t really run it? I decided to ditch my friend and run the run with everything I’ve got. I fell off the running wagon, I’ve struggled to get back on. This is my chance to secure a seat back where I belong – as a runner.

Funny

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funnyI find it really funny that I even had a preferred list. I might be the only one. Still, I laugh. From that other place:

Because I’ll Bite Your Head Off (public)

Re: my “preferred” list. PLEASE don’t be offended if you aren’t on my list. Please don’t be offended if one day you are on it and another you’re not. I am extremely emotional lately and I’m saying things off the cuff, out of my ass, whatever. I’m just saying things that I know will be taken the wrong way by the people who don’t know me that well. I’m also bringing up deep, dark shit that sometimes I need to say loudly out loud just to be confrontationally loud. It’s all in an effort to get rid of a massive amount of anger, frustration and, yes, fear (and we all know what Yoda says about fear). So, having said all that, trust that I love you guys (especially the subscribers – I think you’re crazy, too). I don’t mean anything personal by the “preferred”.

My Perception

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I’ve come to find out my perception is not your reality. In reality, maybe it’s no one’s reality. Well, except for in the funhouse that is my head. Everything in there is real. Of course.
See, here’s how it all went down. We went for the caffeine. Couldn’t you tell by the small that I was trying to cut back? Here’s what I wanted: 1/2 decaf, 1/2 hazelnut. Here’s what I got: empty and empty. That sucking, gurgling, empty noise, it made me giggle. Here I was, trying to be better to moi~self and I was coming up Empty, literally. They were quick to come back with fresh pots of decaf and hazelnut so I tried again. Here’s what I got: cold coffee. It was really starting to be humorous. Maybe the answer wasn’t coffee after all. Maybe I should have tea or chai. I laughed at the irony and made a stupid joke only Ruby would get, “if we hit all red lights it’s really going to be a bad day.” Not what you wanted to hear. After all, you are the one who said, “I would do anything to make you happy,” one hand on the steering wheel, one hand on my leg. Quick glances to my face to make sure I believed you. Anything to make me happy, and here I was threatening a bad day. Can’t say I blame you. A bad day controlled by street lights? Whoever heard of such a thing? No one except Ruby and that’s why things went from bad to worse. You told me to relax. Okay, worst. I hate that word. I don’t know why. My reality was I had been having a good day until you flirted with the perception that is wasn’t. My bad for making a joke you wouldn’t get. It’s just caffeine. Relax.

I Miss Me

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Barbara Walters would either make her guests cry or ask, “what kind of tree would you be?” In focus groups the moderator would ask participants to describe the kind of vehicles they would be. I guess questions like this are an attempt to get you to think about your personality in terms of something different, something outside of ordinary “friendly, quiet, sensitive” descriptors. I guess I would be an elm…and a jeep. Don’t ask me why. As for right now, though, I’m a 15 mile long traffic jam just waiting to become a hundred car pileup. Just when I think a lane in my life has become clear, free of snags, I hit something else and slow way the hell down. Stop and go traffic with no end in sight. A year ago at this time I was running regularly, I had kicked the coffee habit to the curb, and was just about to set the spiritual straight. In other words, the health lane was smooth sailing and I was feeling great. Was. Now I drink too much coffee, I can’t seem to get the legs in gear as often as I would like, and the only spirit I have to speak of is the Christmas spirit  (for which people think I’m nuts). The motto at chez moi is “more lights” (until we blow a fuse).
I miss me. I want to go running every single day just to clear my head…and boy does it need clearing. I want to eat healthy (case in point: today I finished off a Moody’s Whoop mixed with cherry apple crisp. Whatcha think? A gazillion calories?) I need to get off this lazy train. Mom’s birthday was Sunday yet, (big Yet) her (unimaginative) gifts are still on my dresser (unwrapped).  Meanwhile, I managed to wrap more holiday gifts last night. What the hell? I amy be preparing for the holiday, but here’s the million dollar question… will I get them in the mail in time for Christmas…Hanuukka…Kwanzaa? Probably not. At least the Waskies are getting a house warming gift sent directly to them – bypassing procrastinating me all together. Smart thinking… or something. Thanks Beaner.
I want me back. Seriously. I do solemnly swear to put peace and love back into my life.

Only Daughter (with spoilers)

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Anderson, Jessica. The Only Daughter. New York: Viking, 1980.

Set in Australia 1977, this is another Book Lust choice. I’m only 8 pages in but already I see similarities between my family and the Cornock family. Sisters on the telephone comparing notes on a mother’s behavior, “Did she give you the ‘I’m getting old’ speech?” “Yup.” I’m giggling already. I’m also getting schooled on Australian dialogue. A ‘tick’ is the equivalent of our ‘sec’. “Just a tick” is the same as “Just a sec.” The only annoyance with the book is that there are so many characters (already) that the author was justified in putting a family tree in the beginning of the book.

Edit: 11/30/06 – I have finished the book and there are three things I loved about it: Anderson never needed to spell out everything that happens. She implies and that kept me guessing. One mystery – why was Siddy calling Jack, “son” when Jack died? The characters constantly surprised me. Sylvia, the “only” daughter returns to Sydney (from Rome) coincidentally (?) when her father has had a stroke. She claims she didn’t know he was dying, but… she’s only been gone 20 years and she’s only his favorite child. Suddenly she is back? Get the picture? There is a twist to the will: Sylvia gets the money, but only after her mother dies (which Molly swears she won’t do). I also loved the complexity of all the relationships. Once I got them straight, I loved the power struggles between the sexes, the constant threat of ‘I’m leaving you.’

PS~ Incidentally, the cover of my copy of the book shows a swing and a hat. Probably one of the most powerful scenes in the book, IMO. Guy, a stepson by marriage is testing a rope swing. Jack, the stroke-suffered father is sitting in his wheelchair only yards away. Guy, in an evil attempt to scare his stepfather, swings close enough to kick Jack’s hat off his head. It’s a power struggle that Jack ultimately wins.

Booklust Twist: This is categorized as simply, “Australian fiction” (Book Lust, p.29).

No Heat For You

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Patriots Santa HatMy husband and I are decked out in our Santa hats. He’s in Patriots red, white and blue because The Game is on the big screen. I have to raise my voice to be heard, but that’s okay. I’ve had my way with BubbleGum all morning. Try! and Continuum continuously. We’re both humming “Gravity” under our breath. We’re twins – We’re wearing the Santa hats, sporting the holiday cheer, not because I’ve been a Christmas freak this entire weekend, but because I refuse to turn on the heat. How ironic. I spend time writing out my holiday card list while thinking warm thoughts, but I won’t turn crank the thermostat. I bought more gifts this afternoon – Dane, Ruby and Mom all got a little something more – but I’m being miserly with the oil. What gives? I blame it on the way I was raised. Really. I can hear my parents now, “Cold? Put on a sweater. Where are your slippers? Have some tea.” I am my mother’s daughter for sure.

Happy Birthday.

Decked Out

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lightsThe apartment is Christmas decked out. Christmas ready. Big time. I don’t know how it happened. One minute we are at the Warehouse, buying kitty litter, mouthwash and paper towels, the next we are decorating not one, but two Christmas trees. This was supposed to be a day of chores – changing light bulbs, putting away loads of laundry, using up leftover avocados. Instead, it became one of Christmas music (Babyface, Merrymen and a mix), white twinkle lights up the stairs, colored twinkle lights in the kitchen, unwrapping goofy, beautiful, precious ornaments. We decided my Charlie Brown tree of nearly 20 years was finally too small for all the ornaments collected over all those years, so we upgraded to a four foot fake. I’m okay with not getting the real deal. Some traditions are too sacred for anything but the island. We agreed to get balsam and bayberry scented candles to compensate. This is how my husband rocks: after we had gone out shopping twice he noticed we needed a ground plug adapter in order to have both trees lit at the same time. He went out again just to get the adapter and came back with even more lights!
I’m liking the twin trees. My old tree sports cartoon decorations: Scooby, Marvin the Martian, Cookie Monster, a green M&M, Rudolph and Pooh Bear amongst the colored lights…while the new tree has white lights and “grownup” decorations: blown glass of purple and gold, a crystal angel, a ceramic cat, a shell, icicles of glass. Everything means something. Chessie’s tags, a champagne cork, Now and Zen in purple and green, bells from a wedding, a knit reindeer, a turtle my aunt just sent me, a carousel horse, earrings from an old boyfriend too tacky to wear but perfect for a plastic tree…all of it has a place in my heart. By the time I’m 60 maybe I’ll have three trees!

This is the first time I have looked forward to a holiday so much. Hmmm. I can’t really say that because I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking forward to. It’s not like I’m counting down to December 25th. There isn’t a definite end in sight. I can’t explain it. It’s more a feeling, more of a spirit, the spirit than anything else. I can’t really explain it. But, I’m there. I’m in that spirit. Big Time.
Even dinner had a different spin on it. I made Mexican soup, a la Tyler Florence. So, so good.
Onion, garlic, jalapenos, tomatoes, salt and pepper in a stockpot sauteed in olive oil. Simmering chicken stock, shredded chicken and cubes of avocado. Topping with crispy fried tortilla strips, cilantro and lime juice. Tyler has a conversational tone in his cookbook. He wants to “walk me through” the recipe. Everyone knows Tyler. He’s the new spokesperson for Applebee’s. He rocks, too.

Tyler

Lazy

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Scrub the shower in bathroom I. Scrub the toilets in both bathrooms. Wash out the sinks. Wash the laundry. Load 1, load 2, load 3, load 4. Fold, fold, fold, fold the laundry. Take out the trash. Pay some bills. Wrap some presents. Sweep the floor. Order more Christmas presents. Balance the ledger. Wash the dishes. Put away said dishes. File some paperwork. Wash the curtains. Vacuum. Up the stairs. Down again. Make a Tuscan salad. Write a thank you letter…everything in my pjs. So lazy!

Tuscan Salad courtesy of The High-Energy Cookbook by Rachael Ann Hill (London: Ryland, Peters & Small. 2004).

Salad:                                          Dressing:

Cannelli beans             Mustard
Kidney beans              EVOO
Red onion                    Vinegar
Green olives                Garlic
Tomatoes                    Tarragon
Avocado                      Parsley
Chives                         S&P
Over lettuce. We’ll see how it all turns out.

Today was a day of catching up, for slowing down. Watched a lot of bad tv (sorry Tyra) and forgot to eat.

ThanksTaking

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I don’t feel like I gave out all that much this Thanks-giving. Really. My day consisted of rolling out of bed and drinking coffee. Eating and more eating. I wished a bunch of people Happy T-Day on ThatSpace, something I rarely do. That’s giving, I guess. I also wrapped Christmas presents. That’s preparing to give, I guess. It’s not the kind of giving that really means anything where Thanksgiving is concerned. At least not to me. I’ve always been bugged by the traditions of the third Thursday of November. Eat until you physically can’t stuff in another bite, watch football with your belt unbuckled and your eyes glazed over. Then what? I don’t know. We always bow our heads in BlessThisFood prayer but I’m not buying it. Do we really think about what we should be thankful for? Do we acknowledge what’s taken for granted? Do we even know what we couldn’t do without? Here’s what I’m really, really thankful for: my life. Seriously. I love my life and all that comes with it.
But, here’s why I feel so glutinous: my father-in-law is actually father-in-gourmet. Homemade everything. Yummy everything and tons of it. Bright orange sweet sweet potatoes, creamy garlic mashed potatoes, spicy pureed squash, traditional green bean casserole with those crunchy onion things, three kinds of cranberry sauce (whole, jellied and orange), airy, buttery popovers, apple stuffing, can’t forget the turkey, apple pie with whipped cream, chocolate cream pie with whipped cream, two kinds of pumpkin pie with whipped cream. Fifteen ways to fat…with coffee. I think I ate it all. My stomach is full but something’s missing. I miss my family. I miss mom’s cheesy attempt at hors’deurves. I miss Hub’s frozen chocolate pie. I miss home.
I can’t wait for the Hot Chocolate run on December 2nd. That will be my time to give back. Tonight was all about the ThanksTaking.

Happy Thanksgiving