I have so much to “vent” about that I’m not sure where to start. If I look in and try to decide on one thing, I miss everything. It’s like being in that money wind tunnel. I’m grasping and grabbing but still coming up empty handed. Nada. I want to talk about a night of sirsy and good friends. It’s that good friends thing that has me so happy. The music was a bonus. So, so much fun. I want to talk about the run today. I need to talk about what went wrong…and log my “time”, my stats. I want to question sexuality and ping pong balls (thanks a lot boys). So many words but complete sentences aren’t working their way out. Maybe I’m not meant to say anything at all. For now. I’ll have more time (peace = quiet) tomorrow.
BookLust
Pearl, Nancy. Booklust: Recommended Reading for Every Mood, Moment, and Reason. Seattle: Sasquatch Books. 2003.
I think I have gone mad. I have decided to read every book mentioned in Booklust. Here’s why: I have the Nancy Pearl action figure. Nancy is a librarian and being a librarian myself it’s almost mandatory I call Nancy my “hero” but, I hadn’t even read the book that made her famous. Never even knew what it looked like (aside from the little plastic version that came with Plastic Nancy and that’s not saying much). The combination of a) deciding to get back to reading fiction, b) finding librarything, and c) needing guidance on what to read (because I’ve missed out on so much) led me to this challenge, this madness.
Booklust is cool. If I actually get through this challenge I will have read books on every subject imaginable: from novels written by Alice anybody (Adams, Dark, Hoffman, McDermott, and of course Walker) to books on Zen Buddhism and everything in between. I will read books about cats, black holes, Ireland, and yes, I’ll even read stuff called “chick lit” (her words, not mine). I am dreading the books specific to things like bombs and primates, though. Thankfully, she has nothing suggested for hippos, centipedes or mayonnaise!
UPDATE: I am nearly finished adding all BookLust recommendations to LibraryThing and guess what I’ve gone & done? Ordered More Book Lust, Nancy’s second book of recommendations. I think I’ve lost it. I’ll be in my coffin, still trying to read. My ghost will sit up and say, “Do you mind not closing the lid? I can’t see the page I’m reading!”
Strengths in Numbers
There is truth to what they say…that whole strength in numbers thing. I believe in it…to an extent (I guess in my life there is room for doubt..about everything). But, this numbers thing is onto something. Originally, I was planning on going to sirsy with only me and myself. I miss the music, I need the music, even if Nobody misses or needs me. By my lonesome I was prepared to be alone – r e a l l y alone. It’s not a feeling I am stranger to. I have felt alone in a crowded room, and for some reason, liked it. Almost anonymous, sitting outside the hub of activity. Observing from the fringes. That’s how I prepared to be tonight…but, I’ll be honest, I didn’t think I’d like it because it’s not the same. Self imposed isolation is different from someone doing it for you.
I never used to be this way. I once went to Albany for a Leukemia & Lymphoma charity event. I went teamless. I didn’t know a soul except for the music. I was there to heal my soul with the music. You talk about cancer. You worry about cancer. You rant about cancer. Sometimes it’s the tiny things like good music that can take the talk, worry, and rant all away…for a little while. That was why I drove to Albany alone. To heal with music ~ for the moment. I wasn’t afraid. I am now. I don’t think I could do that today. My courage needs a team these days.
So, J, G, D, W, C & D – I will see you from the fringe.
The Past that Bites You
It’s kind of ‘funny’ that on this day last year I wrote about missing childhood “things” like Twizzler straws and horseshoe crabs. Last night we watched a Dateline program about a woman who was killed by a stalker. Did anyone else see this show? It wasn’t just any stalker that forced his way into this woman’s home. It wasn’t just any attacker who raped and murdered her. Typically, women know their attacker. That’s not unusual. Here’s what had me thinking about this story, dreaming about this woman, and obviously, still fixating on it this morning. Not only did Mary know her attacker and fear him, but she had known him practically his whole life. If she had married his father, her attacker would have been her stepson. How messed up is that? Like a record with a scratch, I keep skipping back to one question: when did his obsession with her start? When he was as young as 10? When did he know he was going to rape her, kill her? What would Mary have thought if someone had told her, “see that kid…that kid at your dining room table? He’s gonna kill you one day.” What would she do? What would you do?
Here’s the other thing about this story that gets me.: at one point Mary had put her stalker in jail. He had stolen some clothing of hers…and she caught him. She was supposed to be notified when he was released. Alerted to the the danger of retaliation that was sure to come. She wasn’t dumb. She knew it was coming. Here’s where she went wrong: she put her faith in the system. She trusted them to tell her when this guy was being released. Oh, they told her all right. They sent an electronic message to her phone saying he was being transferred to a different facility. She never got that message. They followed up with a print copy of the same erroneous message. It arrived at her home the day after she was raped and murdered. Her stalker was transferred all right – he went from being a burglar/stalker to a rapist/murderer.
Was this kid fixated on Mary as a child, a child who spent a lot of time in her home? Was there something in his kidself that confused adoration with obsession towards his father’s girlfriend, his potential stepmother? His father had proposed to Mary many times and each time she said no. Why? There was something about his son she didn’t like.
Sister Thoughts
DMB once said something about having a lid: “I have no lid upon my head, but I I did you could look inside and see what’s on my mind…” or something like that. If you were to look inside my head you would see two conflicting thoughts, duking it out for control in my skull. They circle each other, growing stronger, weaker, and battling back again.
Thought Number 1 is all about a You that I refuse to relent to. Some people don’t have access to this blog because, I’ll be honest, I’m a coward when it comes to confrontation. I would rather blather about You, my words being the spit in your face that I could never dare fling in real life, than try to work it out with you. It’s too far gone for reconciliation. Really. Keeping mentioning how you miss my blog. Go ahead. You don’t miss it, you miss the ability to think you know me. “Do you love me or the thought or me? Me, or the thought of me?” (yes, more John Mayer). But, back to the confrontation: I don’t hold much favor for MyUglySpace, so I wouldn’t take it personally if someone deleted me as a “friend”… BUT, when you delete someone strictly to retaliate, that’s childish. Did you really think your “friend” was going to sulk a corner, crying because your “profile” was no longer on the space? How much hurt were you trying to deliver? Whatever. Delete away, my friend. You still can’t read my blog.
Thought #2 is all about being proud of a different you, an honest you. I have watched this you grow and change and grow again. I’ve been aware of your life from further away than I would ever like, but I’ve been a huge fan. I’ve been a cheerleader for all your accomplishments…all your life. Yes, we have created different circles. I don’t feel left out of yours. Not in the least. I was born into your circle, just as you were born into mine. I can say it openly and honestly, I am proud of you.
Now – go kick that other you’s ass, will you?
Which Side Are You On?
Voters Day. Election Day. Political Fanfare Day. Don’t forget to vote. Vote. Like a good girl I filled in my arrows, democratic green and yes in marker black. Do I want my alcohol coming from a grocery-“one-stop-shop”-store? Why not? It works for Maine, right? Whatever. It was like taking the SATs, only without the number two pencil. Lines instead of circles. Hiding in a cubicle. Don’t cheat. Where are the polls with the curtains? I want to stand, feet showing, behind the curtain. I want to be like Oz.
I heard of another kind of test today – a much cooler one, in my opinion. Everyone knows what a crazy Natalie Merchant fan I am. Well, someone sent me a HowWellDoYouKnowTheGesture test. It made me laugh out loud on an otherwise cloud-filled, yawn-filled day. Natalie does all kind of weird hand gestures during some songs and the “test” was to name the gesture that “goes” with the lyric. Yes, she is that predictable. Even my husband knows the gesture that goes with, “tilt that bottle in the air.” 😉
Recapping The Heart
I know myself. If I don’t feel welcome I walk away, drift away, go away. Why force this square peg into the roundness of someone else’s complete circle? I’m walking backwards in this endeavor: wanting more but moving further & farther away. Go figure.
I had wine with mom on Friday night and we talked about the different ways of moving away. Ruth who has that cancer. My cousin has that other cancer. I could choke on my own lack of courage at the very thought. Six months older. Six hundred years wiser. Cabernet untied my tongue and I talked of terrors of my own. A decision I was asked to make, “for the sake of my health” is a decision I have put off, “for the sake of my heart.” I admitted as much. I said I think it’s time to recap the heart. Stop it up and stop the hurt. My mother said it was okay. Really. With that acceptance I came thisclose to telling her more, more, more, but held my tongue. Capped it. Stopped it. The cab wasn’t working that well. I was too aware of my surroundings. Square thoughts for a round hotel. I hadn’t been there since that time in the pool. That time He told me water makes things taste better. Up and up and up to the 6th floor better. Round room better. So, we talked of other people’s cancers. Other people’s problems. It was easy to move away from mine.
I wish I could recap the brain, too. Stop the thoughts. For now, I’ll recap the heart.
Prejudice
Muse, Daphne. Prejudice: A Story Collection. New York: Hyperion. 1995.
On a lunch break today I picked this up. On a whim I started to read. It’s another “classified as young adult” collection of short stories all dealing with prejudice and the swirling labels that go along with ignorance: hate, fear, discrimination…all from the point of view of a child/young adult. I don’t know how I get myself into these books. Native American. Jewish. Japanese. Pretty. Lesbian. Poor. Southern. White. All within the first 62 pages. This is supposed to be a collection of stories written by different writers but all the stories sound the same. All told in that Coming-Of-Age voice, with Insert-Your-Prejudice-Here terminologies. I’ve gotten through six of the 15 stories and I’m admitting defeat…for now. My main goal is to read every book that Nancy Pearl suggests in Booklust, so I don’t know I keep getting off track with these “moral dilemma” books!
UPDATE: I finished all 15 stories and wasn’t impressed.
The Pursuit of Happyness
Gardner, Chris. The Pursuit of Happyness. New York: Harper Collins. 2006.
Given to me as a gift, I wasn’t sure what to make of The Pursuit of Happyness. The misspelling of happiness drove me crazy and I was wary of words on the cover like, “soon to be a major motion picture starring Will Smith” and “advance reader’s edition – not for sale.” So, I did what any hesitant reader would do. I kept the cover closed and tried to read other things. Remember American Tragedy? I had to give up on that one (due date came up and I didn’t have the heart to renew so, AT got an “attempted” tag on librarything). Meanwhile, I read more cookbooks, more young adult fiction – blowing through Here’s to You Rachel Robinson until finally, finally I revisited Pursuit.
About Pursuit. I’m 122 pages into it. Just up to “Part Two” and counting. I’m impressed with it’s tell-it-like-it-is first person voice (it is a true story, nonfiction after all). Gardner is honest about his upbringing. He doesn’t sugarcoat abuse, rape, theft, poverty, jealousy, lust and hate. Although the premise of the book is tell Gardner’s rags to riches story, it’s a social commentary on attitudes towards domestic abuse as well. In heart-wrenching detail Gardner’s mother is beaten by her husband in plain view of her community. A crowd gathers but no one tries to intervene. In the 1960s women were to obey their husbands…at all costs. I have more to say about “fighting back” but that’s for another time. In Part Two Gardner is about to join the navy so I’m sure there will be a snapshot of how the military is viewed in a country still raw from the horrors of the Vietnam War. I’ll keep you posted.
UPDATE: 11/17/06
I was wrong. Chris managed to avoid real confrontation so we sort of flew over his military career. I just finished the book in it’s entirety. Here’s my takeaway: anything is possible. It doesn’t matter where you are from, where you’ve been, or even if you’re not sure where you’re going. Anything is possible. Chris is a perfect example of someone who didn’t have the best while growing up but still managed to grow up to be the best he could be. Millionaire, Father of the Year, Humanitarian. You can’t beat that.
Over Your Limit
I learned a valuable lesson about buying whoopies from Moody’s. As a walk-in you can only walk out with four. Four is your limit. We didn’t think we would be stopping for the Moody Whoop at all, though. I didn’t think we would have time. We were running late. We had a late lunch, talked running with some proud runner’s parents (headed for the NYC marathon) so talking about the running made us run late. Route One was running, too.
But, something made me stop. In the late afternoon sun the neon sign called to me. Open. Stopping. We went in for four but when I opened my mouth to order, out came the word, “eight.” Surprised at myself we looked at each other. Eight? Eight! Eight. The cashier disappeared. Another appeared. Then one was two. One said no, four. The other said okay, eight. I threw in a HowToMakeTheWhoopieRecipe cookbook. Didn’t care what the total was. I was walking out with eight.
Most people bring flowers to a hospital room. Some even bring cute, cuddly, stuffed teddy bears. We came bearing gifts, too. Chocolate and cream whoopies. One for each hand. Each bigger than a hand. Such a strange gift for a maternity ward. At bleary eyed three in the morning someone brought my sister’s son to her. She ate her whoopie and said it was delicious. I’m glad I went over the limit.
Things Change
For typical you and me when the phone rings at 3 o’anything in the morning we are prone to panic. We sit bolt upright with a slight pound in the heartbeat. Things are not typical at Chez Spence. The phone rings at all hours of the late night/wee morning with annoying regularity. My husband’s position at work requires him to be available all the time…and I do mean all the time. The phone is by his side of the bed for that very reason and when it rings, I barely notice it. Sometimes I even sleep through it. 3:52am was no different. I vaguely heard the ring. J was out of room, saying hello before I could even roll over and register. Here’s where things change: it was my mother. I could tell by J’s quick, “no..no that’s okay.” He never tells his staff okay to anything. My first terrified thought was back to the typical, “who died?” Ruth was my immediate without-thinking thought. Sh!t. Then I heard the tone in my husband’s sleepy, tender voice and had a third thought, Silas! My sister finally had her second son!
Things change. I was supposed to see sirsy tonight but for the second time I’m canceling. Family has always come first. Last time it was heartbreak, this time it’s celebration. Guess I’ll be heading to Maine today!
Closing Up Shop
Just as I typed the title of this blog, John said, “this is ‘In Repair’.” That’s how today feels…like life is in repair. Today was all about packing up. The Halloween friends were put away. My Mama Witch, the scardy cat, the bleeding skull, the bats…all newspapered and bubble wrapped up. Only Serious sits outside on the stoop. I’ll keep him until kids crash him down Pumpkin Hill, animals carry him off, or the rot of age sets in and he becomes an orange mess on my porch…whichever comes first. Hopefully he’ll ripened to real rot then I can throw him in the bushes. I want baby Serious-es sprouting in my shrubs. Seriously. Could I be so lucky? My mother-in-law would probably kill, kill, kill me.
To date I have closed 191 blogs to the public. 179 have been deleted entirely. I don’t know how that makes me feel. On the surface, I am pleased to be more private. Mud level, I am not so sure. I said some important things to people I love and now I’ve taken away their ability to reread the words (should they want to). I called S an amazingly good friend. I called R my sister. Those things won’t change. Ever. I still mean those words…in some cases more than ever. In reality I guess it’s okay if its not there in black and white. I probably should say the words more often and do that “actions speak louder than words” thing anyway; plus I can always write love letters to my husband in maple syrup and halftime shows. He likes both.
Speaking of maple syrup and closing up – High Hopes will close for the season after this weekend. I’m bound and determined to go one last time. I have to get my all-you-can-eat fill of pancakes, french toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, homefries, toast, english muffins,coffee, tea and oj. The place is amazing. Where else can you put real, made-on-the-spot maple syrup on your ham & eggs and hot sauce on you potatoes and pancakes? Sometimes, when I’m feeling really good hot sauce and maple syrup go on everything. I’m not a girly-girl at High Hopes. I don’t count calories. I don’t pay attention to lady-like bites. I eat, eat, eat. It’s a buffet after all!
Best Eats…or Rachael Lovefest
Ray, Rachael. Best Eats in Town on $40 a Day. New York: Lake Isle Press. 2004.
I’m an on again, off again fan of Rachael Ray. In other words, in small doses she is wonderful. Too much of her peppiness can kill you. I watch most of her shows, flipping back and forth between something a little less sweet during the commercial breaks, (or when she gets to be too much). I’m not sure if $40 a Day the book is a spin off of $40 a Day the show because of popularity or a crazed attempt to saturate the market with all things Rachael. I’m banking on the second notion because the book is a Rachael Ray lovefest. I have never seen so many pictures of RR in one place. It’s like looking at her personal photo album with commentary. Rachael looking dreamy at a coffeehouse table, Rachael snuggling at the Grand Canyon, Rachael in a helicopter, Rachael with a glass of wine…you get the point. But, the book is more than that. It’s Rachael’s commentary on the places she’s been, the food she’s tried. It has recipes and travel advice. Contact information for the restaurants listed…Here’s why I’m not buying: the book. Not only does she succeed in finding 3-4 places to spend her $40 (and always comes in under budget), but each and every single time the food is orgasmically fantastic. What are the chances of that? Cheap and mind-blowing? I doubt it. If I was really curious I would take this book with me to a RR traveled city and test it out. Go to the places she mentions, order the food she samples and see/taste for myself. In the meantime, I’m returning the book.
Edited to add: I had the opportunity to eat at Becky’s in Portland, Maine (one of Rachael’s picks). I had the basic egg/cheese sandwich and mom had the fruit bowl. Her meal definitely looked better than mine, but my sandwich was less than $3 and worth every penny. My biggest gripe? Only one refill on the coffee.
After the Wreck
Oates, Joyce Carol. After the Wreck, I Picked Myself Up, Spread My Wings, and Flew Away. New York: HarperTempest. 2006.
When I first learned of this book I didn’t know anything about it. Yet, when it was in my hands and I started reading, I couldn’t put it down. I read it cover to cover in one sitting. Labeled “young adult fiction” I feared it would be dumbed down and too young (despite my love for Oates’ work). While it does have a somewhat optimistic, to be expected somewhat happy ending I was pleasantly surprised by its grit. After the Wreck tells the story of one girl’s struggle to get over the tragic death of her mother (car accident). Jenna’s downward spiral begins soon after she moves from New York to New Hampshire to live with relatives. Jenna is not the goody-goody kid and her rebellious nature is as realistic as it is refreshing. Things can can only get worse before they get better. My favorite part: Jenna learning how to run again after the accident. I can relate.
My Brother Sam
Collier, James L. My Brother Sam is Dead. New York: Scholastic. 1974.
I don’t know what made me pick up this grade school book. A strong desire to finish the books I should have read in my youth? Probably not, since I’d never heard of this one before. I was wandering the stacks of our Education Resource Center when I stumbled across it. It looked interesting so I gave it a chance…and read it in one day.
It’s the life of a kid in the midst of the American Revolution. His brother (Sam, obviously) joins the fight while the rest of the family tries to remain neutral. All sorts of tragedies befall the Meeker family and I found myself praying for the book to finish. I didn’t think there would be a happy ending (judging by the title) and I was right – there wasn’t.
Interestingly enough, the towns and even some of the characters are nonfictional. It makes me want to travel to Connecticut just to find the tavern, the fishing grounds, the trade route…just to stand in the path of history.
