The Edge of Reason

Twitch

I've had a twitch in my lower left eye lid for the past four days. It began shortly after I received a phone call from Alyssa last Thursday night. She was sobbing and inconsolable. No mother is happy when they hear their child cry, especially when said child is not living at home and is freaking out. I felt so helpless, because, really... what could I do? She is away at college. I am not there to offer a shoulder to cry on - instead, all I had were empty words of comfort. Come to find out, Alyssa was not handling her final exams well, which is completely understandable for a first year college student. Knowing that, however, does not make it easier on the mother.

So, my eye started to twitch. And it twitched all weekend long. I guess I'm not handling the situation with the nurse - and now the situation with a stressed out college student - very well. I thought that the bit with the nurse was fine since, after a million phone calls, we finally did get a nurse out to our house last week. Seemingly, that should have put that problem to rest. But what I didn't realize was that I have internalized a lot of anxiety about John's transition to sub-q infusions - and by internalizing, I mean I can't let John know that this is something that I'm really nervous about because the responsibility of his care now rests completely on my shoulders, whereas, always before I've had a nurse to depend on when it comes to needles and serums and all the other stuff that goes along with an infusion.

 

This is what I am now responsible for. John says that he will be in charge of his therapy from here on out, but when I look at these supplies, I am wondering how he really feels about this change we are about to make. For people not in the medical field, the sight of needles and a Sharps container can be quite intimidating... well... they intimidate me, that's for sure.

And then there's this:

 

That's my driveway and my yard. This is what I woke up to at 7:00 this morning. And the minute I looked out my dining room window, that darn twitch went into a full speed twitch mode. Twitch. Twitch. I'm finding it difficult to concentrate on much of anything with a twitch that is going a hundred miles an hour.

I've been told that the hole in my yard is due to Vios. What the heck is Vios? And why is everyone but me so happy about this? Seriously... it's hard to be excited about something that creates this kind of a mess with my yard - even if it is something really cool (which I wouldn't know, since I have no idea what Vios is in the first place).

Twitch.

And so here's how I'm coping:

Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter. This is my version of mindless escape. And I'm not kidding when I say that the only time my eye has not twitched since last Thursday night is when I'm reading these books. Yep... I've read 4 books since Thursday. That's how I cope - I bury my nose in a book and I completely shut out the rest of the world. Thankfully, my husband knows when to let me do this, and when my eye starts to twitch, he always steps back and allows me to escape my reality. AND HE COOKS! What more can I ask for? Well, I could ask that my eye stop twitching, but at this point, I don't think that is going to happen until Alyssa is home for the holidays, John's first sub-q therapy is successfully completed, and my yard is put back together. Geez, I hope my yard does not look like this all winter long - I seriously think I would go insane if my eye were to twitch for that many weeks and months.

Twitch.

Twitch.

Twitch.

Tomato Girl

Every once in a while, I stumble across a book that I cannot put down - a story that touches my soul and that will stay with me for the remainder of my days. Jayne Pupek's debut novel, Tomato Girl, is one of those books.

The first paragraph had me hooked:

"Jars line my cellar shelves. Some are filled with fists of yellow-veined tomatoes. Others hold small onions and chopped leeks, white pearls floating in an opaque sea. Sometimes the light falls on a jar of boiled quail or the slick, dark meat of a rabbit. There are unexpected moments when I see the slit of an infants mouth, or the curl of a tiny fist behind the glass, and I run up the steps, back into the open light of sky. I gasp for air and tell myself the past is a distant thing, no longer able to reach me or hurt me. And yet, at times, it seems the past will always send its long thin fingers toward me, reminding me of all I want to forget."

Tomato Girl is far and above the best book I have read this year. In fact, it may be the best book I have read in a decade. True, it is dark and haunting... so much so that when I fell asleep at 4:00 in the morning after finishing the book, I dreamed of the child Ellie, and in my sleep I wept for her. Yet Tomato Girl is also beautiful because it is a love story... not a pretty love story, but a love story of human nature and of what love leads people to do.

Until yesterday, I had not heard of this book. Where have I been? Why are people not talking about Tomato Girl? Why have I not seen this book lining recommended reading shelves? I accidentally stumbled across the book while shopping at Costco, and I purchased it without having ever heard of the author or the title, which is why I am sharing the information with others - run, don't walk, to your nearest bookstore and buy this book. It is a must read because although the story is haunting, this is a story that will never be forgotten, and the ending gives hope in spite of the darkness that was Ellie's life.

Tomato Girl is the perfect book club book, and it will most certainly be my selection when it is my turn next to pick. Readers will discover much depth in the quirky and unusual characters as the story twists and turns over the course of one spring. Ms. Pupek draws a unique picture of a small southern community that suspects but doesn't realize the severity of the mental illness Ellie's mother suffers. Tomato Girl is the story of a family that comes apart while trying to hide a secret. It is the story of the community that does the best they know how for an eleven year old girl whose sole desire is to protect her father and take care of her mother. It is a story of love.

Publisher's Weekly writes: "Absorbing, unsettling... [An] accomplished debut."

After reading Tomato Girl, I have to agree with Publisher's Weekly - I am left a bit unsettled, and yet the story touched me to the core. I anxiously await future books by this author.

The Summer of My Discontent

Last month I read this book. It stopped me in my tracks and forced me to reevaluate myself as a mother. And although I am nothing like the Cee Cee Wilkes (Lord knows I've never stolen a baby, nor have I ever lived under any name other than my own), I related to how very much Cee Cee Wilkes loved her daughter. When I finished the book, I sent it on to my own mother and I asked her to read it. When she was done, we talked about how the mother in the book was similar to mothers everywhere, because no matter who we are or what we do, we mothers love our children the best we know how, and sometimes, our best does not have the outcome we desire.

All summer long, I've questioned whether I've held on to Alyssa too tightly. And what I've concluded is that Alyssa's answer to that question would be a resounding "yes!" But my response is somewhat different, because the truth is that I knew no other way to love her. I loved her with everything I had, and it might have been more than was necessary. My intent was never to smother... but it seems like that is exactly what I've done. And this summer, as I've been mourning the leaving of my child, she has fought for independence with every ounce of her being. The result has not been pretty: we have been at odds over anything and everything all summer long, and our final days together have been filled with anger and angst.

After an entire summer of discontent, I finally broke down last Friday. I had taken Alyssa to the health department to get a shot that was not available at our doctor's office. What a nightmare. The health department is like the department of immigration - no one speaks English and there are gobs of families with screaming babies and children running wild in a dirty little waiting room. Alyssa and I had to wait for over an hour to get her shot, and she was miffed and cranky the entire time... making sure I knew that she was put out to be subjected to such an afternoon of misery. When we finally were called back into the bowels of hell, we were told that since Alyssa is 18, she could sign her own papers and my presence was unnecessary. Alyssa then asked me to leave the room so that she could take care of her own business - and out I went... to stand in the hall like a little lost puppy. As I stood there feeling worthless and out of place, it was all I could do not to break down in tears. I felt like running through the halls crying, "I don't want her to grow up. I'm not done yet. I'm not ready to let her go." Of course, I managed to keep the tears at bay and the running down the hall scene played out only in my mind. But still... it upset me when I realized that my job is done: I am no longer her guardian or her protector; my role has now changed to that of a distant relation whose only task is to encourage, support and continue to love from afar. Alyssa didn't say a word to me on the way home and it was very difficult not to fall apart in front of her, but since the summer has already gone to hell in an hand basket, I knew that her seeing me cry would only serve as an additional strike against me - so I managed to hold it together with only a sniffle or two. Thank God for sunglasses!

When we got home, Alyssa started clearing out her kitchen cupboard to pack up her food (she has her own cupboard where she keeps things like crystal light and her vitamins). When I looked at that empty cupboard and then looked at the table loaded up with her personal items, I finally fell apart - I had to go up to my room and have a good cry just because it was all too much. And it was at that moment when it hit me that she will be gone in less than a week, and that she won't miss home at all. The thought of not seeing her every day makes me so sad. I want her to be happy and to enjoy college, but it hurts to think that she hates it here so much. Maybe I tried too hard? Maybe I suffocated her and didn't give her room to grow? All I know is that I loved her the only way I know how, and that my love is endless - even when she hurts me. I wish she knew that! I want her to feel that love forever... even when she's gone.

And so to say that this summer has not been the good-bye I'd hoped for would be putting it mildly. Until today, I've been unable to think about it, or to talk about it. And writing about it... well, it took me two months to reach this point. Yesterday, Alyssa and I went out to lunch. It was good - the first peaceful moments we have shared since she graduated. And I felt hope... hope that as we find the balance of our newly defined relationship, we will become friends once more, and that we will each learn to respect the other for loving the best we know how, because at the end of the day, the best is all we can ask for. This summer I've learned that regardless of the hurt we may inflict on each other, the love between a mother and a daughter is worth its weight in gold. I have faith that in time, we will once again delight in the memories as we look toward her future, because without that faith, I would truly be lost when we say good-bye on Friday.

A closing note to those who had given up on there ever being another blog update:

I will always blog... eventually. It is something I do as a way to make sense of life. But I shut down when I am struggling.  I resurface... but sometimes it just takes a while. In the meantime, if you wonder what's going on in my world, I started a Facebook because... well... the administration at GMU encouraged the parents to Facebook. So that's what I did. They claim it is a way to keep in touch (if only briefly) with our freshman college student, but I've got to see that to believe it. Alyssa has yet to accept my Friend Invite. Gotta tell you - at first, joining the FB craze made me feel kind of old. But then I realized it was fun, and silly, and crazy. And to be honest, fun and silly and crazy are fine by me because playing with FB has helped me step away from the discontent as I try to learn something new. So stop by. Write on my wall. Leave me a message. Or, just look at the pictures (some are the same as I post here, but I will add others as time allows). If I'm not blogging, I just might be Facebooking (<-- is that a word?). And if I'm not there... then I am probably reading a book or watching reality television or tending to my sick dog (that's a whole 'nuther post), or, dare I suggest that I might just be losing my mind? I'm in transition mode, so I have no idea what I'll be doing as I adjust to not having Alyssa here every day. I'm redefining my role in life, and it's going to be an interesting journey.

Additional closing comments - good finds this summer:

As I've struggled to make the great escape from reality and keep my cool (in more ways than one), I discovered this country band. I'm adding them to my list of favorite artists because their music is refreshing and new and, well... awesome. If you've not yet heard of the band, head on over to iTunes and listen to some of their songs, I think that even non-country fans will find something to enjoy. I've listened to this CD at least 100 times and I'm sure I will listen to it at least that many times again. Three cheers to Lady Antebellum! Their music makes me smile even when I felt like crying.

And for those who have not yet jumped on the Twilight Saga bandwagon, I offer you this:

Twilight may have been a tad bit juvenile, New Moon may have been filled with teenage angst, Eclipse may have been a bit hard to believe, but Breaking Dawn completes this series in a way that satisfies and ties the entire story together with a wonderful conclusion and an ending that was worth waiting for. I was so pleased with the final installment of this series that after I finished Breaking Dawn, I sat down and reread the books back-to-back-to-back... still juvenile, but the series offers a complete package with a well thought out story that entertains. Maybe I enjoy these books because I live with teenagers and so I "get" where Bella, Edward and Jacob are coming from - I think I must relate to them in a motherly way. Or maybe I enjoy the books because I find vampire love stories to be entertaining. Either way, I loved the final book. Thank you Stephenie Meyer for taking my mind off my daughter while I thought of all things vampire related for an entire week.

So there you have it - the summer of my discontent tied up in a single [lengthy] entry. I am hoping that I quickly recover from the long good-bye and that I am able to become a more interesting person. I'm sure to have more time on my hands, and I should be able to find something fun to do, because the truth is: this summer, I've been downright dull, and even I have been bored with myself.

Swept away by the words.

I've read three really good books this year: Water for Elephants, Snowflower and the Secret Fan, and The Friday Night Knitting Club. But none of these books has rated making my Top Ten Favorite Books Ever List. They were good... really, really good... but not the best ever. In fact, it is rare when I find a book that comes close to making my personal favorites list. The last book that made the list was The Glass Castle. Before that, it was A Prayer for Owen Meany. And before that... well, I can't remember because it had been a while since my list had changed.

Always, when a book makes my top ten list, it means a shuffling of previous favorites, something I am hesitant to do because I tend to be very loyal to my favorite books ever list. For the record, my all time favorite book is an obscure fantasy titled Daughter of the Forest, by Juliet Marillier (this book is part of a trilogy). I've read it six times and fall in love with it more each time I read it. I don't know if there will ever be a book that takes over the number one spot, but spots two through ten are always open for alteration.

Last week I read a new book. It came as something of a surprise that this book was immediately added to my Top Ten Favorites List. The book wasn't recommended to me, nor had I read any reviews of the story. In fact, I don't recall hearing about the book at all. Instead, I found this book in the Young Adult section at Borders. I am not ashamed to admit that I search the Young Adult section on a frequent basis. I've found some very good books in this section: Harry Potter (years ago, before Potter mania swept the nation), Ender's Game, and Holes, to name a few. Last summer I discovered Eclipse (the entire series) in the Young Adult section and couldn't put the books down. I also couldn't wait to share the books with my niece, who also fell in love with the series. So Young Adult books are scattered throughout my bookshelves and held in high regard, right along with everything else I love. Note: a book only goes on the bookshelf if I think I will read it again, which I do all the time. If I don't think I'll read it again, then I pass it along without thinking twice. Currently, my bookshelf has about 75 books on/in it. Of those books, I've read at least half of them more than once. And several of the books have been read three, four, and five times. When I find a book I like, I think it is worth visiting again and again, because the words that tell a really good story sweep me away more with every telling of the story. And to be honest, a very good book is often hard to find, therefore, I collect them in case I run across a dry spell.

And so it was with The Book Thief - one of the most beautiful stories I have ever read. And as I fell into the pages, I was taken away to a time and place that we only learn of in history - a place that we have no comprehension of, because the truth of the matter is, we are blessed not to live in the midst of war and oppression and the evil domination of one single man. The Book Thief is a story of courage, friendship, love, survival, death, and grief - all which fit the criteria for being added to my Top Ten Favorites List. But more importantly, this book is about the power of words - something that resonates deeply within me.

When John saw me reading the book, his comment was, "Geez mom, you are as bad as the people at my school." I asked him what that was supposed to mean, and he told me that a teacher at his high school had challenged all of her students to read this book. But because I happen to be raising a teenage rebel, all it took for John to run far away from the book was a recommendation by a person of authority. And once again, I had to ask my self where I went wrong... not about the rebel thing - I will always wonder what happened there - but about the reading thing in general. Neither of my kids are book lovers. I don't know how that happened. I read out loud to them every night for the first ten years of their lives. And I have always offered to buy them any book they want (because, remember, I don't believe in book censoring). The last book John asked for was titled The Indigo Children - a research study of children with some kind of special insight to the world. Oiy. That's not a story... that's a study. When I was encouraging them to read, I certainly steered clear of research books. But of course, I bought it for him, because in my mind, even a research book is better than no book at all.

And so because my children are not readers, I did not discover The Book Thief from them. In fact, they both seemed to be a little offended that I was reading a book that they were supposed to be reading in school. Yep, I missed the boat when it came to passing my love of literature along to my kids - something that will always make me wonder where I went wrong. To be honest, it makes me sad. They have no idea what they are missing out on - this love of books and the ability to be swept away by the words.

As always, after reading a really good book, I turn to something light and fluffy (Jennifer Weiner, Janet Evanovich, Norah Roberts - these are good authors to turn to after reading something of high literary value. Their stories are pure entertainment and do not detract from the really good book that went before them) . I do this in an attempt to not tarnish the beauty of the few and far between really good books I find because I want those stories to linger in my mind. I want to cherish the words and live with the characters just a little bit longer. Back-to-back really good books would take something away from the lingering. For me, that would be a travesty, and it would negate the beauty of the really good book altogether. And since really good books are so hard to come by, I will do anything to make the experience last.

Today I started a book titled Ask Again Later. I don't know how light and fluffy this book will be, since the story is about a girl who quits her job to tend to her mother who has cancer. But the jacket of the book says something about the author being a writer for The David Letterman Show, and the way I look at it - anyone who writes for David Letterman must have a sense of humor.  I saw the word "hilarious" listed among the book reviews, which is the sole reason I bought the book (that, and I liked the cover!). I'm hoping there is some humor inside the pages, because after reading The Book Thief, humor would be the perfect thing to balance the poignant beauty of the pages I just completed.

Either way, because I am a lover of almost every book I read (The Road is excluded, because it was the worst book in the history of books), I am certain that I will once again be swept away by the words, because, unlike my children, I cherish each and every book that tells me a story.

January Days

I don't like snow. Really. I don't like it. After living in Wisconsin for seven very long, very cold, very white winters, I seriously do not like snow. And yet, a couple of weeks ago I found myself wishing for snow. It astounded me. Where did that come from? Seriously. I do not like snow. But when the temperatures hit a record breaking 72 degrees in the middle of January, something is wrong. 72 degrees does not feel like winter. In fact, 72 degree weather makes me long for summer. And January in Virginia is a long way away from the summer days that I love so very much. I don't like being teased like that. Thus, my convoluted wish for snow.

Yesterday, my wish came true. The forecast was for a few hours of snow turning to sleet and then rain later in the day. Fine. I can handle that, because that is more like the Virginia winters I am used to. And so when I heard the forecast, I thought to myself, "bring on the snow!" And snow it did. All day long. It accumulated quickly and continued to fall. One inch. Two inches. Three inches. Four inches. Almost five inches of snow. Not what they had predicted at all. And, by the way, why on earth were my kids still in school? It was snowing to beat the band and my kids were sitting up at the high school anxiously awaiting the good news of an early dismissal. But the good news never came. They waited and waited, only to hear... nothing... keep working... settle down... pay attention... you are not going home early. Huhn? What was up with that? Our district is notorious for releasing the kids early. They've been known to send them home at the very first hint of the white stuff. Heck, in the past they've even canceled school before snow started falling. That's how overly cautious they are. So where on earth were my kids?

In the meantime, John was scheduled for an infusion, but I had no meds. The meds were sitting on a truck... in the snow. And the nurse - she was calling me asking if she could come early due to early dismissal. Poor girl, driving in the muck and the mess. But since I had no meds, and since my son was still sitting in class, we couldn't make that happen. Darn snow. Eventually, the meds did arrive, as did my son, as did the nurse. But I spent the entire afternoon fretting and stewing as I wondered if the infusion would actually happen.

Today the snow is melting. They delayed school for two hours. Sure. Better make up for their error from yesterday. The news is reporting angry parents. No doubt. It's one thing if this was a pattern. But, no. They deviated from the norm, and people don't like that. As for me, I'm enjoying the blue skies and warmer temperatures while I can because more snow is predicted over the weekend. Yep, that's winter in Virginia... it's a fickle thing.

Before the snow fell, this is what I'd been working on:

Last weekend I decided it was time to spiff up my kitchen. Usually, I add seasonal patterns to my table. You know - snowmen in the winter, flowers in the spring, leaves in the fall. That sort of thing. I'm actually quite anal about it. In fact, I've got quite a collection of placemats and table runners that I've made through the years - lots of things to choose from. But for some reason, I decided to deviate this winter. Color. That's what I need. Bright, sunny, fun colors. And so I rummaged through my stash of fabric and this is what I found - exactly what I wanted... until I ran into a wall. Do you see the multi-striped fabric in the upper left photo? The stuff that reminds me of a circus? Yeah, that. My intention was to use that fabric as binding around the placemats and the new table runner, which I did. And I hate it. ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY HATE IT. So I set the project aside. Today I'm contemplating what to do next. The quilt top still needs "quilted", but the placemats are done. Yep. Done. Finished. Complete. Six placemats, ready to use. But I won't. I can't... I just can't bring myself to putting something so garish on my table. And so my options are this: 1) use the placemats and cringe every time I walk into my kitchen (which in my mind is not an option at all), or 2) tear them all out and find a different fabric to use (clearly, the option of choice).

In the meantime, Alyssa's sewing machine is now sitting in the dining room on a chair (I used her sewing machine for this project because it has quilting attachments), my ironing board is still set up in the kitchen, and the finished placemats are still annoying the holy heck out of me. My favorite part of this kind of project is the actual quilting, and I haven't even gotten that far yet because I am so disgusted with the placemats. Phfft. I'm so mad at myself. I should have known that multi-striped, circus fabric was not my style. What on earth was I thinking?

In an attempt to squelch my annoyance, I ran to the bookstore and purchased this book:

A fellow crafter recommended the book, and when she told me she couldn't put it down, I decided it must be a book worth reading. (Yeah, that's how I base my book selections... on what my peers have to say about a book. Not very scientific, but it works for me.)

I finished The Friday Night Knitting Club over the course of two nights. And I liked it. A lot. It was a story that will stay with me for a very long time, because this is a story about women and their strengths. It is the story about friendships and how differing personalities often make for the strongest ties. It is a story of love and motherhood and forgiveness. And although I wouldn't consider the book to be literary genius, I do consider the story to be one worth reading.

A quote at the top of the book cover sums it up perfectly:

"An absolutely beautiful, deeply moving portrait of female friendship. You'll laugh and cry along with these characters, and if you're like me, you'll wish you knew how to knit."            --- Kristen Hannah, author of Magic Hour

And so there you have it - January days. Nothing earth shattering, but I'm keeping busy and these are the little things that make me smile. Because, really... who can complain about a little snow, a sewing project gone awry, and a good book? In my mind, this is what makes winter what it is - a time to nest and settle in as I anxiously await the arrival of spring.

Time Suckers

My New Year's Resolution for 2008 was the same resolution I made for 2007... and for 2006... and for 2005. The resolution is simple: respond to emails in a timely manner. Clearly, this is a resolution I struggle with, because here it is, January 7th, and I'm already failing miserably.

Last year I decided not to open emails unless I had time to respond. Phft... that strategy didn't work at all, as I LOVE getting emails and I couldn't stand not peeking at what people had to say. And so even though I held off reading them for a while, I eventually caved in and read them in one giant read-fest. It was like Christmas, and by the time I was finished reading my mail, there was no time left to reply. So there went that approach. This year, I decided to tackle my resolution using a different method - an approach that involved the reward system. Today it hit me - the reward system is not working at all. Not only is it not working, but I unknowingly set myself up for failure before I began. Case in point: I decided that I would not allow myself to write a blog entry until I caught up on the emails I received in December. Ha! What a joke that turned out to be, because while I continued to procrastinate responding to messages that are now very outdated, more emails began piling up. What is so funny is that the emails I'm now receiving regard one single subject, "Please update your blog." Thus, the reward system backfired in a way I had not considered. The emails are still sitting there, the blog has been sorely neglected, and rather than having a single problem, I now have two. And so it's back to square one for me, because come hell or high water, I am determined to overcome the email dilemma. Anyways... there you have it - Kelly's Guide to New Year's Resolution Failure. I don't suggest following my system because it is severely flawed!

So what the heck have I been doing all these days and weeks that I've been away from the blog? Time suckers... that's what I've been doing. In addition to my parenting duties for John, who is currently fighting some demons of his own, I have been playing with new toys - toys that suck the time right out of the day.

This toy has sucked at least twelve hours out of my life. But it's cute! And I like cute. I also like PINK, so I'm not complaining too much, other than to state that I have no freaking clue how to work this thing.

On December 15th my cell phone died. I didn't drop it. It didn't get wet. It wasn't abused in any way. It just got old and died. It was a sudden death and took me by complete surprise. Since this happened so close to Christmas, I was unwilling to buy a new cell phone until after the first of the year. And so on December 31, I ordered a new phone. It arrived on January 3, and my cost was ZERO! The problem is, I have only owned one cell phone in my life - the one that died. I don't know a darn thing about cell phones. The only thing I know is that I want them to work. And now I know something else: saving numbers to the phone instead of the SIM card is a very, very, very bad idea. I ended up losing over 150 phone numbers when my old phone died. So now I'm starting from scratch. I'm in the process of learning how to use this new phone and hunting down all those numbers, which is taking up a ton of time, and which is also frustrating the heck out of me. Of course, I only discovered the SIM card memory thing AFTER my old phone died, and AFTER I spent an entire afternoon and evening trying to figure out why my new phone was not reading my SIM card. And this explains why it is that I feel old and cranky when trying to figure out new technology.

Last week, as I anticipated success with my NY-Resolution of answering an in-box filled with emails, I was in the process of making a new blog banner for the new year. That was until I received yet another email. This one was in regard to Book Club. YIKES! I had totally forgotten about Book Club, which meant no new banner, no emails answered, no blog entry, but instead a reading marathon because I do not want to get kicked out of Book Club! I read The Boleyn Inheritance in three days (in between watching the America's Next Top Model marathon on VH1 and the bowl games on all the other channels). My thoughts on the book are that I enjoyed it more than The Other Boleyn Girl, but had I not read The Other Boleyn Girl first, I doubt I would have enjoyed this book at all. The Boleyn Inheritance is very much a continuation of the story of the Boleyns and King Henry VIII's rule, and in spite of the "off with their heads" theme, I liked how the story came full circle.

Before I read The Boleyn Inheritance, I was merrily marching along reading this:

John gave me The Dark Materials Trilogy for Christmas because he knew that I was dying to get my hands on these books. I will admit that I enjoy teen literature. There are several reason for this. Namely, I like to know what it is that my kids are reading and discussing. But I also just plain enjoy the genre of teen lit and I often find myself browsing the teen lit aisle at the bookstore. Additionally, these books are highly controversial and I am the kind of person who prefers to form my own opinion before passing judgment on whether or not books should be banned. Okay... that's not true. I don't believe in banning books for any reason. However, I do believe in being educated as to why others wish for books to be banned. In the case of these particular books, I now understand both arguments. I still don't think the books should be banned, but I do respect parents who choose to remove the books from their homes. As for me, the books will remain in my personal library because 1) my kids are old enough to understand that fantasy is just that... fantasy, and 2) my kids are of an age that is well past book censoring. Side-note: I really enjoyed the trilogy... but it did suck a lot of hours to read all three books back-to-back. I became thoroughly caught up in a world of mysterious fantasy where bears can talk and people can move between two worlds. And the time when I should have been doing other things (such as responding to emails) was sucked right out of my life.

Speaking of time suckers, my husband gave me the ultimate time sucker as a Christmas gift. He knows me well, and he knew when he gave me this gift that it would become one of my favorite new toys. But what surprised me is that *I* had no idea I needed one of these things. I've ignored all conversations about them for months. I don't know if that was due to ignorance, or to fear, or maybe even stubbornness... probably a combination of all three, because once again, this is new technology and although it entices me, it also scares me. Therefore, I found myself saying, "That's not for me." And as always, I later stand corrected when I say, "How did I live without this for so long?" The toy I'm talking about is the digital photo frame. Seemingly simple. Seemingly innocent. And seemingly NOT a time sucker. But there's the rub. For a person who dabbles in digital scrapbooking, a digital frame is just another form of a photo album, and when the frame is approached as an album, the concept then takes on a life of its own.

I've got several thoughts and opinions on the digital frame. But since I've overextended this entry, I will save them for another day. Suffice it to say, the digital frame is a big time sucker, but it is honestly one of the most fun toys I've played with in a very long time. And although it's sucked hours from my days, I'm having a blast setting it up exactly how I want it. (More pictures to follow.)

Until then, I'm back to tackling those emails. If you sent me a message, I promise it's been read. What I can't promise is a response date. Just know that I'm making a strong effort to overcome the procrastination issue, and that I love getting emails and I love hearing from you. But those darn replies... I'm blaming the lack thereof on a time sucker, because I'm not kidding when I say that these toys seriously suck up the hours in my days.

Chicken Soup for My Soul

People deal with stress in many different ways. I've known people who attack their stress by cleaning, people who dive into shopping, people who run and walk and jog (something about those endorphins), people who escape with a nap, and people who eat until they are sick. And then there is the meditation approach, the research approach, and the professional therapy approach. Not to mention those who recklessly get haircuts or move all their furniture around. My sister paints her walls when she is stressed. My mom does yard work. As for me - over the years, I've tried every single one of these things, at least twice. My philosophy has always been whatever works at that moment in time - do it, because when things reach a crisis level, survival is key.

Through trial and error, I've come to realize that there is one sure-fire method of dealing with stress that works for me better than anything else. I made this discovery while living in Wisconsin. For those who have not experienced a Midwest winter, let me be very clear: Midwest winters are long, they are cold, and they are something people prepare for well in advance. These pertinent facts of the region were unknown to me the winter of 1991. I had no idea what I was in for. I was naive, I was young, and I was in denial.

We moved to Wisconsin the week of Thanksgiving (not a week I recommend as ideal for a move - too many emotions get tangled when combining moving with a holiday). Our first night there, it snowed fifteen inches. Keeping in mind that I was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest - I had never driven in snow. Never. Not once. To compound the problem, Alyssa was only 15 months old and I was 5 months pregnant with John the day we moved - to begin snow driving lessons at this juncture in my life would have been insane. What I remember most about that winter is that it was the longest, coldest, loneliest winter of my entire life. I was overwhelmed with new motherhood, extremely fat with an impending pregnancy, and homesick beyond reason. I cried every single day from November to May. I honestly thought I would die as I tried to deal with too many changes in too short of time during an altogether too long winter (with no ability to drive.).

After my long, lonely first winter in Wisconsin, I swore that I would never allow myself to be in that situation again. In fact, I started preparing for winter in August the next year... just in case the snow came early.

So what does all this have to do with chicken soup and stress and weird remedies? For me, it has everything to do with with these things because it was during the winter of 1991 when I discovered that I could lose my cares in a book. I also discovered that when stress gets to be too much to bear, reading the day away is a much better way to cope with problems than shopping, or eating, or napping (my previous three favorite approaches). That was the winter when I began to buy books by the dozen. I became obsessed with owning books. And I would panic if I had less than five waiting to be read. I depended on those books like I depended on a warm blanket for comfort, because knowing that I had books waiting to be read when times became rough, I somehow knew that I could manage whatever Mother Nature sent my way.

I've never gotten over the comfort that books give me, and I still stockpile them in great quantity. I like to put them in order of preference, depending on the mood of the day. The order changes many times as I read my way through a pile... and I always get through my piles.... it's a gift I give myself. I like to think of it as my own personal therapy. And always, when a pile begins to diminish, I add more books, which starts the sorting process all over again. Sometimes, just looking at a pile of books brings a sense of peace and calm. There is just something about books. Lots and lots of books. Dare I admit that I think books may be my grown-up version of a security blanket? I kind of like that thought...

And so it was that I found myself in a bookstore yesterday. I really don't know how I ended up there. It wasn't on my to-do list. And I didn't plan a trip to Borders. I was just out and about doing my own little thing when all of a sudden, there I was in the Borders parking lot. Subconsciously, I think I must have planned it all along. Whatever... I really don't care how or why I ended up there, because when all was said and done, I spent over two hours in unadulterated, heavenly bliss. During those hours, every care in the world was absent from my mind. Instead, my mind filled to overflowing with the beautiful word pictures that only inside covers and back jackets of books can provide. It was a lovely experience. I came home with seven new books to add to my piles, which I consider to be winter planning in its finest form. The insert picture shows the spines of six of my newest treasures. I actually bought seven books... but I started reading Eat, Pray, Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert last night and I forgot to add it to the pile when I snapped the picture. (In case anyone wonders - I am love, love, loving Eat, Pray, Love, which is why I decided to take this walk down memory lane in the first place. I relate to the author in a way that is far too close for comfort. And in spite of the fact that I am not a writer, nor am I a world traveler, the things she writes about are things that offer a glimpse of my own self. Monica, if you are reading this... you were right!)

Today as I was sorting and piling my winter books, I thought about how it was that I stumbled upon my own personal definition of Chicken Soup for My Soul. And as I relived the memories I've shared, I realized that there are always lessons to be learned when forced to deal with something we really don't want to deal with at all. Because although coping with stress by stockpiling books is something I've done hundreds of times since that long, lonely winter of 1991, it is still exactly what I need right now, today, at this moment in time. Today, I am at peace.

Notes from a Bookworm

Last May, I looked at my bookcase and decided that I owned so many great books I was not going to buy a new book for the entire summer. Instead, I was going to spend the entire summer re-reading some of my favorite stories.

I can't say that I've stuck to that decision, because I have a serious weakness when it comes to books - namely, I can't stop buying them. But I have managed to re-read two of my favorite series - the latest being all six Harry Potter books. In fact, I may have set a personal record for reading that many pages in such a short amount of time... I read the entire series in twenty days. And as I have lived and breathed Harry Potter for the past month, I can honestly say that I have enjoyed every single minute I spent late at night revisiting Hogwarts, The Burrow, and Number 4 Privet Drive. In my mind, Harry Potter just gets better with age, and each time I read these books I feel as though I am visiting old friends. The way I see it, that's the sign of a good book - when the characters become my friends. It's pretty safe to say that Harry is one teenager I wouldn't mind having around.

But as the first Tuesday of the month drew near, I began to panic, because the first Tuesday of the month is book club night, and I had not yet read the book... how could I? I was in the middle of a Harry Potter marathon. Not only had I not read the book, I also had not purchased the book (in keeping with my no new book decision). I was hoping to borrow the July selection from a friend, but all of my friends were either reading the book for book club, or had not purchased it either. Additionally, as I have mentioned in the past, I have a very difficult time stopping in the middle of a series to read something else. When I read a series, I like to read it in one fell swoop, without interruptions. That is the reason I like series in the first place - they are like one great, big, long story. Ever since I was a teenager, I have had the notion that the longer the book is, the better (this notion conceived after reading Gone With The Wind and wishing the story of Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara would go on forever). And if a book is part of a trilogy or a series, then woo hoo! That is how I approach book selections - go for length, because length means meat and guts and plot and depth. Yep, length is good, and six Harry Potter books certainly fit the length criteria.

Last month I missed book club because I was in Arlington, Texas teaching and doing the crop hostess thing. Later I was told that I didn't miss much because the June book selection was terrible (the book was titled Mapping the Edge, for those who are keeping track). However, I was also told that the July selection was awesome and that I needed to make sure to read the book before attending the meeting. At the time, that sounded like a cinch - a good book, a month to read it... Simple Simon. That was before I decided to slip in a little Harry Potter before doing my book club reading. I soon discovered that Simple Simon it was not. And that was when I set a goal: finish all six HP books, and complete my July book club book before the next book club meeting.

How I managed to read that many books in such a short period of time is beyond me. All I know is that there were many, many nights when I found myself still reading at 3:00 in the morning. I also know that I carried around the HP books to the point of ad nauseam. My kids began telling me that I had left "Harry" on the kitchen table, and in the car, and even on the stairs, because they knew that I was having a love fest with the boy who lived. In fact, Alyssa and John were surprised when they found me with my nose in the book A Thousand Splendid Suns this afternoon. Personally, I think they had kind of gotten used to having Harry around.

Which brings me to the actual point of this entry: wow! What a contrast. A Thousand Splendid Suns is about as different from Harry Potter as a book can get. I had an extremely difficult time wrapping my mind around such a serious and politically accurate book after having spent twenty days immersed in children's fantasy. And because the contrast was so stark, it was very hard for me to get into A Thousand Splendid Suns. But by the time I was half way through the book, I realized that even though I had switched genres very abruptly, there was one theme that remained true: evil. And as I further delved into the story of A Thousand Splendid Suns, I was made aware of the travesty that is happening in Afghanistan. Which is not to say that I was unaware prior to reading the book, but rather to say that I chose to pick and choose the level of awareness I allowed in my mind.

As I read the book that chronicles three decades of Afghan history, I became shocked by the things that have happened in the Middle East. And it struck me that here I sit in my comfortable little home, with my comfortable little life, going about my comfortable little tasks while there are women and children in Afghanistan who are living a literal nightmare - day to day, moment to moment, millions of people fear for their lives. The things they worry about are not mundane or trivial. Their sole concern has become survival - survival for their country and survival for their life.

It was as I was reading A Thousand Splendid Suns that I realized the fictional evil of Lord Voldemort is frighteningly similar to the real life evil of the Afghani warlords. And the fictitious war between The Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters could certainly be loosely compared to a modern day jihad. Wow. Just wow. Talk about an awakening. Because even though the Harry Potter series is about as far fetched as a story can get, the underlying theme of the human struggle between good and evil is as true as any book ever written. Once I stopped to think about this fact, I did an immediate reality check.

The book A Thousand Splendid Suns is a work of fiction. However, the historical background is real, as are the struggles faced by the characters. The words written by the author rocked me to the core. He writes of things I prefer not to think about - it is easier that way... because to be very honest, it pains me to think about obeying a law that demanded I wear a burka whenever I left my home. And I can't begin to fathom what it would be like to require a male family member to accompany me when I walked the streets. And thinking about bombs and gunfire becoming the white noise of my life is absolutely beyond my comprehension. But what I found to be most disturbing of all was the realization that almost every person alive in Afghanistan today has lost at least one family member to a civil war that has been raging for over thirty years. Honestly, it is beyond my comprehension. I have no point of reference. I truly can not wrap my mind around this fact: husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents - dead. Every single living Afghani has lost one or more of these family members to the war that rages around them. I can't begin to imagine the loss of life - it is so far beyond my realm of reality.

And just as I try to wrap my mind around the imaginary world of wizardry, I also attempt to wrap my mind around the very real world of a jihad - but still, they are both foreign concepts to me. I have no point of reference. This is why I read, and read, and read some more. I read anything and everything I can get my hands on because this is how I am able to grasp thoughts and ideas. It is how I am able to comprehend the horrors that occur in our world - even if the only way I know how to do so is by comparing a creepy [pretend] Death Eater to a [very real] vicious warlord. I read because by reading, I am able to view things in a way that would otherwise be impossible due to lack of reference. My books provide the means for my mind to comprehend the reality. For me, that's just the way it works - if I see it in writing and I allow my mind to absorb the words, I am then able to make sense of the many senseless things in our world.

A final note: my book club meeting for the month of July was canceled on Monday afternoon. I rushed through A Thousand Splendid Suns for nothing. Next up on my reading list is Lean Mean Thirteen, by Janet Evanovich. Yeah, I broke my vow to not buy any books this summer. Lean Mean Thirteen made its way into my Target basket last week. As for the seventh and final installment in the Harry Potter series - I preordered the book before I made my summer no-book-buying vow. I expect to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on my doorstep as soon as it is released this month...at least, that's what Amazon has promised.

The Glass Castle

After a week-long trip, it usually takes me another week to recover from the travel. I used to attribute the long recovery period to my age. But the more I think about it, the more I realize it is probably due to my desire to ease back into a routine. That may be due to my age, since the older I become, the more I like to savor the journey. Either way, my week is almost up and it is time for me to get back to work. As John gently reminded me tonight, "Mom, the laundry is calling your name." He's right. The laundry is definitely piling up (although I don't feel sorry for him, since he is more than capable of throwing a load of jeans in the wash).

During my re-entry days, I have spent my time doing a whole lot of this and that, which adds up to not a lot of any one thing specific. I did, however, manage to eek out a few hours to sit by the fire and read a book, because for some odd reason, Old Man Winter has decided to show up after all. Where was he during the holidays when the temps were in the sixties? Colorado - that's where. Well now winter has moved into northern Virginia and I can honestly say that it is colder this week than it's been any time since we moved here nine years ago. The temperatures have not reached above freezing for days and the forecast is calling for more cold days ahead. In my mind, frigid temperatures and falling snow are good reasons to curl up by the fire and read a book. So that's what I did.

I don't write about every book I read because I am constantly reading and if I reviewed every book I read, I'd be writing daily book reports. This book, however, deserves mention because this was a book that literally rocked me to the core. Rarely do books take my breath away and give me pause to revisit my childhood and reflect on how I was raised. The Glass Castle, by Jeannette Walls, was a book that did just that. And I was reminded that I have been blessed.

Jeannette Walls is a gossip columnist for MSNBC. She is educated, poised, articulate, and a really good reporter. I've watched her on television for quite some time, never knowing her background, and not knowing that she penned an amazing memoir. I guess I haven't paid that much attention to her background, because when I began reading the first page of this book, I remembered listening to an interview with Ms. Walls where she recounted the exact event that was written as the opening chapter of The Glass Castle. Knowing the adult she has become, made her story all the more astounding.

From the very first sentence of the book, I was sucked into reading this childhood memoir. And the more I read, the more astounded I became. There are children in America who actually live like Ms. Walls lived. Children who go without food. Children who fend for themselves. Children who don't have beds and never own new clothes. Children who do not bathe because they have no water. Children who are so used to poverty that they know no other life - they just survive because survival is what makes us human. And sometimes when children are faced with adversity, they overcome and grow up to become amazing adults, which is exactly what Jeannette Walls has done.

I'm ashamed to admit that although I was aware of these things, I had chosen not to think of them. Because by not thinking about poverty, I was able to go about my sheltered little life, doing my own selfish little thing. And I was able to do so without guilt, because by choosing to ignore one of the biggest problems of American society, I was able to live in my own Glass Castle.

When I think of poverty, I think of other countries. When I think of children fending for themselves, I think of children whose parents are either dead or in prison. What I don't think about is children who have two parents who love them the best they know how, but whose love is so misplaced that suffering occurs in spite of that love. Since reading this book, I have gained a better understanding of love, and families, and the ties that bind. My hope is that I will find a way to act upon this newfound understanding.

After reading The Glass Castle, it became very clear to me that the human spirit is a powerful thing. I realized that tenacity is worth more than any amount of money. When I closed the last page of The Glass Castle, I was reminded that the events that occur in childhood most certainly impact the adult a person will become. There is but one thing thing that makes the difference: what a person chooses to do with those childhood experiences will decide whether or not that person will grow stronger or lose hope. Ms. Walls grew stronger, and that is the true beauty of this astounding story.

Living Artfully

Book Review

It is an unexpected pleasure when the content of a book causes me to pause and rethink my approach to life. Living Artfully, by Sandra Magsamen, is one such book. Since reading this book, I have started to view my thoughts, actions, and deeds with a renewed sense of excitement. And that is the real beauty of this book - it is filled with inspirational stories, quotes and ideas that have touched my heart and opened my mind to a new way of living.

Sandra Magsamen is a well-known artist. But what people may not be aware of is that she is also a masterful storyteller. In Living Artfully, she weaves beautiful stories into an amazing tapestry of inspirational ideas that can be applied to everyday living. I laughed, and cried, and celebrated life as I was inspired by stories of ordinary people living extraordinary lives. These stories illustrate life as the artful experience it was meant to be, and they are shared with love and meaning that is Magsamen's gift with words.

Ms. Magsamen writes:

"Life is a work of art and we are its artists, born with the tools - our innate imagination, curiosity, and playfulness - to create anything we can imagine. Living Artfully is expressing who you are through these objects and moments that you create. To live artfully is to live life fully, with meaning and a purpose - to bring beauty into being.

I define art in the broadest sense - it is every possible medium of human expression. It is in what you say and how you say it. Art is simply the name for how you live your life and how you tell others what you think and feel."

When I first read these words, the simplicity of this concept astounded me. Living artfully does not mean that one must be a master painter or a poet. It does not mean that a person must be an expert gardener or a writer. Living artfully is defined by the little things we do - those small acts of kindness that we give to those with whom we share our world. Everyone is an artist. Our days are filled with artistic acts. In essence our life is a canvas, and we have the power to create a masterpiece as we embrace the world. When one considers the possibilities, living artfully becomes an exciting new approach to making our lives more meaningful.

Living Artfully presents the concept in a way that is easy to digest and easy to apply. The chapters are broken down by subject:

1. Messages from the Heart: Making Connections
2. Imagine the Possibilities: Rediscovering Your Creative Power
3. Everyday Art: Creating Moments That Matter
4. Home is Where the Heart Is: Making Your Home a Reflection of You
5. Celebrate Life: Artful Ways for Special Days
6. Happy Holidays: New Ways for the Big Days
7. You Make the World a Better Place: Making Your Mark on the World

My personal favorites were Chapters 1 and 4. Both of these chapters addressed things that I was already doing. But when I looked at my habits with an "artistic" eye, I was inspired to expand on some already pretty great traditions that are a reflection of me. That's a good book - one that not only inspires, but encourages and creates excitement about the little things we do.

Each chapter of Living Artfully is filled with colorful illustrations, inspirational quotes, and simple ideas of ways to celebrate life. Honestly, once I started reading I couldn't put the book down. I took the book to the doctors office and told the nurse about it. I took the book with me when I had my hair cut and showed my stylist the artwork. And I took the book to the school, where I shared the amazing quotes with the staff. This book is for people everywhere who desire to create a meaningful life. It is perfect for those who are just starting out on their own, and it is a shot in the arm for those who think they are too busy to make one single change in their routine.

Living Artfully is filled with so many great stories,  quotes and ideas that I had to read my copy with a pen in hand. My book is now officially marked up. Passages are underlined, ideas have stars by them, and quotes are marked with bent page corners. I reserve the right to mark books only when they warrant reading again and again. Already, I have read this book twice - once in awe, and once with a purpose to rediscover my artistic self. This book now holds a place of honor on the coffee table in my family room. It is there that I entertain friends and family, and it is my hope that those whom I love the most will pick up this book and look at the lovely pages. My desire is that they will see my notations and they will read further. I hope that everyone I care about will want a copy of their own. I plan on giving this book as a gift to my sister, because the message it contains is just that: a gift - a celebration of life and an artful way to do so. I can think of no greater gift than that.

Sandra Magsamen's website is filled with the same sort of inspiration that the book contains. When I visited this site, I was inspired by her art and the beautiful way the site is designed. After I read the book, I went back to Sandra's site and I lingered at each and every link she provides. Her blog is delightful. Her store is a shopper's paradise. And her Living Artfully page expands on the ideas she presents in the book. It is truly a website worth returning to time and time again (and I have).

In my life, there have been few times that I have read a book that has prompted me to make changes in how I approach my day-to-day adventures. When a book comes along that inspires me to do so, I want to shout it from the rooftops. Living Artfully has inspired me to look at life with a renewed sense of discovery. My hope is that people everywhere will enjoy the pleasure of doing the same. Because, after all, celebrating the journey that we call life is what Living Artfully is all about.