Forgotten Sickness

So the daily calendar I bought myself for Christmas this year is called Forgotten English. Every day it presents a word or phrase that was once used in English speaking society, but has since died either because other words have replaced them or because the thing it describes no longer exists.
Today's word: Green-sickness is defined by James Stormonth's Dictionary of the English, Language published in 1884, as "A disease in which the person has a sickly paleness, with a green tinge of the complexion, chiefly confined to unmarried females.
According to Zell’s Popular Encyclopedia, published in 1871 “….the cure of this disease are gentle exercise in open air, with nutritious and rather stimulating diet, sea-bathing, and agreeable society."
As much as I identify as a feminist, there are time I wouldn't mind being able to fain "green-sickness".
Of course then I’m reminded that today is the Feast Eve of St. Agnes, a day when unmarried females would fast and pray to the patroness of chastity all day long and then drink a concoction of dried worms and white wine before going to bed in order to induce dreams of the man they would one day marry.

I can’t help but wonder if green-sickness wasn't perhaps induced by that kind of diet and “cure.” I have to say this kind of thing makes me very glad to be an educated woman living in an educated, 21 century society.
All of this, of course has nothing to do with anything. Just thought I would share.

Loving to be wrong.

The other day I called up a good friend of mine, realizing I had been wrong to openly question his relationship with this girl I didn't care for. Half way through my apology and expression of true non-dislike for the girl he stopped me and explained he had been dumped the night before.

A simple series of mistakes, one that anyone could make, and isn't that true of all of them? Divorce, episodes of lousy parenting, dumbhead investments, negligence behind the wheel - it's all too human, and you have to learn how to admit failure and walk away from it and not torment yourself. Sometimes the remorse is worse than the offense.

It is invigorating to realize you've been dead wrong about something. That's why we read history. It's an antidote to smug self-righteousness, which makes us insufferable. You learn about this from books. I can't think of any movie or song that permanently changed my mind about anything, but books of history certainly have.

You sit down and read about the temperance movement of the 19th century, which brought about Prohibition, which you always thought was a foolish attempt by blue-nosed puritans to repress bonhomie, which was the view of the satirists of the Twenties, but there is another point of view: The temperance cause was a protest movement by women who, having been shut out of higher education and relegated to menial jobs, were economically dependent on men and therefore terribly vulnerable to a man's alcoholism. The temperance crusader Carrie Nation, famous for busting up saloons with a hatchet, was the wife of a raging alcoholic who had destroyed her life. The Women's Christian Temperance Union, which you had thought of as a joke, has certain heroic dimensions and helped pave the way for women's suffrage.

It's good for a young liberal like me to read history and recognize that Eisenhower was no dolt and Adlai Stevenson was no giant. And to read about Joe McCarthy and realize that, opportunist and blowhard that he was, he was hardly the embodiment of evil that we liberals cherished as an enemy.

On the move with my books

Today I will be signing a new lease for my new apartment. Unit number 14. After Sunday's final move, I will have to climb a flight of stairs in order to enter my home. This is a development that Alex is very excited about. She has always been a big fan of stairs and the number 4.

While I don't want the headache of moving, I am looking forward to having a washer and dryer INSIDE my apartment. Also I'm tired of looking at boxes. My living room and bedroom are so full of boxes that I stopped packing a few days ago. This may sound wonderfully awesome, like the move is going to be a breeze because I'm so packed and ready to go, but actually... most of those boxes are just filled with books. My mom came over for two seconds the other day and demanded I give some books away. She was not impressed when I explained that I had already deposited three whole boxes at Half Price. "That's a start," I believe were her exact words.

Some people just don't appreciate the fact that there are books worth holding onto because you know that you will read them again, and that there are some books you must own multiple copies of because the story bound in hardback is a lot different than in paperback - trust me.

******************

UPDATE:
I am leaving work an hour early so I can meet the leasing office person and sign papers, give them a check that won't clear until Monday and get the new keys to my new apartment ... because she wants to leave work early. Leaving early today is probably very socially irresponsible of me because I am the only Admin in the legal department today (that's what they call secretaries now), but my boss isn't in the office so when I called to ask his permission he had no idea why he should not just say okay.

This is how I know that I am a fake secretary. If I were a real secretary, like all the other real secretaries I work with, I would not leave an hour early. If I were a real secretary, I would have a deep sense of morality and a strong work ethic and there is no way I would leave a bunch of lawyers unattended for an hour. God forbid they have to  un-jam the copier all by themselves.

Wednesday of Quiet Love and Ashes

Today is Ash Wednesday. My evening will end with a service in which a United Methodist Minister will ask the congregation to come to the altar. People will go to the altar and kneel and the minister will dip the side of his thumb in ashes. He will take the purported ashes of last year’s palm branches and spread them on congregants’ foreheads in the form of the cross. The gathering of unholy sinners will leave the red carpet and stained glass windows of the sanctuary with ashes emblazoned on their foreheads and feeling just a little holier and just a little subconscious about flipping the bird at the guy who cuts them off in traffic. You can’t flip someone off if you are holy.

I do not start this day a holy person. I woke up well rested having fallen asleep at 9:30. Being a secretary is exhausting. Handling ten tasks at once for eight hours is exhausting, but soaking in a hot bath for thirty minutes proves restorative so I soaked. I soaked and talked on the phone and went to bed and slept soundly. Waking up at five o’clock in the morning is easy when you have slept soundly and so this morning I woke up and was ready for the day to begin. I anticipate lunch with an old friend as I eat my Honey Nut Cheerios for breakfast and marvel at the quiet darkness as I drive through the neighborhood, depositing my daughter safely with her grandparents. The road out of town was quiet and soft in the early morning glow of street lamps. My car drives itself as I listen to James Naughton read the words of Earnest Hemingway's Moveable Feast in his deep baritone voice. Heading east into town I am hypnotized by this baritone and I listen even if I did not care for Hemingway’s words and I wonder how many people in their twenties even know who Gertrude Stein was or why his portrait of her is so stunning.

This trance is broken when I finally slip out the door of the downtown garage and onto the street that is full of people and the air that is full of garbage and bus fumes. These streets are not quiet. Cleaning women are making their way home and typing women are making their way to work. The only men I see are wearing hard hates and blue jeans. Men in suites don’t come to work this early or else they never walk on the street.

And so this day begins. This day, the first of the holy season of reflection and preparation, begins like any other with simple peace. In the quiet God’s simple assurance of unconditional love speaks volumes. In placing ashes on our foreheads we wear the grace of God and Her love feels absolute and forever. So what happens between the quiet and the ashes? What happens when I walk through air that is full of garbage and bus fumes? God's love is total, unconditional, absolute and forever. The state of grace—God's attitude toward us—is eternal. I am the one who changes with fumes. To receive the love of God is to recognize it is all around us, above us and beneath us; speaking to us through every person, every flower, every bag of trash, every trial and situation.

For the next forty days I give myself the challenge to remember this simple statement once written by the Franciscan monk Richard Rohr - Stop knocking on the door: You’re already inside!

Art and Histroy of Great Writing Deut

Theater Arts is Alex's elective during her first year of middle school. She has been learning about the art and history of the dramatic arts, from theater to radio and beyond. Alex's favorite actress at the moment is Julie Andrews. She loves the way she sang in movies like Mary Poppins, Sound of Music and Thoroughly Modern Millie. She loves the way she can balance an air of respectability and comedic timing.

But when it came time for the kids in her class to write a report on a well known person in American theater history they simply drew names out of a hat. So while the boy sitting next to Alex drew the name, Julie Andrews, Alex was stuck with some random person named Adolph Green.

The funny thing is that I was raised on classic movies and back in the early days of movies, right through the 1960s actually there was a lot of cross over of talent between Broadway and Hollywood. I was surprised that I was unfamiliar with this choice. Alex was disappointed, but today was took a trip to the library to do some research. What we found there was a treasure trove of information and now I am ashamed to think that I had been ignorant of the great lyricists and writers, Adolph Green and Betty Comden.

Adolph Green was born in the Bronx, New York on December 2, 1915 into a family of Hungarian immigrants. He graduated high school in 1934 and worked at assorted jobs including as a runner on Wall Street. In 1937, at a summer camp, he met the young Leonard Bernstein who was the music counselor, and they became life-long friends. In 1938, another decisive meeting occurred while making the rounds of theatrical agents he met Betty Comden. Together with Judy Holiday, the two formed the act The Revuers, which performed in the legendary Greenwich Village nightclub, The Village Vanguard. They lacked the funds to pay royalties and so began writing and performing their own satirical and musical comedic materials.

They went onto collaborate with Leonard Bernstein and Jerome Robbins on what was the first show for all of them, "On The Town." Also with Mr. Bernstein they did the score for "Wonderful Town." With Jule Styne they wrote the book and/or lyrics for "Bells Are Ringing," "Hallelujah, Baby," "Do Re Mi," "Subways Are For Sleeping," "Peter Pan," and others, wrote the book for "Applause," and book and lyrics for "on The Twentieth Century" and "A Doll's Life." Four of these, "Applause," "Hallelujah, Baby," "Wonderful Town," and "On The Twentieth Century," won them five Tony Awards, and "A Doll's Life," a Tony nomination.

Comden and Green are considered to have the longest running creative partnership in theater history, but some of their best known work was for film. Their film musicals include "Singin' In The Rain," "The Band Wagon," "On The Town," "Bells Are Ringing," "It's Always Fair Weather," "Good News," and "The Barkleys Of Broadway." Two of these, "The Band Wagon" and "It's Always Fair Weather," received Academy Award Nominations, and those two plus "On The Town" won the Screen Writer's Award. "Singin' In The Rain" was recently voted one of the ten best American films ever made and, by a vote of international film critics conducted by the prestigious magazine "Sight and Sound," it was chosen as Number Three of the ten best films of all time.

I think the best source that Alex and I enjoyed reading together was Art of the American Musical: Conversations with the Creators edited by Jackson R. Bryer and Richard N. Davison. This included an interview with the team that was conducted in 1992 and the thing that impressed me most about them was how much fun they seemed to be having, even when they were talking about what seemed to be soar subject, "Singin' In the Rain." That script was written for MGM under the old studio system so while it as their greatest screenplay and lyrics, they don't own any of the rights. When asked how their partnership lasted so long Green gave a simple, yet wonderful answer, "We have basic respect for each other." To me that sums up the greatness of career. They have wonderful sense of timing and a great skill for writing, but what really started and sustained their careers was the relationships they formed both in film and stage industries. People had great respect for not only their work, but who they are/were as people.

Adolph Green passed away in December of 2002. He as honored by a memorial on Broadway that was attended by some of the greatest legends that have had the honor to preform their work over the years. I'm glad Alex pulled his name. I might never have known the story of Comden and Green otherwise.

Because my workday begins...

Because my workday begins early, it begins, in winter, in the huge, tense blackness of the world. I slip out of bed before the sun slips into the sky and the house is hard cold so I move purposely in silence. I lack the confidence to move quickly, I fear the skate board that could be waiting in the middle of the hall. I dress in the dark and shuffle to the coffee pot. The sleepy dog walks with me a few strides then he disappears. The coffee maker hisses then gurgles. I listen intently, as though it is a language the coffee grounds are speaking. There are no stars, nor a moon. I can see a little from the street lamps and finally I turn on the light that sits on the side of my desk. I lean on the winged back of my green chair by the amber light and my purple desk. Now the dog comes back, his happy feet finding a new bed by my side. I sit and read, think, write, stare by the light of my desk.
This is the beginning of every day.

Red Shoes Go With Everything

This fall I quiet haphazardly bought a pair of new red shoes at half off. I bought them not sure when of if I would ever wear them, but they were cute. Cute and half off. The longer I owned these particular shoes, I began to realize something magical. That red shoes go with everything.
I know that it is said that things can't make you happy and perhaps that saying is often true, but I draw the line at my red shoes. I am happier when I wear them. They bring an extra spark to any day, and I'm happy when I think about the fact that God made me the type of person who dares to own a pair of red slippers, Hans Christian Anderson's ghastly tale not with standing.

So it was that last night I slipped on my shoes to join the New Years count down with friends old and new. We ate too much food and had just the right amount of wine. We laughed and joked and pushed each other on to stay at the party until midnight. There is nothing quite like celebrating New Years in the middle of Bum-Fucked-Egypt. In the city they have things like laws that keep hooligans from shooting bottle rocks at each other in a misguided attempt at celebration. In BFE every one's a hooligan and there are no laws against setting off fireworks in your back yard, right next to that huge oak tree. The mayhem starts at midnight and we old battle axes drag ourselves out to the front porch in equal amazement and fright because even unsafe fireworks are magical and I'd rather be outside when the roof goes up in flames.

A lot happened in 2010. The Olympics and Jo at A Majority of Two introduced me to Vancouver, CA. And I feel head over heals for that beautiful city and the not a mascot Muk Muk. I also learned about vuvuzelas, cheered for Spain's World Cup win, and said fair well to Paul the Octopus.

This year I didn't listen to a lot of new music, or the new music I listened to all sounded the same, but I did see a lot of movies. I saw the Lisbeth Salander trilogy and loved it. The final Harry Potter, Part I was spot on. The Twilight movie I was sucked into seeing sucked more than I thought it would. Disney Animation's Tangled was good, but Disney/Pixar's Toy Story 3 was better. If we are talking best film I saw this year I would have to hand it to The King's Speech. Not because I just saw it or it stars the ever sexy Colin Firth, but because it was the first movie I left, having paid nearly $10 for and wanted to turn right around and pay another $10 to see it again.

In 2010 I discovered E.L. Koningsburg's wonderful stories and Alexander McCall Smith's No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. Finished reading Stieg Larrson's Lisbeth Salander Trilogy and finally read Harper Lee's magnum opus, To Kill a Mockingbird. My favorite non-fiction works include Neal Gabler's telling of Walt Disney's life story, Karen Armstrong's A Case for God and Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft.

I was laid off in October which was great because I had the chance to do some random things I normally would have passed on like visiting the Menial Collection and eating lunch in all kinds of trendy restaurants with my not so trendy friends. I found joy and courage in relaxation, art, journaling, prayer and loved every minute of being a stay at home mom. Still, if one is to buy red shoes, one must have an income so I was grateful to Elaine for retiring and to the people at the French oil company for hiring me on as her replacement. I finally responded to God's nudging and turned in my application for seminary and sat through necessary interviews with key Church people about pursuing a path towards ordination. That all sounds like I've worked out what I'm doing, but this is still just the preface. God is still preparing me for this journey. Ask me next January if we've reached the exposition.

So here we are. We lost a lot of good people in 2010, but you and I didn't die. Reason enough to celebrate. You and I go on. We dance our little dance and pursue the circuit of our dreams insofar as the hours of daylight permit. Love, courage, justice, faith, hope, charity. God bless you all.

Self Portriat

From Novel to Movie

I have seen more movies this month than I have in the last year. With Disney releasing its 50th animated feature tomorrow that promises to be either to be the masterpiece that I've heard ramblings about or a the total dud that I've been dreading, I thought it wise to get the reviews of two more movies out of the way. No matter how it ends up, Tangled will deserve its own post.

Today's theme is book adaptations - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.

Let's start with the later shall we? I don't have the same book to movie baggage with this one that I have with Harry Potter and that I had with the previous two Girl With A Dragon Tattoo movies, but to be fair I have rather liked the director's adaptations so far. Even though I came away from the second movie wondering if certain points would be lost a person who had not read the novel I felt the first two films translated the themes and character's of their respective books to the silver screen better than most I've seen.

However, the rapped pass in which these films have been released means that I had to see The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest before I had read the book. I know what you are thinking, that book has been out for almost a year, however its a rather popular book and as of this morning I am number 63 on the library hold list. I don't have much hope of getting my hands on the thing before New Years. So I have no Novel to Movie to compare here.

If you haven't read the books or seen the first two movies, you need to do your homework before going to the theater. This movie is the last in Stieg Larson's Millennium series and the whole story is amid at tying up loose ends. What unfolds is a fast past conspiracy story in which paranoia becomes the norm for anyone even indirectly associated with the central character Lisbeth Salander.

Lisbeth has the potential to be one of the great characters of the modern novel. Even in film as Noomi Rapace who plays Lisbeth in all three Swedish movies has come to embody this character. Pity poor Kate Mara, the young actress chosen to play Lisbeth in the coming Hollywood version of the saga. She will be compared to Rapace, who has captured just the right blend of psycho majesty and emotional cripple in the character.

We learn so much about Lisbeth throughout the course of the books and films, and yet I left the theater wishing I knew her better. Really, without giving too much of the story away that kind of sums up this movie for me. It made me want to read the book so I could find out what was left out. My friend assures me that was made it onto the screen was the mostly whole of Lisbeth's story, and if that is true, I am immensely saddened that Stieg Larson didn't live to write more.

Over all a great work of art. I'm not sure how it ends the series for me though. I give it a 3 out of 5, but I do think it is a must see - even if not in the theaters.

Harry Potter is a different animal. The first book came out in 1997 when I was a freshman in high school and needless to say, Jo Rowling's character's have been my old friends these past ten years. I was even willing to look past some of the bloated writing (what part of Goblet of Fire was worth 600 pages?). Conversely, the movies that started as rather unimpressive and shallow, and have become better and better with each installment (save Goblet of Fire).

Half-Blood Prince, among the worst of the books in my opinion, was turned into one of the best of the movies, thanks to excellent editing from being forced to condense the novel and the amazing direction of David Yates, giving the series the needed darker tone. Yates returns for Deathly Hallows, and while the first installment suffers from not being able to stand on its own, it has certainly left me excited for next July.

Without giving away spoilers, Deathly Hallows opens with warnings of the impending threat kicking off a more political aspect immediately gives the film a distinct feel that separates this one from previous installments. When the film eventually settles into the series of camping scenes, they are slightly less annoying than they were in the novel, and actually give the trio some much-needed character development. Its kind of sad that it took this long to actually get some real character injected into the movies, but at least it finally happened. Also worth noting is the facial hair worn by Radcliffe and Grint, officially making them no longer twelve.

Speaking of no longer twelve, please do not bring your young children to this movie. Harry Potter has grown up with its audience, and this film is the darkest yet. Yates has gone even darker than his take on Half Blood Prince, and the results are great. The film was given a PG-13 rating for a reason. I felt comfortable with my eleven year old seeing it, but I did worry for her friend's little brother who is six.

With the characters in the woods for so long though, the supporting cast is left rather useless unfortunately. Alan Rickman's Snape, one of the best parts of previous films, only has one scene near the beginning. However, some returning characters make the most of their limited time, notably Brandon Gleeson as Mad Eye Moody, Helena Bonham Carter as Bellatrix Lestrange and Imelda Staunton as Delores Umbridge.

The biggest fault is its inability to stand on its own two feet. The film ends at the appropriate time for an intermission, but lacks the punch required of a proper ending. Deathly Hallows will be better reviewed once the film is complete. Fans of the novels should be pleased with the extended length, and fans of the films should at least enjoy the excellent visuals and astounding direction. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I is an extremely promising sign of what is to come.

I give it an overall 4 out of 5 with the potential of a 5 rating if the second part proves to be as good as I hope.

For the Greater Good

In honor of Banned Book Week I thought that I would sit down and read two banned books. No, not really. Really I was locked in a room for two days to monitor people who were going through 70 boxes full of documents. (Take heed future litigators... hell awaits you.)

I was locked in this room and I was in between books so I decided to read books that have been on my shelf for quite some time, Yuppie Sister's copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and my copy of The Catcher and the Rye that I think, if I'm remember correctly, I acquired from an old boyfriend.

I could give you my review of the works, but I'm afraid that once I start bashing Salinger's glorified whine fest I won't be able to stop. For the record though, I believe that Mockingbird has earned its place as one of the great works of American literature. The fact that I managed to earn a college degree without ever reading it (I never picked it off the reading lists because everyone was picking it and I stupidly had to be different) is just horrid.

Instead I wanted to say a general word about the dangers of censoring access to literature. I think we all know that banning books is bad show in a democratic nation. The fact that parents and school boards all over the U.S. of A. successfully limit library and public school access to books that might invite conversations or question a community's way of thinking is maddening. Sure, I personally think that if you want to read a book about a young person who is questioning society's definition of normal you should skip Catcher in the Rye and turn to Sylvia Plath's Bell Jar, but my personal preference for good writing and well developed story shouldn't stop those who prefer mindless drivel.

The thing that gets me about these self proclaimed keepers of culture, is when they protest literature they tend to invoke The Greater Good as if I should be subjected to their values. Challenging the books that are placed on public shelves does more than simply express a privately held point of view, it denies individuals the freedom to think for themselves. In fact, this year's Banned Books Week theme (sponsored by the American Libraries Association) is "think for yourselves and let others do the same."

I think one could probably argue, especially in a world that includes Amazon.com, that simply banning a book from a library does little to reduce the book's circulation. Case in point, the books that I read this week are both considered American classics. However, well as being widely banned, both books are also widely taught in schools. Still, as a poor person who gets 90% of my reading material from a public library, I think its important to know the practice of challenging books exists. Its important to know that just as a wacko is allowed to challenge books, the thinking public is allowed to challenge the wacko right back - for The Greater Good.

I Love Books! (and Alex doesn't)

Every once and awhile you find the perfect book at the perfect moment. Everything about it from the cover and title to the pictures and story just scream that eternal YES! into the universe.

This weekend I went to the library with my sister - not the yuppie lawyer sister, the ditsy pre-school teacher sister*. We were selecting picture books for her classroom when I stumbled on this jewel of a book.

Miss Brooks Loves Books! (and I don't) is the perfect illustration of what it must be like for a book hater (named Alex) to be tortured by a book loving nut (named mom).

Really I could go on about it, but I think the title and the cover says it all. I spent the summer trying to cram every childhood classic, every new young adult fiction book into Alex's hands only to hear her say, "I don't like boy detective stories" and "I don't like books about girls who are age 8 or live on the prairie, or in Green Gables." And "No, I don't want to read about dragons or Egypt or museums or runaways or pirates or outsiders or cats or tree houses or fairies or goosebumps or box car children." If a book has been printed in English, I'm pretty sure Alex has turned her nose up at it.

Alex isn't me. I know this. Alex isn't a reader. I have gotten the hint. I guess I should be glade that she has found two series that she loves. She loves for me to read her Harry Potter, which is great because I love to read Harry Potter. She also loves Meg Cabott's Allie Finkle series, which tells me the kid has good taste. I guess I'm just sad that her love of books, so far has not extended beyond those two collections of characters. That there are whole worlds of people out there that she just refuses, for whatever reason, to even THINK about finding out about.

If I were smart, and I'm not, I would have learned to stop suggesting books. I'm pretty sure Alex's hatred of any one book directly correlates to the number of times I have sung its praises. If I were smart, and I'm not, I would just shut up about it all ready. At the end of Miss Brooks the girl does find that perfect book, just like when Alex FINALLY picked a book off her summer reading list (Diary of a Wimpy Kid) she loved it, and flew through it, and then begged for the rest of the series.

Miss Brooks Loves Books (and I don't) was such the perfect "Alex and me" story that did a little jig inside as I checked it. "Alex is going to hate this book!" I told my pre-school teaching sister. But I was still excited to read it to Alex. I was excited to share this perfect book I had found. And true to form, when I had read the last page, I looked at Alex and she didn't say a word. She gave me her classic, "what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this-torture" look. While I'm still sad that she didn't like it, or the other thousands of books I wish she would just look at, it was still a great "yep-I-know-my-daughter" moment.


* I think I should note, that when I describe my sisters as "ditsy" or "yuppie" I do so with love.

(and hat-tip to Goodreads.com for the image of the book)

I love ....

• I love that I live in a place where I feel safe. - Living next door to the fire station where the village police refuel their cars will give you that (perhaps false) sense of security.
  
• I love that my daughter has a lot of people who love her. - So many that I had to explain to four different people why they couldn't babysit for me on Saturday.
  
• I love that my entire family gathers at my parent's house for dinner every Sunday night. - They drive me insane, but its nice to start the week with them.
  
• I love that I have an hour of gilt-free reading time on the bus every day. - And eccentric passengers to talk about later.
  
• I love that life is simple at this moment, and that I am learning to see God in this too.

Creative Reading

I recently read this book. Its a children's book, written in the 1960s, but I had never even heard of it until I found it, sitting on a bookstore shelf a few weeks ago. I'm glad to have discovered this great work of E.L. Konigsburg as an adult. I don't think I would have understood or quite appreciated the layers in this story if I had read this first through a child's eyes.

The publisher's summary reads: Claudia knew that she could never pull off he old-fashioned kind of running away. That is, running away in the heat of anger with a knapsack on her back. She didn't like discomfort; even picnics were untidy and inconvenient: all those insects and the sun melting the icing on the cupcakes. Therefore, she decided that her leaving home would not be just running from somewhere but would be running to somewhere. To a large place, a comfortable place, an indoor place, and preferably a beautiful place. And that's why she decided upon the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

I dare anyone with an imagination to pick this book off the bottom shelf, read that summary and then not buy. I don't often buy books and I certainly don't buy them new, but when I saw the last and only copy of From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler I felt that lightening bolt that always crashes to earth when true love finds its match. I can't help but muse about the novelty of cherishing an honest-to-god, in-your-hands, ink-printed-on-paper book. There is no other feeling like it in the world. Are we seriously going to replace this kind of thing with electronic devices? In my tiny apartment I have two bookshelves filled with books and more piled on the side. I love the way these works of art look and feel. They catch your eye and your hands all at the same time.

But I fear that books are sitting right next to the polar bear on the endangered species list. I sit here and wonder what the popularity of ebooks and the publishers quest for the all mighty dollar will mean for those of use who are still poor and/or backward enough to frequent the library. What will happen to our quiet days of browsing in actual buildings filled with physical shelves? Will there still be a place where an interesting cover or odd title might catch our eye or will we be forever cursed with lists of "New Releases" and "Best Sellers"?

We live..

We live, Alex and I about 100 feet from the freeway. The city sings to us all day long, all night as well, never the same music. Wind, temperature, where the neighbors are, when the moon is tugging or shoving - all these things matter. People running out of the building, the door closing swiftly, the disinclination to give pause leaves growling in the rush of the day. Coming in is more playful. Joyful laughter of home echos in the halls. Every day my walk along the city streets grants me a second waking. My feet are nimble, now my ears wake and give thanks for the song of passing cars mixed in with chirping birds and protective dogs.

This enormity, this cauldron of changing greens and blues is the greatest palace of the earth. Everything in it - monsters, jewels, angels, soft-eyed strangers that unhesitatingly exchange looks with us as we pass them in the park; the quietly inviting library that asks us to explore the artifacts of past decades of centuries; heartfelt stories of the here and now - the remembered and faithfully repeated recitations of language - the acknowledgment of the multitude of self. How can we not always know that we already live in paradise?

No Pictures...

I'm back, but I do not come barring pictures. I'm a dork who brought my camera, but left the battery sitting in its charger back at home.

I'll fast forward through the drive that involved a lot of Taylor Swift and Johnas Brothers, but also included some Joni Mitchell after Alex fell asleep, and get right to the part where we had gone through Austin and Dripping Springs and Johnson City and turned off the main highway. You know when you are in the middle of nowhere when your directions include the phrase... "Turn off the dirt road." That's right folks. We not only turned onto a dirt road that took us up a hill at a seventy degree angle, but once we reached the gate to the property (marked by a large Texas flag) and turned off the road and onto a path. A path our friends have made by way of old chunks of brick and rock arranged in such a way that allows you to drive a vehicle across them in dry weather. From there it was less than a mile to the main "house".

Its an unfinished house. My friend is building it himself. It has walls and a roof and most importantly a flushing toilet behind a screen, but the civilized amenities stop there. We were not going to be sleeping here. This is where we were to park our car, meet up with the rest of the gang and load up the four wheelers that would take us to our sleeping quarters. This is also where Alex locked the car keys in my trunk. Yeah.

Keys in trunk. I have a new respect for car thief's. There is definitely an art to breaking into a car without just smashing a window. An art that none of my friends have mastered apparently. We had to call in a professional. One willing to drive out to the middle of nowhere at 11:30 at night on July 3. We were lucky to find at wrecker driver out of Marble Falls who did the job for a cool $100.

We were off to a great start having just completely drained my bank account before the weekend had begun. Did I mention I had to buy four new tires before we left home? No? Another time then.

I'll fast forward through the rest of the night that included a luxurious barn apartment that felt like we were sleeping in the cover of Architectural Digest, complete with soft beds and air conditioning, and get right to the wineries we visited the next day.

Oh, I'm also skipping over the next morning when the six of us sat around in the great outdoors reading. Camping with us nerds would probably drive any real outdoors man crazy. Around 1:00 we decided to close our books and make the most of our time at camp by piling into a truck and hitting the local wine tasting rooms. Some vineyards left much to be desired, but there were a couple that were quite good. One had a nearby restaurant that served the best handmade pasta I have ever eaten.

By the time darkness fell on July 4, Alex was ready to do something camp like so we made a fire and roasted marshmallows while we tried to remember scary stories of our youth. Most of them went something like this...

Remember the one about the hook?
Yes.. the couple driving and then they find the hook on the handle?
Yeah, that one.

Remember the one about the golden arm?
Yes... how does it go again?
I don't really remember...

Okay that just looks pathetic now that I see it in writing, but if you drink a bottle of wine and sit around a campfire... its really funny.... I promise.

At the end of the trip I can honestly say that a good time was had by all. Even though I'm left with only $16 to my name (and I did not pay for any food or wine), I would still do it all again. (That's a lie. I would totally skip the $100 set of keys).

Books and Bush Tea

One of the cooler things I got to do in Disney World was try some authentically brewed bush tea. Red bush tea is something that I have been reading about. In his No. 1 Lady's Detective Agency series, Alexander McCall Smith brings his characters alive by painting beautifully simply pictures of his characters. Simple people living honest lives in Botswana. Truth seekers trying to find answers to life's basic questions. Its a tall order that always goes down a little easier with tradition. The tradition of tea. As a fan of tea I was excited when we went to dinner at Jiko. A restaurant at Disney's Animal Kingdom Lodge. Its a restaurant that brings together some of the traditional flavors from different parts of Africa. Bush tea was on their menu. I have be honest here. I was a little let down. Bush tea, tasted like ... well, tea. It was strong tea, there is no doubt about that, but it was tea just the same.

McCall Smith's books are a lot like that. Full stories that demand a belief that good is always worth striving for, but they are also simple. His characters are deep and exacting, but they are also just people. Just people trying to do what is right for everyone. That is one of the hardest and yet simplest things anyone could strive for.

Columbus, Culture and Coffee

It is God who has made us and not we ourselves, we are his people and the sheep of his pasture, and no matter what you believe about religion its good to remember that we are not of our own making. We are motes of dust on a tiny planet that spins so fast around a star in a solar system so vast that our minds can't comprehend it. And one day our planet will implode and all will be lost. Not just the insignificant among us, me and this blog, but Bach, Mozart, Picasso, Churchill, Gandhi and yes, even Angelina Joli.

Staggering when you think of it, or just one more reason not to dwell on things that can not be changed. There are truths that are universal in the American classroom. Exercises we all deem to be rather silly, yet these are things that somehow endure as long as our Earth survives. The 5th grade history project seems to be one of those things. Alex decided to do her history project on Christopher Columbus. Columbus was a pirate and tyrant who sailed off and bumped into the Bahamas, had no idea where is was, and to his dying day believed he had reached the Indies. By the time Columbus was lording over the Natives and torturing people in the name of European gods, the Vikings had already been here and gotten the T-shirt. But we don't celebrate Viking day and ask our children to write reports about them. They weren't a major center for trade or home to any good PR firms. As a parent I often wonder when it is my cue to step in and tell my child her teachers are lying to her. A split second thought on this one and I decided that today will not be the day that I burst her bubble. There are bigger things to worry about. After all one could argue Columbus as we honor him, is more of a folk tale than a history lesson. What jerk goes around shouting that Paul Bunyan didn't really have a blue ox?

The best thing to do in this situation was to keep my mouth shut and go to the library. I had been meaning to go looking for an Alexander McCall Smith book (filed under McCall, not Smith) that was in the middle of reading when my friend's copy was mysteriously misplaced. I was concentrating on looking at the books on the selves, not really listening to conversations around me. People of all strips gather at our little library. Its a popular place for kids to work on projects and for tutors to teach students math. I was focusing on finding McCall Smith when Alex can up and asked me for a pencil. It was when I turned and started talking about pencils that I notice just who had been talking behind me.

A group of 6 women were there practicing their English with a tutor who was guiding their conversation, filling in gaps and encouraging the shy ones to speak up. They were all married, most had children. I guess that makes sense. I don't think I would ever voluntarily chose to live in a country where I didn't know the language all by myself. If I wasn't following a husband, I'd have to at least one friend go with me. I slowed my search so I could ease drop on their broken conversation. It was riveting. A boy one month from being two years old. A women married one year and still not with child. Another not sure if she wants children or not, but everyone assured her that yes, children are the ultimate blessing. Of course, they of these eager mothers were Muslim (or else just like the look of the hijab) and the unsure women was from Finland. Cultural differences perhaps?

Now I know that there should be a life lesson mixed in here somehow. When you put these two stories end to end they beg to become a "teachable moment" as our President would say. But honestly I'm writing this post at work at 9:07 because our coffee lady is late in making our coffee for the fourth time this week. I'm rebelling. I know... in the grand scheme of the universe .... its not our pasture.... but I'm seriously over it and out of caffeine. I'm not one who takes slackers to task, but if you are going to be a procrastinator with no intention of getting your job done on time, you need to not be the person who is in charge of the coffee at a law office. That my friends, is some sage advice you can really build on.

A Simple Story Well Told

I didn't know much of anything about this one when a friend of my handed it to me and said, "you need to read this." But I trust this person when she recommends a good book so without asking any questions I just sat down and read.

The true essence of reading is how - when reading is going well, one books leads to another and to another, until life becomes a paper trail of theme and meaning; and how, when it's going badly, when books don't stick or take, when your mood and the mood of the book are fighting like cats, you'd rather do anything but attempt the next paragraph, or reread the last one for the tenth time. It is one of those magical, unexplainable, glorious things about living. Something that non-readers never understand or appreciate. But it is something that Mary Ann Shaffer captured beautifully in her story.

I'm not giving anything else away. One of the things that endeared me to this book and its characters was the rare gift of no expectations. So I will just say that I would not recommend this to is anyone who only finds joy in reading voluminous tomes that offer 17 different layers of subconscious meaning, or anyone who insists that every work of fiction must absolutely routed in utter reality. However, if you have the ability to find joy and delight in the simple pleasures of a simple story well told, you too might fall in love with this one.

Best of 2009

Best new song. Okay I don't have one. I have to admit that most of the NEW music I listen to is brought to me by Alex so my choices are limited by her tastes. Right now she is in love with Taylor Swift. Her songs are catchy and fun. Perfect for mother-daughter sing at the top of your lungs for no reason sessions, but I have to be honest. They all kind of blind into each other. I can't tell the difference between Stephen and Drew so I'll just say that in 2009 we danced and sang to Taylor Swift.

My favorite song of 2009 I will put as The Ugly Bug Ball by the Sherman Brothers and sung by Beryl Ives. I know its old and I didn't first hear it in 2009, but this was the year that I finally owned it on CD. I have always loved that song and now I can listen to it with out watching Summer Magic.

Favorite books: I have to start with Elizabeth McCracken’s heartbreaking but thoughtful An Exact Replica Of A Figment Of My Imagination. If you only read one book next year, read this one. The best spiritual/religious books I read this year were Richard Rohr's Things Hidden:Scripture as Spirituality and the one I just finished by Thomas Moore, Care of the Soul : A Guide for Cultivating Depth and Sacredness in Everyday Life. I would be remiss if I didn't mention Eli Wiesel's two volume masterpiece All Rivers Run to the Sea: Memoirs and And the Sea Is Never Full: Memoirs, 1969-. Also, 2009 was the year I finally picked up a book by P.G. Wodehouse and it was love at first read. I love, love, love the British sense of humor. I have often heard various British artist I admire gush about how absolutely fabulous he is, and they were all utterly and completely correct. I am now resolved to read everything the man ever wrote. Oh and Meg Cabbot's Allie Finkle series has to be the best thing written for tween girls since Beverly Cleary pined the Romona series.

Now movies. I will add my disclaimer that I don't see adult movies in the theater. If I am going to pay the high price of admission I am going to take Alex and call me a stuck in the mud, but I don't take my child to see anything rated R. That said, my favorite movie this year was UP. It was absolutely wonderful. Not just for kids. I would argue that adults get way more out of it then the children do. As I just saw and reviewed Princess and the Frog, that one goes on this list too. Its not a master piece, but a solid mid-level Disney classic none the less. 2009 was a disappointing year for family film. There was a lot offered for families this year, but I'm sad to report that most of those movies sucked. Planet 51 was one of the better movies, but I think that is also because I payed $5 a ticket and didn't have to wear 3D glasses to see it. Can we STOP with the 3D already?

Movies I saw that probably didn't come out in 2009 were The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. All I can say without writing an entire post is WOW. Grand Torino was a movie I didn't expect to like, but did. Oh and I would remiss if I didn't mention Little Miss Sunshine. I reviewed it elsewhere on this blog, so I will just leave it at that. If you are looking for a good documentary, This Film Is Not Yet Rated is very entertaining and very educational. If you have ever seen a movie in the USA you need to see the film so you can fully appreciate the fact that everything is censored by a secret panel for your own good.

The Perfect Man

One of the great things about reading great literature is that something different will jump off the page every time the same text is read.

I was recently reading Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility for the 1,495th time when I noticed that in chapter IV, Elinor gives us the description of the perfect man.

"... his mind is well informed, his enjoyment of books exceedingly great,
his imagination lively, his observation just and correct, and his taste
delicate and pure. His abilities in every respect improve as much upon
acquaintance as his manners and person. At first sight, his address is certainly
not striking; and his person can hardly be called handsome, till the expression
of his eyes, which are uncommonly good, and the general sweetness of his
countenance, is perceived."

Given this description, its no wonder I'm still single. The perfect man is exceedingly hard to spot in a crowd. If you are looking for tall, boisterous and handsome I suppose you'll find your match a lot faster.