Book Review :: The Little Giant of Aberdeen County

"The day I laid Robert Morgan to rest was remarkable for two reasons. First, even though it was August, the sky overhead was as rough and cold as January lake; and second, it was the day I started to shrink."

The Little Giant of Aberdeen County by Tiffany Baker

Truly Plaice is a big girl.  So big, in fact, that her mother dies in childbirth and her father blames his daughter, and the doctor, for her death.  Everyone assumes that Truly killed her mother but the reader knows that isn't the case. Her mother died from a cancerous tumor. Unequipped to raise Truly and her sister Serena Jane on his own, the girls are neglected by their father and finally given away to neighbors to raise. 

Serena Jane, the epitome of feminine beauty is Truly’s polar opposite. She is raised by the small town’s preacher and his unkind wife as the princess they always dreamed of having. Truly is sent to the home of a poor family with a near-mute daughter and spends her childhood in overalls (the only clothes that would fit her) and working on the farm.  The sisters see each other weekly and go to the same school but as time passes, they begin to have less and less in common. 

Physically, Truly is hard to overlook.  Her size makes her stand out in her small town and school is difficult. Her teacher finds her repulsive and labels her a "giant" – the first time Truly hears this word in reference to herself.

"I blushed. It was a word I'd heard before in Brenda Dyerson's fairy stories, wherein magic stalks grew out of regular dried beans, ordinary geese laid jewel-encrusted eggs, and enchanted harps sung of their own accord. To me it was a word that swirled with extraordinary promises of castle spires and treasure chests. That's not how the teacher said it, though. She spat the word through the front of her teeth, as if she were expelling used toothpaste. "Huge!" she elaborated. "Surely its not normal."

Truly’s size keeps her from finding healthy relationships with most other people. Marcus, an undersized boy at school, has always been kind and has feelings for her but she can't allow herself to let him inside her well-maintained barriers.

Her sister Serena Jane's beauty turns is a two-edged sword.  She marries the new town's doctor the right out of high school and has a son, but dreams of a larger existence and disappears under cloudy circumstances.  Truly steps in to care for Serena’s son and husband and becomes a research subject for the doctor. Family secrets are discovered in the doctor’s home and Truly finds a way to control her destiny as well as "help" others who need her assistance.  

The Little Giant of Aberdeen County is a good read.  I enjoyed the quirky characters; the accurate descriptions of what it feels like to live as an outsider in a small town and the kind of magical aura this book reveals as you get further and further in. What makes this book even more magical is that it's a debut novel by a talented, new writer. 

This one gets a big thumbs up.

Patience Rewarded

We've been in our house for a year now. And, for almost a year I've been trying to coax my African violets to bloom. I was pretty sure that the new house had the kind of exposure that violets would like so I rescued a few scragglers from the death bin at Lowe's for a quarter each. 

Slowly, they regained strength. I knew they would live after a month or so but I wasn't so certain they would ever bloom again. I thought that they might have been too far gone to recover that much.

I shouldn't have doubted. All they really needed was a nice long period of quiet and to be taken care of while they rested. Yesterday I was rewarded with this.

Notice the color of the underside of the leaves on the first photo. Don't they look like little umbrellas that might shelter a fairy during a rainstorm?

Adding Insult to Injury

This weekend took a couple of funny turns. Plans changed a couple of times and we found ourselves with a few hours on our hands yesterday afternoon. 

I've said before that Ali is really into genealogy and last week she got a surprise email from someone she's never met who sent her pictures and information on a part of her family tree that she was kind of at a stand-still on. That fueled the fire and so she's been doing a lot of research with this new information. One thing she found was burial records and she's been chomping at the bit to drive to these cemeteries and take pictures of gravestones.

Guess what we did Saturday afternoon?? 

We were on backroads I didn't know existed and in tiny little cemeteries out in the middle of farm country. When we left home it was 55 degrees and sunny. We took Sammy along and were looking forward to spending the time out in the fresh air. By the time we got to the third cemetery it was the air was so "fresh" that we were shivering and it was raining.

To add insult to injury, Ali had to pee. Bad.

Did I mention that we were in the middle of nowhere? And the wind was blowing at near hurricane forces?

She directed me to drive to the back corner of the cemetery so that she could squat with semi-privacy. There was a big dirt mound back there and she disappeared for a minute while Sammy and I waited. She came back looking distressed.

"What's the matter, honey?" I asked.

"I went back there and pulled my pants down but the wind is blowing so hard it blew my pee all over my pants legs! I tried to watch so I could stop and start so it wouldn't get all over, but I couldn't help it!"

Who said genealogy wasn't an interesting pastime?? 

Possibilities

When we went to the flea market on Saturday, Ali's nephew B came with us. He loves to look at stuff, and unlike most 8 year olds I know, doesn't mind a two hour car ride. He had $23 in his wallet and spent a lot of time looking for the perfect paperweight that was within his price range. He was patient and finally found one that he loved and could also afford. Persistence paid off.

However, when we got to the junk store where we found and liberated the windows in yesterday's post, he got a little confused. He just couldn't understand why we were so excited about rusty metal floor grates, doorknobs, cracked windows, old sinks and peeling fence posts. 

"This stuff is just junk. Why are we looking at it?" he asked.

"You have to learn to see things differently," I explained. "You can't think about what this thing used to be. You have to imagine what it might become."

He's a smart kid. He got thoughtful while we wandered around. A few minutes later I saw him digging in his wallet. He called me over and pointed to an old glass jar with a lid. It was dirty but still in good shape with a $2 price tag.

"If I buy this, will you help me turn it into a terrarium?"

You betcha kiddo.

Just a gentle reminder of the possibilities for the future without the burdens of the past.

Flea Market Find #2

Hi there! I'm the post that was promised on Monday but I'm running a little late. My most sincere apologies. Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm the exceedingly interesting thing that was found and rescued on Saturday afternoon in a junk store in Springfield and liberated to new life in Findlay.

What do you mean. . .I'm just an old window? I am destined to be SO MUCH more than that if you will just give me a minute to change.

What do you think now, smarty pants?? All I needed was some scraping, sanding and imagination and now I have a whole new lease on life! It's good to be young again!

I am in need of some fashion advice however. Do you think I should put on a fresh coat of white paint? Or do you like my vintage feel? How about some ideas for my bottom half – I do feel rather exposed. For scale, my bottom half is approximately 21x29. . .and no smart comments about the size of my rear if you please! 

Here are a few thoughts I've had on the matter thus far – a piece of a vintage quilt that already has holes in it, so it can't really be used as a quilt any longer. A map of the world that could symbolize a journey. Possibly removing the glass and painting a board with chalkboard paint so I could further be useful as a message board. Oh, the possibilities!

Please leave me a comment with any thoughts, ideas or criticisms!

Oh. . .and by the way, if you happen to talk to my refinisher in the near future and she appears to be a bit "slower" than normal, if you know what I mean – she realized about three quarters of the way through sanding me that I am probably covered in lead paint. The poor dear, she didn't really have many brain cells to spare. TTFN!* Looking forward to hearing from you!

* ta-ta for now!

Words and Pictures :: Little Things

This is the new writing prompt from Meet Me At Mike's. I'm a bit apprehensive about posting it as most of the other essays and pictures on this theme are light and bubbly. If what I've written makes you uncomfortable, please accept my apologies.

It was an airless September afternoon at my parent's house when artificial silence slammed headlong into inconvenient truth. "If you don't stop being gay you're not welcome in our home any longer. Don't you see what this means? What will people think of me. . .of your mother. . .of the way we raised you. . .God will punish you for the wickedness you're bring on us. . .You're only doing this to hurt us. God despises you and you will pay the ultimate price."

My mother cried. My father turned to icy-stoned fury and with one deep breath he excised this disruption he couldn't control and quickly became the father of one daughter - not two.

He couldn't change biology so he tried to change history.

That was almost seven years ago. I'm just fine. I have a wonderful extended family and a family of quirky souls who I have chosen and who have chosen me back. My life is fulfilled, joyful and fun. A and I have the same normalcy as any other married couple – we fuss about who's turn it is to take the dogs out, who should mow the yard this week and why I always have to cook. Our life isn't exotic. It's rather mundane. But we are happy.

I like to think that I've moved on from that pain but there are little things that I miss. My mother never got to teach me to how to can fresh green beans from my garden. I had to learn it from a book. When I finish a new craft project I sometimes still wish I could share it with her. She loves to craft too. I miss eating chili on Christmas Eve with everyone. When I can't find a pen in the mess of our kitchen junk drawer I remember my father's pen, nestled in it's special drawer in the top of his immaculate desk and it brings a hollowness to my chest.

Maybe that's the thing about the little things – they're more painful to remember when they're gone.

Pearls of Wisdom - Circa 1922

The following are some pearls of wisdom gleaned from the Woman's World Cookery Calendar on Nutrition and Economy that I picked up at the flea market on Saturday.

How could the following not be helpful in our current economy?

"Woman's World Cookery Calendar is economical, and the careful home manager will realize what it means to have in the kitchen library a cook book that jealously guards the egg basket, the butter crock, the flour barrel, and the sack of sugar, so that every ounce of raw material counts. "Let There Be No Waste in the Mixing Bowl!" is the motto of the the Woman's World Cookery Calendar!"

The book begins with a long article entitled The A, B, C of Balanced Menus by Winifred Harper Cooley (Ex-National President , Associated Clubs of Domestic Science). Winifred has a bit of a flair for the dramatic.

The stomach, although a delicate membrane bag, so to speak, is abused worse than any football. We make of it a human garbage pail. It is the receptacle of all the hot and cold mixtures of all chemicals known to man, except those believed to be deadly poison. Is it not strange that we live at all; and should we wonder that lassitude and stupidity. . .are common to nearly all persons?

Dr. Emerson of Boston states that one-third of all American children are under-nourished all the time. Think of that, Mothers. So many malnourished persons mean such a large number are inadequately prepared for life's labor, and so many are contributing to criminality and insanity.

Can I get an amen??

Each month is then listed in the book, along with a dozen appropriate recipes to serve your family. This gem is from Our Twelve Best Recipes for January, along with the accompanying illustration.

Jellied Meat with Harlequin Salad
2 pounds knuckle of veal
1 onion
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. pepper
1 tsp. sage
1/2 tsp. each mace and peppercorns
juice of one lemon
3 boiled potatoes
1 boiled beet
2 stalks celery
2 tbl. each salad oil and vinegar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. sugar
paprika and parsley

Cover the meat with cold water, bring gently to a boil and simmer for 4 hours. Slip out the bones and cut the meat fine. Add half a small onion, chopped and the next 5 ingredients. Cook again, until very thick, then add the strained lemon juice. Turn this out into a mold and let stand over night. If it's warm weather, you might want to add some gelatin to be sure the meat holds the shape of the mold.

For the salad cut potatoes and beet into fine dice and mix with celery that has been chopped and the other half of the onion that has been minced. Beat together the oil and vinegar, salt, sugar and paprika. Toss this with the potato mixture. Unmold the meat onto a large platter and surround it with the salad.

I don't know about you, but if I were forced to eat this on a regular basis I might be added to the list of those who fall into her categories of lazy, stupid and criminally insane!

There is a recipe for celery sticks stuffed with ground tongue mixed with mustard, broiled sheep kidneys, egg balls and molded fish salad. Not everything seems so unpalatable though. There's a recipe for Carrot Sunshine and Huckleberry Pancakes. How bad could they be?

The recipe that most caught my imagination however was one called Surprise Cakes. Basically, it's an almond flavored cake that you form into individual potato-like shapes. (Yes. . .you shape them to look like potatoes!) After baking the little gems you paint them with egg whites and then roll them in powdered cocoa. Then you make little holes in the cakes with a skewer in a random pattern and insert either almonds or peanuts in the holes so that they look like the eyes on a raw potato! To quote the recipe - "A little care will produce wonderfully natural looking potatoes!"

That simply leaves me stunned. And asking. . .Why??

Stay tuned tomorrow because we did find something amazingly cool on Saturday, that really won't make your stomach turn! I promise!

Things That Are Making Me Smile

1. It's officially spring!

2. Seeing this on my walks with the dogs.

3. Taking kid-ling to the park to play - without a coat!

4. The flowers Ali gave me for my birthday.


5. Seeing this out my work window most days this week.

6. This book.

7. My favorite beer. It tastes really springy with oranges in it.

8. We are getting out of town tomorrow and going here! Yay! Treasures!

9. I finished my taxes. I owe LOTS less than other years. . .(I'm trying really hard to smile about still owing. . .)

10. The weekend is almost here! Make it a memorable one!

Book Review :: Revolutionary Road

I've got to start reading things that aren't quite so depressing.

Last night I finished Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates. It was published in 1961 and was nominated for the National Book Award that year.

This book is the story of Alice and Frank Wheeler, a married suburban couple with two kids. Basically, Frank hates his dull office job and Alice is a housewife who never made it as an actress. In an attempt to spice up their lives, they devise a scheme to move to France. They are so desperate to live a life that isn't cliched and boring that they begin to torture each other with unfulfilled expectations of themselves and each other. In the midst of their arguments and jealousies they decide that they can't to go to France when Alice discovers she is pregnant.

The book is bleak. It's filled with the reality of everyday life that isn't depicted very well in modern writing. What I found most interesting as I read is that there are some people who are able to find peace and contentment in an ordinary life while others, in the same circumstances, build lives that are destined to implode.

Revolutionary Road is a novel about implosion.

This was a difficult book to read - not because it was not well written. The prose and dialogue was beautiful. 

It was difficult to read because it was so believable.

Words and Pictures :: Cozy

Another writing prompt from Meet Me at Mikes!

My great-frandmother Lilly was poor. Being born, living and dying in the Appalachian Mountains of southwest Virginia, she never had much in the way of creature comforts. She spent her life in Possum Hollow, widowed early, raising five kids alone. She was born in May of 1888 and died in May of 1982. A good long life.

Mamaw never made a lot of the kinds of concessions that we tend to make as times and trends change. She never wore pants. Not once. She wore long skirts that almost reached the floor. Mamaw never cut her hair. She wore it in a bun on the back of her head, covered in the kind of bonnet Ma Ingalls wore on Little House on the Prairie. My mamaw lived in a tiny five room house that most people would call probably call a shack. For most of her life she had no electricity or running water.

But none of those things ever mattered to me.

Mamaw's house was home.

The most prominent memories I have are smells - Mamaw making magic in the kitchen on her wood fired stove. I remember breakfasts of country ham, red-eye gravy, homemade buttermilk biscuits and eggs. The biscuits were topped with freshly churned butter and crowned with homemade jellies, jams and preserves that she had put up herself the previous fall.

I remember that Mamaw loved coffee. It amazed me that she would bring a strong, hot cup to the table and then proceed to pour it from her cup into her saucer before noisily drinking. She said it was too hot from the cup.

While sitting with her at the breakfast table I would hide an extra biscuit away, stashing it under my shirt to save for later. I'm sure she would have given me one. It was just fun to try and pull something over on her.

The days were lazy at Mamaw's house. Catching butterflies, reading books on the creaky old porch swing and taking walks by the river were our activities. Once in a while we would have the gift of an afternoon rain. On these special days I would take my stolen biscuit and curl up on the lumpy mattress that was filled with feathers. It took a little doing, but with some determination you could hollow out the perfect size nest for an 8 year old body on a rainy summer afternoon. A feather mattress, a secretly hidden biscuit, a good book and the sound of rain on a tin roof will always mean cozy to me.

Mamaw Lilly on her 82nd birthday, May 4, 1976 in Possum Hollow, Virginia

Mamaw's Buttermilk Biscuits
2 cups self-rising flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup buttermilk

Pour flour into a mound on the kitchen counter. Using your fingers, cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Add buttermilk and quickly blend in, making sure to not overwork the dough.  Scoop up the dough and lightly flour the counter again. Roll out the dough with a rolling pin to a thickness of  1/2-inch. Use a biscuit cutter or the rim of a glass, press out as many biscuits as possible. Gather up scraps and quickly knead back together, then cut out as many additional biscuits as possible. Place biscuits in a cast iron skillet and bake until golden brown, about 15 to 20 minutes.

Red-Eye Gravy
country ham steaks
bacon grease
1 C. strong, hot coffee
3 T. flour
2 T. butter

Heat up a cast iron skillet until hot. Melt some bacon grease in the pan and fry the ham steaks for about 3 minutes per side, until browned. Remove ham and stir flour into the grease. Cook a minute or two. Slowly stir in the coffee. If it's too thick, add some water. When thickened stir in butter.

Serve over the ham steaks or over the biscuits.

Gramma's Hutch

When my gramma and grampa died last year and we split up all their household stuff everyone got a little bit of furniture and a few mementos. In their will, they left me the hutch that sits in my kitchen now. In my post on Sunday there was this picture of it with the forsythia branches that I am coaxing to bloom.

Yesterday I got this email from my Aunt Nancy:

Tanya-
I was reading your blog this morning. The hutch looks beautiful with the forsythia. However I’ve never seen it without a bunch of opened envelopes, pill bottles, odd looking pieces of bark or brightly colored leaves, mis-matched glass pieces, jars of rocks, false teeth, photos, old magazines, recipes cut from magazines, sometimes a lead line, one or two of Skip’s ever present gloves, a stack of books on the corner, a few coins, sometimes a few dollar bills, ALWAYS bills to be paid. It really is a pretty piece of furniture and your dishes are lovely. Thanks for letting us have a look.

Nancy

It made me laugh out loud because it's so true. Anything that caught their fancy at any given moment ended up in the house. 

It also made me a little misty-eyed. 

I'd give just about anything to see it that way just one more time.

The Power of Less

Yesterday, as a birthday surprise, Scott and Scott took me to a bread baking class. The chef who taught us spent two years studying in Italy and has a passion for sharing her knowledge. The class we attended yesterday was on basic bread making. We made a traditional "lean" dough – the only ingredients being flour, yeast, water and salt – and then learned how to form these elementary ingredients into baguettes.

Chef Linda told us the story of beginning her baking training in culinary school. She arrived with the other students and each was told to measure out enough flour, yeast, salt and water and mound the ingredients on the table in front of them. Each student measured enough makings for 66 baguettes per person. They were taught the basics for hand kneading, rising and shaping the loaves and were then set to work. Five hours later, each student's 66 loaves were removed from the oven and the crumb, or interior of the bread, was inspected. All the loaves were found to be wanting and turned into breadcrumbs.

Each day when they arrived, the task began again with every student producing 66 loaves for inspection. For weeks, the loaves were deemed inferior for even the lowly students to eat and they were turned into crumbs. Her arms began to develop muscles she didn't know she had as she hand kneaded so many loaves of bread. Finally, she began to be able to form the loaves without looking. Her technique for kneading and shaping became second nature and her loaves became consistent and nearly perfect.

At the end of the class, as we stood around the baker's bench and tore off hunks of hot, crusty bread to sample we were amazed at how incredibly good such uncomplicated ingredients could taste. Simple flour, water, yeast and salt had become this.


Since having Ali's nephew at our house so much in the last month and a half, I've been thinking about how complicated and, in many ways, how unnatural life has become. Maybe I'm just becoming more aware of how we are constantly being enticed to buy some "gadget" to solve some "problem" we really weren't aware we even had. I can come up with a whole list of useless "gadgets" that are cluttering my life and I'm sure you can too.

As Ali and I struggle to help her nephew mature we find ourselves moving away from the noisy and hyped, "must-have" solutions of the moment towards the quiet and simple resolutions that make sense to us. We turn off the TV when he's there. We sit down and eat dinner at the table like a family. We talk to each other instead of feeding our addictions to internet, cell phone and media. We ask each other questions and wait for an answer instead of barging full-steam ahead without listening. We look each other in the eyes and communicate. We go play at the Y to exercise our bodies and spirits instead of complaining about how we wish the kid-ling would go to bed earlier and wondering why we aren't sleeping well. There's a long way to go, but maybe we're on the right track.

Maybe what's right for us, and for kid-ling, is a little bit less hype and a lot more of the basics? There is a certain power that comes in owning that and making it happen.

So what does this have to do with bread?

The most basic ingredients have been used for thousands of years to make something absolutely perfect. It takes effort and practice. 

But so do a lot of things.

Coaxing Spring

Everyone I know has spring fever. The last of the mountains of snow that lie marooned in parking lots around town are finally disappearing. Since Sunday we have had the magical extra hour of daylight in the evenings so that we can be outside just a little longer. The kids on our street are making great use of it – rollerblading and biking up and down while pulling their dolls in baby strollers.

While walking Sammy one evening this week I saw the first little crocus flowers blooming a very resilient yellow. It made me smile with relief.

After a long winter, I will do just about anything to coax spring to keep moving our way!

Last Sunday I cut these forsythia branches and brought them indoors. This particular plant doesn't bloom until the end of April but I decided to help it along a bit.

Here's where we are now.

Spring flaunted her smile -

Everything she loved 

Slowly awakened in praise 

– Dorothy (Alves) Holmes

Welcome back! We missed you!

I Found It!

Last year on this day I wrote about my grandfather, Pop. Today is his birthday. He would have been 100.

Here's the picture I couldn't find. It's now framed in the office where I can see it every day.

Happy Birthday to us!

Groovy dress, huh?

Words and Pictures :: School Lunch

This post was inspired by a creative writing prompt from the blog Meet Me At Mikes. Click over there if you would like to read other writings on this theme!

"God we thank you for this food


For rest and home and all things good


For wind and rain and sun above


But most of all for those we love."

She had been chosen to collect the meal tickets. "The second time this week!" she excitedly thought to herself as she moved up and down each row of small desks. It was an important job, fit only for the most trustworthy and serious. At least those were her thoughts as she ducked her head in embarrassed pride. The act of taking her classmate's lunch tickets was difficult for her, but filled her with a sense of joy.

"Boys, you may line up first," the teacher announced.

There was the scratching and clattering of chair legs as the boys race-walked to the door. Stomachs were growling with hunger as the aroma of warm chili drifted up from the basement cafeteria toward the door of Mrs. Kenley's first grade classroom.

"Girls, please join the line."

There was more movement in the classroom, this time a little quieter, as the girls tried to maneuver so they were lined up with their best friends. Some quietly held hands.

"Boys and girls, bow your heads as we say our prayer together," Mrs. Kenley instructed.

God we thank you for this food


For rest and home and all things good


For wind and rain and sun above


But most of all for those we love.

As the class made their way to the cafeteria the smells got stronger. There was always the odor of freshly mopped floors mingled with spilled milk and sweaty kids. In the long corridor that led to the cafeteria the line of student split in half as the boys washed their hands at one sink and the girls used the other.

"Make sure you use soap!"

The lines merged again as each student scrubbed their hands dry on scratchy paper towels. This bit of choreography happened at every meal.

"Where is my ticket collector?" the teacher asked.

She ducked her head, flushing, as she made her way to the front of the line.

God we thank you for this food


For rest and home and all things good


For wind and rain and sun above


But most of all for those we love.

"Yes, indeed," she thought to herself as she was the first to pick up her Easter-egg pink, divided plastic tray. "And thank you that I got to be ticket collector. Again!"

Sneak Shot

Sneak Shot
Originally uploaded by piketanya

A rare shot of Oliver that isn't either blurry or only of his back end! He was laying behind Ali on the couch, being sweet, when she held the camera over her shoulder with no aim and caught this shot of his nose.

Yeah, this is a totally gratuitous "cute dog" blog post. . .

Book Review :: Those Who Save Us

I've been on a reading jag for a couple of weeks now. Not sure what's going on so I'm just gonna go with it! Yesterday I finished another one.

What would you do to survive? Maybe a better question is what wouldn't you do?

Those two questions drive the novel I just finished – Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum.

Trudy Swenson is a middle aged history professor struggling to come to terms with her family history. During World War II her mother had been the lover of an unbelievably cruel SS officer. Trudy is suspicious that this man was her father, but because of a strained relationship with her mother, she is unsure. She is also confused about the role that ordinary German people played in the atrocities of the Holocaust.

The story is told through a series of flashbacks and brings to life a side of World War II that is rarely talked about. Were ordinary German people monsters, knowing that the death camps were in their backyards? Or were they naive, simply ignoring what was going on all around them? Or, as with most things, were they torn between black and white - good and evil - survival and death?

This book is rich with details and those save this novel from being one dimensional. While starving in Germany, Trudy's mother Anna could not get the smell of her Nazi officer's body out of her mind. She believed that he smelled something like smoked bacon and the smell revolted her and yet made her uncomfortably aware of her hunger. This detail is repeated several times. When it is finally mentioned the last time in the book the reader's suspicions are confirmed – it was the smell of the victims of the crematorium that he manned.

It's details like this that keep the reader involved in this novel. It's the story of what you might - or might not - do to survive.

An Addendum

An addendum to the previous post –

So. A few minutes ago I said to Ali –  "You know, we really blew it last night."

"Why?"

"We wasted our second anniversary fighting about Wonder Pets. And stuff that doesn't matter. We will never get our second anniversary back. . ."

There was a long pause while she thought that over. 

"At least we won't forget it!"

A Walk in the Woods

Things have been quiet on the blog front because it hasn't been so quiet on the home front. We've had kid-ling since Sunday night. Unfortunately I don't have any cute kid-ling stories or funny little Oliver tales. We just have a flooded, muddy backyard where the dogs have to be confined whenever the kid-ling is here and the small irritations of dealing with a kid that isn't yours.

He's really been pretty good, all things considered. It's just hard to suddenly give up all your free time when he's around. I know I'm whining. I'll get over it.

Here's the real reason I'm whining. . .we spent our second anniversary watching Wonder Pets. . .and then fighting because we were forced to watch Wonder Pets on our anniversary. . .

One of the things that's helping us both cope is that we are using the money we are being paid for watching him to take a three day guided backpacking tour in the Great Smoky Mountains in August. Details here. We're going on a women's only trip and are VERY excited about it.

You gotta keep looking forward, huh? Or you just might lose your mind. . .

Right or Free?

I mentioned in this post that it's my Lenten intention to work on forgiveness this year. I'm a week into the online course. I have to honestly admit that this is much tougher than I anticipated. Right now, it sucks and I'm hating it.

There. I said it. Can I move on?

The course format is such that you receive three emails a week. On Monday the assignment was to identify the reasons that practicing forgiveness is difficult in your personal situation. In other words, to figure out why you are stuck wherever it is you are. Some of the attitudes are conscious and some are not. 

I got started on this path to Lenten-cranky when I realized that the reason I am still angry at the church and haven't practiced forgiveness over the whole ugly situation boils down to one very succinct phrase – I don't want to.

So very spiritually mature. But, at least I'm being honest. I had a few days to come to terms with that before the next assignment arrived in my inbox. It contained a question that has basically tormented me since opening the email.

"In your current situation would you rather be right or be free?"

I'm finding it difficult to convey how angry that question made me. (My  stream of consciousness responses for about the last three days have run the following route – "Fuck you! I already know that I didn't do anything wrong! ** I am right and I don't need to prove myself to anyone just to get their validation! ** I'm sick of  constantly trying to make myself better when no one else gives a shit about what they've done... ** Blah, blah, blah ** ad nauseam

You get the picture. A solitary little boat adrift in a sea of self righteousness.

And for three days I floated there. What really had me stuck was that when I got past all the self righteousness; when I dug deep and threw away all the baggage and pride overboard; I truly, humbly feel like I am right. Sure, I'm human and things are messy. But, when it came right down to it, I did the right things, as quickly as I could. There were a lot of things that that the people at the church never knew. They still don't know. They will never know. But, from my side of the boat, I did the best I could. It wasn't perfect but I admitted that a million times and asked for forgiveness at least that many.

So where did that little epiphany leave me? Nowhere any better. 

Do you want to be right or be free?

Both.

Not possible.

"So," my thought process went, "I might as well forget this whole forgiveness thing then. I'm stuck – forever."

And then, last night about 2:15 a little pinhole of light came moving towards me. It got bigger and bigger until it finally broke through my tunnel vision – No one but you gives a shit about whether you were right or not. You are holding yourself hostage with this notion of virtue being triumphant in the end. It's not going to happen. No. One. Cares.

I feel something akin to relief for the first time as I'm writing this. It's true. If I am waiting for some kind of apology, some kind of validation – it's not going to happen.

Do you want to be right or be free?

I finally see how to be free.

Move along people. Move along. There's nothing to see here. 

"The hard truth is that we all love poorly. 

We do not even know what we are doing 

when we hurt others. 

We need to forgive and be forgiven 

every day, every hour - unceasingly. 

That is the great work of love 

among the fellowship of the weak 

that is the human family. 

The voice that calls us the Beloved 

is the voice of freedom 

because it sets us free to love without wanting 

anything in return. 

This has nothing to do with self-sacrifice, 

self-denial or self-depreciation. 

But is has everything to do with the abundance of love 

that has been freely given to me and from which 

I feely want to give." 

— Henri J. M. Nouwen, "Forgiveness: The Name of Love in a Wounded World" 

Book Review :: Cutting for Stone

"We are all fixing what is broken. It is the task of a lifetime."

To begin to summarize this incredible book is almost impossible. If I say that it's a story of conjoined twins, fathered by a brilliant British surgeon, mothered by an Indian nun - struggling to understand life in all of it's cruelty and wonder it would be true. But, it wouldn't come close to doing this book justice.

The twin's mother dies in childbirth and their father abandons them minutes later. They are raised in a missionary hospital in Ethiopia by an Indian couple who make them their own. The rest of this epic story is about all of these character's journeys to come face to face with their past, their future and their "family."

This is, far and away, the best novel I've ever read. There are so many layers and levels in this book, that even though I finished it two days ago I can't get this book out of my mind.

The biggest downside to reading this one is that I have no idea how to follow it up. Everything else will undoubtedly pale in comparison.

Cutting For Stone, by Abraham Verghese, published February, 2009 by Alfred A. Knopf

Fire

I'm worried about my friend.

He bought his house a few months ago and while he was at work, night before last, it burned. No one was hurt. The new dog is fine. The house is not. 

I talked to him a couple of times yesterday. The shock is starting to wear off now. He said that it feels like some kind of invasion. I think I understand what he means.

I told him that I knew that if it had been my house that burned down he would have been there in a heartbeat, doing whatever he could to help. I said that I didn't know what to do to help him. He laughed and told me he loved me.

He said he would call if he needed anything. So I wait. And worry. And pray. What else is there?

Art

Every so often someone makes me question the validity of my writing and why I share it in this space. I wrestle with it for awhile and then I let it go.

I write because I feel the need to. Because I want to. Because, to me, it's art.

This video helped me let it go again. And, it made me smile.

I wondered what would be the worth of my words in the world

If I write them and then recite them are they worth being heard?

Just because I like them

Does that mean that I should I write them

And see what might unfurl?

And I think of the significance of my opinions here

Is it significant to be giving them?

Does anybody care?

Just because I'm into this 

Does that mean that I should live like it?

And really, do I dare?

Art, art, art, I want you.

Art you make it pretty hard not to.

And my heart is trying hard here to follow you

But I can't always tell if I ought to.

So I ponder the points of my art in this life

If I make it, will someone take it and think that it's genuine?

Would they be glad that I did because they got something good out of it?

Would they leave me and be any more inspired?

And I question the outcome of the outpouring of myself.

If I tell everyone my stories would this keep me healthy and well?

Would it give me purpose and to this world some sort of service?

Is it worth it? How could I tell?

Art Manifesto

Great ideas come from great bike rides.

Pass it on.

Art will take you places.

Plant seeds.

A broken heart can make great art.

Experiment.

Don't care too much.

Art, art, art, I want you.

Art you make it pretty hard not to.

And my heart is trying hard here to follow you

But I can't always tell if I ought to.

Book Review :: The Reader

Yesterday afternoon I finished The Reader by Bernhard Schlink. After I closed the cover I was at a loss as to what to think about the book. Slowly, over the afternoon, I came appreciate this little book's complexities.

About The Reader:

When he falls ill on his way home from school, fifteen-year-old Michael Berg is rescued by Hanna, a woman twice his age. In time she becomes his lover--then she inexplicably disappears. When Michael next sees her, he is a young law student, and she is on trial for a hideous crime. As he watches her refuse to defend her innocence, Michael gradually realizes that Hanna may be guarding a secret she considers more shameful than murder.

When I think about the experience of reading this book, my strongest impression is that if you are a person who is uncomfortable with ambiguity you may struggle through this novel. If you thrive on certainty – if good and evil are black and white and uncertainty makes you uncomfortable, you may not enjoy The Reader. (I feel like I need to make clear that the moral uncertainties in this book do not have anything to do with the sexual relationship between a teen and a woman the age of his mother. The book very clearly shows the devastation that this relationship brings on the boy over the course of his lifetime.) The ambiguities arise from Hanna's past as an SS guard in a concentration camp and the secret she is willing to keep even though it may cost her life.

The prose is simple and elegant in this novel. The writing is sparse, with short chapters that beg you to keep going. The reading of this book has stayed with me and challenged me to think a little deeper. And, to me, that's what a good book does.

Drifting

Ali is in Florida for five days with her family. I wasn't able to go because I only get five vacation days a year and I really hate to use them up in February. That's really the only complaint I have about the place I work. No matter how long you work there it's Just. Five. Days. I'm the only person I know who gets that little vacation.

Anyhow, that leaves me in Ohio feeling adrift: (adj.) lost, off course; disoriented, confused, at sea; drifting, rootless, unsettled, directionless, aimless, purposeless, without purpose.

It's not that I don't enjoy being alone or that being alone makes me uncomfortable. I think the unsettled sensation comes from the sudden separation. There is a certain rhythm that comes with living and sharing a life with someone. There is a particular energy that comes simply from sharing a life and when it's suddenly quiet things can feel a little dim. 

This morning I'm kind of feeling like the electricity has gone out and I'm kind of bumping around in the dark, wondering what to do.

I have a list of things that I want to do while she is gone. They are all loosely related to the concept of taking care of myself for a few days. There are things like, "Cook and eat all the spicy, garlicky foods you like," since Ali doesn't like those kinds of foods; "Sew a skirt," since when we're both home we tend to do things together and I don't make it upstairs to the sewing machine that regularly; and "Go to church." Kind of a silly list, but it helps me stay focused when I'm feeling a little unmoored.

Usually when I'm alone and dinner time approaches I start a litany of excuses as to why I'm not going to go to all the trouble of cooking something just for me. "It's not worth all the trouble," I'll say to myself. "Who wants to do all those dishes just for one person?" Finally I tell myself to just eat a bowl of cereal and be done with it.

Not last night! Last night I made Curried Pork Noodles. They were amazing. I thought they needed a little more heat – some Asian chili sauce perhaps – but I didn't have any. I may have to go get some today because the left-overs are slated for my lunch plate!

Perhaps I'll make my way to the sewing machine today. I think there's a nap in my future as well. I'm looking forward to a slow Sunday with the boys.