March Was… Monday, Mar 31 2008

March was a disaster for reading. Despite spring break and Easter both in this month I really didn’t get a lot of time to really read. Kisa and I had to take separate cars a few times to work, we had a trip to Maine, I didn’t make any super-long-cook meals, kisa didn’t play any super-long video games or get sucked into super-long boreMEtotears movies, and almost every night I preferred sleep over putting words and sentences together. But, for a month of “not” reading I think I did okay:

For LibraryThing: Wrack & Ruin by Don Lee

For BookLust:
Carter Clay by Elizabeth Evans
Dalva by Jim Harrison
Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
Continental Drift by Russell Banks
Three Roads to the Alamo by William C. Davis (started by didn’t get through).

An extra: Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

So, I got to everything I said that I would. I think I should get bonus points for attempted a nearly 800 page book so late in the month! My favorite was Continental Drift by Russell Banks. I still think it should be a movie.
Next month I have two LibraryThing books – one fiction and one nonfiction. I’m looking forward to them.

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Solo Strength Sunday, Mar 30 2008

Last night, when all the friend saving was said and done, I took a desperately long bath. Car accidents and drunkenness aside. The water is where I calm myself. I like to sink beneath the surface and listen to the world from underneath. Everything always sounds echoed and hollowed. Warped and wavy. The dripping spout sounds like a tuning fork. The African cd sounds more like muffled birds than joyous voices. I like the warmth of the water, cradling me. Steam rising from the surface. Last night I stayed silent and unmoving letting the water become as calm as can be. I wanted to become just as still, just as calm. With only my nose above water I willed myself to be slow and easy. A ladybug crawled over the spout and paused to investigate the drip before making its way along the rim of the tub. Every time it stopped I thought about its journey and wondered if it would join me in the water. A solo ladybug going somewhere. When it finally disappeared from view I thought about Aaron, about alcohol, about aborted engagements and mourned one and all. Not my lives, nothing to do with me, but I will miss them just the same.
While my muscles were still warm from the bath I practiced sun salutations for half an hour. There is something about moving from pose to pose as slowly and silently as possible that makes me feel whole. Strong. Centered. Solitude is my saving grace. My breath was just as quiet as in the bath. If I thought I could communicate with you through mental telepathy I would have said I’m finished with the anger. Silently I would have said I’m done being raving mad. Because while I didn’t want to talk to you at such a late hour I wanted you to know I’m fine. But, thanks for being there.

Here’s the thing. I’m finding I’m learning to let go of anger and hurt more easily. I have found my solo strength.
 

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Are You Afraid? Saturday, Mar 29 2008

I can’t tell you how many times I have heard someone say the words “I hate change.” Why is that? Yes, to both: why am I hearing it so often and why do people hate change much? Here’s why I ask – I just took a pretty intensive course on leadership and how to direct “my people” through changes. Basically it was all about how to hold their hands during that “transition” phase. Please. Six weeks of Be Sensitive to their feelings. Six weeks of Be Gentle with the speed of change. Six weeks of Be Patient. I aced the course because I just regurgitated the touchy-feely statements but, I’ll say it again. Pahleeease! Give me a freakin’ break. I’m tempted to warm up some milk and make sure everyone has a blankie on hand for sleepy time. If everyone were allowed to resist avoid change we would still be tapping out our love letters in dots and dashes.
Here’s the thing. Change IS hard. I’ll admit that. Change can be intimidating, especially when you don’t see the need for it, or can’t imagine the future any differently. But, consider the alternative. Same is dull. Same is same old-same old. I couldn’t imagine having the same job, the same schedule, the same life year after year. You know you’re really in trouble when your ex from three years ago knows where you’ll be on Any Given Thursday. What’s worse is when that ex is right…ALL the time. I don’t want someone to expect me somewhere because I’ve always been there. To be that predictable is pitiful. Pitiful and seriously sad.
I don’t have the same job I had six months ago. Traded it in for something a little more stressful, yet a little more stimulating. I don’t have the same relationships I did a year ago. Traded them in for deeper, more meaningful exchanges. I don’t listen to the same music I did two years ago. I’ve opened my ears to bands with names like Dumpstaphunk and JuJu and Sonny Landreth. I changed my mind about movies. I found a new Indian restaurant and discovered I actually like bananas now. I am in a transitional phase with my family. I guess you could say I am changing all the time. While I’m not always comfortable with change, I’m always looking forward to the new me.
One more example: someone very dear to me is saying goodbye to a life she has known for years and years. No. In my opinion she was born to have this life and she’s letting it go. Like hearing about a divorce of two really, really good friends I was shocked. At first. Then she said it: I. need. a. change. She’s assures me it’s for the best. Suddenly I see. Suddenly, I get it. Change is good for her and she is not afraid. For everyone else, I’ll bring out the milk and cookies.

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Stop This Moment Friday, Mar 28 2008

Someone called me this Grim Reaper this morning. I seem to circle death like a big ugly vulture. I’m like the black widow of the highway. Just last night I was thinking of how haunted I am (still!) by the man hit obliterated by several cars on the highway. I want to talk to him. I want to ask him where was he going? Did he really think he could cross four lanes of traffic in the darkdarkdark of winter? Did he know he was going to be mangled beyond recognition, no legs, no arms, no head- only clothes to make the man human? Then, I want to know to know why there weren’t any flowers, no makeshift memorials to mark someone’s mourning? Wasn’t someone saddened by your untimely demise? Doesn’t someone out there wake to find a void without you day after day? Aren’t you missed by somebody? Even now?

This morning on our way into work (I was driving) kisa and I caught the tail end of an accident of a different kind. Different, yet it was another horrific moment on the highway. Blacker than night smoke and a fireball at least 50 feet high. Cars starting to pile up, break lights glowing. Everything coming to a halt. Here’s what is rumored to have happened: a tanker truck carrying gasoline and diesel was cut off, he swerved to avoid hitting the car that had just cut him off, ended up hitting someone else, swerved again to avoid further damage and ended up hitting a third vehicle, partially going over a bridge and finally burst into flames. People rushed to his rescue. Here’s what drives me nuts. Conditions of any driver involved: unknown. It’s hard to imagine anyone surviving something like that. 

Here’s what I do know. Three cars and a truck. At least four different people going somewhere. Going about their business on the same highway. Four people in the same place at the same time. Not one of them said “I might lose my life today.” Not one of them said “Later I am going to be in the accident that will make the headlines. I will be lucky to be alive.” No one kissed a spouse goodbye and thought “Maybe I won’t see you later.” If kisa and I had left on time we could have been in that mess. Ten minutes earlier and we could have been that fourth vehicle. We could have. Could have.

Something to think about: A man from North Hampton, N.H. climbs in his truck and starts his long journey home. Another man settles into his compact car and turns the key thinking about March Madness. A woman looks over her shoulder as she backs down the driveway. She’s meeting a friend for coffee. Another woman pulls her seat belt across her lap as she pulls out of a parking spot. She has one more stop before heading home. Ordinary. Not one of them expects anything different.

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Not Just Anyone Thursday, Mar 27 2008

You know that feeling when someone does something and you see it one way and that someone else sees it another? There is that weird disconnect between It Means A Lot and It’s No Big Deal? All night long I was stuck in the land of limbo.
First there was my JustFries man, making the trip to come hang out with me. Me, myself & moi! I invited. He accepted. Just like that. It was cool. When I thanked him for coming (because it meant a lot) he shrugged (like it was no big deal). No, really. It meant a lot. I want to join the Revolution and see you soon.
Then, there was the band. They weren’t even supposed to play. So what? I had driven over 2 hours to see them. So what? They didn’t owe silly me a performance. They could have turned around and driven back to wherever saying sorry! Your loss! Better luck next time! But, they found a place to play. And play they did. I loved Breakdown and Sympathy. They probably didn’t even get paid for their efforts but, but! But, they played as if they were each getting a cool mil. It was priceless to me.
Finally there was MrMissYou. My highlight of the night. I would have driven three times as far to hear a dedication like that. It may have meant nothing to you, but it meant the world to me.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that in the company of amazing people I find myself thinking I’m not just anyone. It’s no big deal to you or you or you, but it means everything to me.

There was only one other person I really missed that night. Maybe next time?

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Continental Drift Wednesday, Mar 26 2008

Banks, Russell. Continental Drift. New York: HarperPerennial, 2007.

This book was spellbinding.
Thing on LibraryThing: Russell Banks really knows how to tell a good story. On the surface, it’s about Bob Dubois and his downward spiral. Bob is a New Hampshire man who seems to have it all: a wife, two kids, a decent job, a house, a boat to take out on the weekends and even a girlfriend on the side. His problem: greed. He is a man who compares himself too often to the people around him: his brother, his best friend. He doesn’t let go of grudges or jealousies all that easily. Feeling like the man who has nothing to lose, he gives up everything to move to Florida for a “fresh start.” His tale is just the vessel for Banks to describe a society fueled by the overwhelming need for more and more. Excess is not enough. Bob soon learns the meaning of “good enough” when his life spins out of control.
One of my favorite parts is about halfway through the book, the two brothers, Bob and Eddie, are trying to have a conversation. Each one takes a turn to say something then the other responds. Only they aren’t talking about the same thing. Bob is trying to explain to Eddie that he (Eddie) needs to take away a handgun because Bob doesn’t understand himself anymore. He’s afraid of what would happen if the gun stays in his possession. Eddie responds that he has ulcers and his epilepsy has come back. Bob says he doesn’t want to kill anyone and Eddie reponds that he hates fukcing his wife. It’s comical and sad.

My favorite quotes:
“He’s never skied on water before; in fact, he’s never skied on any kind of surface, despite having been raised where people drive from cities hundreds of miles away just so they can spend a few hours careening down mountains on slats strapped to their feet” (p150). Having gone to school in “ski country” yet never skied, I can identify with this!
“She and her father never speak of the event again, not to each other and not to anyone else. There’s nothing to say about it to each other that is not already fully understood, so they remain silent about it, almost as if it never happened” (p 176). Can’t you just see this scene in a movie?
“There’s a mixture of passivity and will that he does not understand. They risk everything, their homes, their families, forsake all they know, and then strike out across the open sea for a place they’ve only heard about” (p 340). What struck me about this quote is where it’s coming from: Bob. Doesn’t he realize he’s just like them?

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter “It Was a Dark and Stormy Novel” (p 129). Pearl isn’t kidding. I’m surprised this hasn’t been made into a movie yet.

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You Have It Better Tuesday, Mar 25 2008

I have climbed up on the soapbox to tell you this: just because You are not Me does not mean I have it better. There is a certain whine that I cannot abide by. Not anymore. I’m sick of you thinking because I’m not you I have it easier. I don’t have your troubles. I don’t have your burdens. Therefore, (you think), my life must be easier than yours. Welcome to the bullsh!t but where in the world did you get it? What did I do to give you the impression that I have the easy life because I don’t own a house or have three kids? Hell, I don’t even have a dog I need to walk so I m u s t have the charmed life. Right?

It’s funny. Children are the end-all, be-all for excuses. Pull a problem out of a hat and blame the kid. The ultimate PityMeParty because you don’t have a moment to yourself; you can’t afford this or that; you’re oh so tired. Give me a break. It’s not my fault you forgot to take a pill or wear a rubber. Don’t look to me as “lucky” because I don’t have motherhood as my middle name. You haven’t even stepped in my shoes so let’s not pretend about walking that mile in them, okay? You don’t ask the questions so I can’t give you the answers. And who’s to say you would listen anyway? All you know is that I don’t have daycare in my vocabulary so my life must be dandy.

My reason for this rant? Single Income, Three Kids all under the age of six, Five Pets, Four Charities and not a single WoeIsMe complaint. Does not envy a dink like me. You go girl.

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Catcher in the Rye Monday, Mar 24 2008

Salinger, J.D. The Catcher in the Rye. New York: Bantam, 1985.

How many times have you read this book? I’ve lost count. Because I ran out of things to read over the weekend (Continental Drift wasn’t in yet) I picked this one back up. We have it at home because, ironically, my husband stole it from his high school. What an appropriate book to walk out with (he never cared for school either). Everyone should have a copy of Catcher in the Rye no matter how they get their hands on it.

I didn’t write a review for LibraryThing. What more could I say that hasn’t already been said by 200 people (and risk getting one of those “not a review” things)?
Holden Caufield is a contradiction in terms. He gets annoyed or hates everyone around him pretty easily, yet he hungers for attention, companionship, and isn’t afraid to admit his shortcomings. He swears frequently yet is offended by a “fukc you” on the wall of his kid sister’s school. I’ve read reviews claiming Holden has “mental issues” or is “a brat.” But, consider the circumstances – he’s a 16 year old kid who just got kicked out of another preppy boarding school. His parents aren’t really involved in his life and his still grieving over the loss of his brother (to leukemia). I wasn’t perfect at 16 and I think if I had been just a little braver, I would have been a little more rebellious, too.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust twice: once in “Boys Coming of Age” (p 45) and again in “100 Good Reads, Decade by Decade: 1950s (p 177).

Funny side story: on the morning I decided to reread Catchermy husband was playing with my ipod, getting my music ready for the race. I stood there, book in hand, listening to itunes’ 30 second sample of ”We Didn’t Start the Fire” by Billy Joel (thanks, Manda!) and heard the line about Catcher in the Rye. Spotting the coincidence I showed kisa the book. It freaked him out a little, especially when I told him I had no idea he was going to play the clip, nor that Catcher would be mentioned in that brief 30 seconds.

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Beatles Sex or Celine? Friday, Mar 21 2008

I can’t decide. My choices are, but are not limited to: The Beatles, Zoomanity, Celine Dion, Wayne Brady, tigers…and some burlesque thing. At least that’s what I’ve found so far while researching things to do…other than gamble…in Vegas. Here’s the thing. We’re planning our Nevada/Utah,/Arizona/California trip and I want to make the most of everything everywhere. We’re giving Vegas only two days. So, that means cramming a lot into a little time. Definitely a show in Vegas, maybe 10 minutes of gambling (just to say I did it), and who knows what else. I am a virgin when it comes to Vegas. Sooo “skies the limit” as they say. To say that I want to experience it all doesn’t mean I want to find a prostitute…and I was only kidding about Celine Dion. She is not an option. Neither is Wayne Brady. But, I do know there is a wealth of fun in Vegas. After all, someone had to have coined the phrase “what happens in Vegas…” for a reason. Right?
This is what I know I want to do in Vegas: skinny dip in the pool, find a turtle in the wilderness sanctuary, have a cheeseburger in paradise, do that 10 minutes of gambling I mentioned, have a dirty martini, see a CirqueDuSoleil show (sex or Beatles? I can’t decide!), find evidence of Bugsy’s vision (at the Flamingo), maybe get a new tat, and finally, last but not least, find a diner that serves huevos rancheros at 3am. That’s pretty tame for what I could want. I know I know! But, it’s a start. Right?

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Party for Anne Wednesday, Mar 19 2008

I feel like we should throw a party for Anne…or something. Her NotAreview blog has been viewed over 2,000 times. I know I’ve asked what’s with Anne? in the past, but now I’m thrilled. Anne deserves all the attention she can get!

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Pivotal Moments Tuesday, Mar 18 2008

It’s not often that I notice a turning point, a change of definite direction, one of those important pivotal moments in life. It’s striking when something strikes me as “pivotal” – such as what happened today.

I came across a resume of a friend. One of those drowned relationships that sank without apparent good reason. I admit, I let it sink. I have this habit of moving away from something if it no longer feels right. Such is the case with this friend.

I met her at one of the most out-on-a-limb times of my life. I was creating a new existence like never before. Everyday was a struggle to not fall. I clung to anything supportive. While I wasn’t paying attention she easily fit herself into the newness of it all. Somehow she became someone with the label of friend. It was all without fanfare and I thought nothing of it. It just happened and I didn’t notice. Until I started thinking too much about it. Something about the friendship made me worry. Made me nervous. Made me more than a bit uncomfortable. Made me want to move away – just a little. I started to decline invitations. Started to invite her out in groups of people. Strength in numbers. It was more than just having nothing in common or disagreeing about just about everything.

When she finally went away for good it took me months to really notice. It took another month to really care. Another month to be surprised by how much I did care. I made feeble attempts to fish around for the friendship. Murky and muddled I wasn’t sure I really wanted to find her. I sound horrible, but really I was more than confused. I wasn’t sure what I really wanted. Looking just to look? What would I say if and when I found her?

I found her resume today. Full name, address, phone number. Email. All things I had lost along the way, suddenly now in my way. Everything I needed to start all over again. Information in my hands. The search I didn’t really know if I wanted to make. Then came the turning point. The change of direction. That pivotal moment I mentioned earlier. I don’t know what made me do it, but letting by-gones be by-gones I let  her resume slide into the trash. The moment the paper left my hand I knew it was one of those moments. If it were a scene in a movie it would have been slowed down and dramatized. The symbolism of such a shot is not lost on me. I let go.

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Beating Up Bill Monday, Mar 17 2008

I woke to rain and rolled my eyes. Of course it was raining. Of course. Today was race day. I had to run…and it was raining. At that point I wanted nothing more than to snuggle deeper under the covers and pretend I had a few more hours of snoozetime. It’s hard to take a stand when all you want is to let sleeping dogs lie. *sigh*
The park was buzzing with ipods and lycra tights. Stretching, jumping, running in place, people talking the talk of runners. PRs, last races, and strained hamstrings. Water, bananas and bagels. I got #779 and tried to figure out what happened in July 1979 that was good. Looking for an omen. Killing time with idle chatter to calm less than idle nerves. I heard a rumor the run was twice around the park. If memory serves me right, the park is only 1.1 miles around. Hmm? I anticipated a creative run…to say the least. At least it stopped raining.
Here’s what I forgot about running outside: Hills - up and down ones, gradual and steep ones. I wasn’t used to running down Duck Pond Hill. Weird on the knees. Gusts of wind. Cold wind. Patches of ice. Large puddles of really cold, dirty water. Larger than life piles of dog sh!t. I encountered all of it with shock and amusement. Ran right through all of it without prejudice. Baseball cap pulled low, low, low. Eyes on my feet the entire time. When I got to That Spot I cursed it. Fukc you and your pain. Even spit on it the second time around. Yes, even spit on it.
The creative addition to 2.2 miles? Running in a circle in the train station parking lot. I knew it would be different!
We finished running up Hell Hill. This, I’m used to it. It’s the only way out of the park, the only way home. I’ve done it a thousand times. Grind my teeth, focus on the feet and dig in. I found power and surged to the finish line. Before ‘These Are Days’ could get a minute of music, I finished. Technically, I finished on ‘Paint it Black’ – two songs earlier than I planned. I don’t have the official time, but I do know this, I officially finished. Beating up Bill never felt so good.

Bill’s Challenge Playlist:

• Hotel California
• We Didn’t Start The Fire
• We’re Not Gonna Take It
• Higher Ground
• All My Life (kisa’s spur of the moment pick)
• Lose Yourself
• Paint It Black
• These Are Days (didn’t hear)
• The Scientist (didn’t hear)

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Bluest Eye Sunday, Mar 16 2008

Morrison, Toni. The Bluest Eye. New York: Plume, 1970.

The LibraryThing Review:
“Because The Bluest Eye doesn’t have a traditional storyline plot the reader is free to concentrate on the complexities of the characters. The entire work is like a patchwork quilt of human suffering. Each character a different patch of sadness and survival. With each square, the ugly underbelly of society is exposed: poverty, racism, rape, incest, abuse, violence…Toni Morrison is the eye that never blinks in the face of such harsh subjects.”

These are the quotes that stopped me short. “They did not talk, groan or curse during these beatings. There was only the muted sound of falling things, and flesh on unsurprised flesh” (p 43). It’s the word ‘unsurprised’ that speaks volumes.
“He urges his eyes out of his thoughts to encounter her” (p 49). Another way of describing a deep-seeded prejudice.

One aspect of this novel that caught me up was the narrator hearing certain words in colors like light green, black and red. I have done the same thing with my imagination. I see words as certain shades or hues. Aside from the colors, this was a hard book to read and I can’t say anything that hasn’t already been said.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter called “Big Ten Country: The Literary Midwest (Ohio)” (p 29).

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The Dying Know Their Time Saturday, Mar 15 2008

“Dearest Dalva,
I am putting my affairs in order, and that is why you have this short letter from a dead man. I don’t intend to tip over tomorrow but I sense this will be my last summer. Unless we are insensitive we know our own weather” (Dalva, Jim Harrison; Dutton, 1988. pg 287).

My good friend Leo started to say things like this six months before he committed suicide. He saw himself as not a weather pattern, or a change in temperature, but rather a leaf on a tree. He admitted that he could see himself dropping from the limb “any day” and that he wasn’t meant for this world. Over and over, leaves were his symbol of life and death was the act of disconnecting from the branches. Falling gracefully.
I had no idea he was planning his own end. No idea that his suffering was something no doctor could cure. There was no medicine that could soothe him. Despite a daily raw onion eaten like an apple (!) his pain was the very act of aging itself. Failing eyesight, faulty plumbing, noisy hearing aids. Shaking fingers. Uncontrollable, unstoppable aging. Repeatedly he kept telling me it’s time. “Not today,” he would gently assure me, ”but it’s time. It is time” Over the phone his breath sounded raspy and his voice mean. I swear I could smell onion juice. 
One time he was taking me to the Bronx to look at plants. As a member of the Botanical Gardens he had all sorts of access to all sorts of green things. He wanted to buy me a huge tree. Remembering his analogy of death I refused. Plus, I had nowhere to put it. ‘Just walk with me and tell me the names of plants’ I begged. He smelled of onions and vodka like always. He walked with hands clasped behind his back asking “does this make me look Jewish? No? Too bad! Because I am.” And laughing loudly, scaring away pigeons in the brush. It was hard to believe he wanted to fall with a laugh like that. I ended up allowing him to buy me a small fern which dried up and whithered away the following fall, despite my diligence to watering and worrying.
On the day I learned of his death, confused and angry, I threw up at the first sight of an onion. I couldn’t understand the meaning behind “I Quit” written on a calendar. Leaves weren’t supposed to pluck themselves from the limb. Whatever happened to falling off gracefully?
In the end Leo taught me that you don’t have to be sick to be dying. It was years before I really accepted it. Even still I don’t think I understand it. The dying know their time.

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Thanks 2 U Friday, Mar 14 2008

It’s the day before my first BackInTheSaddle race. A little 5k-er…in the snow (at least that’s what the forecast was predicting). I’m a little nervous. It’s o n l y 5k, but still…This marks the beginning of my road back to the run. Mentally, it’s a big, huge, colossal deal for me. Mentally, it’s all that I have. Having said all that, I think conditions are perfect. The race is in the same park where I trained for the half. I know it intimately. I love it well. Friends have gotten married there. I’ve seen Natalie perform there. I have so much history there…it’s also the same place where I first felt my knee give out. It’s where I fell to the ground. I know the exact piece of pavement I crumpled on. Half of me prays we avoid that spot altogether, but other other half wants to run over that exact spot with a fukc you vengeance, stomp on that spot…and keep going.

I asked people for input on favorite songs. I made it obvious that I want to make each list into a special mix just for that person, but what I didn’t make clear is that I want to take certain songs from each list and create my very first race mix. Two people emailed me privately with their choices, someone else sent me a text message…and my husband thought the task too daunting to just rattle off 10 songs. As he says, “I really need to think about that.” So, his choices will come later…much later – something for the next run.
So, here’s the 3/15/08 Bill’s Challenge 5k Run Playlist:

1. We Didn’t Start the Fire – Billy Joel (Manda)
2. Higher Ground – Stevie Wonder (Ruth)
3. We’re Not Gonna Take It – Twisted Sister (Sarah)
4. The Scientist – Coldplay (Heather)
5. Paint it Black – Rolling Stones (Greg)
6. Hotel California – Eagles (Rebecca)
7. These Are Days – 10,000 Maniacs (ME )

My third motive for asking for music was to discover new music. I have some really, really creative people in my life and I am always looking for new stuff to listen to. I love the process of discovery, especially when the education comes from my friends. So, thank you, thank you, thank you for chiming in!

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