Reading, Writing, and Ralph Ellison

It's Day 3, and I'm working from home today.  Yesterday was easier than Friday, and fingers crossed that today will continue on in that direction.  My story-in-progress is, in fact, progressing, and I've been managing a minimum of two hours of solid, non-stop writing.  Actually, tomorrow could have gone on longer if my stomach would have cooperated.  (Apparently, a sugary tea latte and a Kind bar aren't enough to sustain me.  Who knew?)

My workspace today, lovely but surrounded by more distractions.

The king of distractions when he turns his "sad eyes" on you. 

Margot (aka Kitten Murderface, Aaron Purr, Satan, El Diablo, Bad Hat, Devil Cat, etc) is a distraction for all the wrong reasons.

But despite the frequent breaks to redirect our extremely evil feline away from destruction, I am plugging away, actually looking forward to wrapping up today's blog post and getting to work on my story (while comfortably ensconced in a spot where emergency nourishment is just down the hall.)  But before I do, I want to talk briefly about my most recent read. (Warning: We are leaving the frivolous world of cat pics far behind.)

Yet another entry in my "Books You Should Have Read in School" category.

Ralph Ellison's classic, Invisible Man, was on my list of catch-up books for a while before I spotted a pristine copy at the used bookstore a few months back.  I snagged it and parked it on my TBR shelf ("to be read" for the uninitiated.)  Aside from some very big picture stuff, I knew almost nothing about this book.  But I knew it was important, and that it fell into the embarrassed-I've-never-read-it category (along with a list of books so long I burn with shame.)  So finally, two weeks ago, I picked it up to read, knowing nearly nothing about the plot or characters and only a vague idea of the subject matter.

I wasn't prepared.  Somebody should have warned me.  First of all, this is not a plot-driven novel.  Secondly, this is not a character-driven novel.  The narrator/protagonist is a slippery fish whose personality and desires are almost impossible to nail down.  His beliefs and ideals flip-flop like said slippery fish throughout the book.  Thirdly (third of all? the third thing? these ordinals are getting out of control), this book is mostly people having philosophical arguments with the narrator.  I am not exaggerating.  This book was a slog.  And at nearly 600 pages, it was a long slog.  I kept having to give myself little pep talks to get through it -- especially when the protagonist hits his umpteenth betrayal by someone he trusted.  This book was a bummer.

But here's the thing: Read it anyway.  

Last year, I read Ta-Nehisi Coates' Between the World and Me, and it was mind-blowing in all the right, heartbreaking, life-changing ways.  Everything Coates said about the devaluing of the black body in America echoes so perfectly what Ellison calls the "invisibility" of the black man in America (even though I read the Coates book first.)  Read the Ellison and forget that it was set in the last century because, you know what?  It might as well be set today.  Sure, today we make more of a show of not using racial slurs and pretending that there is equal access to jobs and amenities, but the heart of it all remains unchanged.  Time and again we are sold the lie that America is a land of equals, that privilege is a myth, that educated and liberal white men can fix the problems of minorities.  We are told that racism is over, that people are playing the "race card," that whites can experience "reverse racism."  White liberals congratulate ourselves (I'm indicting myself too) on our open-mindedness, our ability to understand something that is beyond our experience.  We talk and talk, and we don't listen.

I'm not going to make some big proclamation or conclusion about finishing the Ellison book (aside from being really relieved to have reached the end for a whole lot of reasons.)  I don't believe it is my job to decide what it all means.  My job is to humbly listen, to read and listen and try to understand, to support those who do know, who have lived the experience, when they try attain positions of power, platforms where they can effect change.  My job is to police my own behavior, my own thoughts, to weed out any remnants of that pernicious subtle prejudice that is deeply rooted in all of those with privilege.  

For those readers who have gotten this far in my post, I'm probably preaching to the choir, but I'm going to say it anyway.  Don't post comments here about your disbelief in white privilege.  Please don't embarrass us both by telling me that you've had a hard life too.  This isn't a hardship contest, and that is not what privilege is about.  If you think it is, then you have a fundamental misunderstanding of the concept.  If that terminology is a stumbling block for you, set it aside.  Read the book anyway.  Read Coates' book (it's super-short, a one-sitting kind of read, though I recommend going slowly and taking it all in.)  I'm not looking for affirmation, praise, a fight, or really anything other than the hope that more people will read and listen and really think about what they see and hear, especially as we approach the election.  Think a little less about talking points and hot-button issues and really listen, not just to what your preferred candidate is saying, but also to what his/her supporters say.  What kind of America/world do they want, and what kind (read: color) of people does it include?  Worry less about your own entitlement and ask yourself what this country needs.  

Don't have any idea what this country needs?  You read and you listen and still don't have any answers?  Neither do I.  And as far as I'm concerned, that I just means I need to listen more.  Maybe being in the middle of uncertainty isn't such a terrible place to be.

I'm Back (and Grumpier Than Ever.)

It has become clear that I am incapable of maintaining my blog through a semester of teaching.  Between the hectic schedule (we're temporarily a one-car family, which is INSANE), the teaching, the grading, the parenting, the regular life stuff, and ever-present health issues, my good intentions fell down, paving whatever road I was on (we know which one), and I haven't written ANYTHING since January.  I mean no writing.  No fiction, no editing, no blogging, just reading for class and reading freshman papers. (No comment.) It's not been great for my state of mind, but I try to keep my head down and plug away.  The good news is that I posted final grades this morning, and I am a free woman till August.  Actually, I have almost a month until Kiddo is out of school, so I have three-and-a-half weeks of uninterrupted writing time, and dammit, I'm going to make the most of it.  So on this, my first day of freedom, I hauled my lazy, depressed ass to Barnes & Noble, laptop in hand (or in bag, as the case may be), loaded up on sugary goodness (London Fog and a GF marshmallow treat) and got to work.

Why, yes, I do have a filter addiction.  But it's so pretty.

I glanced through my notes and opened up a blank document on my Mac and freaked the *%#@ out. White space is infinitely scarier, more intimidating, when you've been neglecting your craft for months.  I feel like such a slacker.  So I decided to compromise by starting with a little blog entry (instead of ending with it as a reward as I'd earlier planned.)  For some reason, a blank blog screen is so much less frightening.  I think maybe it's the whole give-yourself-permission-to-write-badly thing.  I'm usually much less focused on perfection when I'm tapping out a quick note to my blog buddies.  (Sorry, nothing personal.)  But, it is writing and totally counts, especially on this first day back in the old writing saddle.  My computer is out, and I am practicing ass-in-seat with every ounce of self-control I have left.  (I probably have some to spare today since I didn't use any when ordering in the cafe.)

So what has been going on since January, you ask?  (It's okay if you didn't.  This is just about my continuing to type, remember?)  Well, Kiddo turned six, our cat has morphed into the literal spawn of Satan, I survived another semester (with a brand-new subject), I skipped another Valentine's Day, we killed another vehicle, I read (though not as many books as I'd like), I discovered the skinny London Fog at Starbucks, and I bought a new handbag (not something I do very often.)  Oh wait, I forgot the most important thing: I became completely obsessed with Hamilton.  My six year old now has a preternatural knowledge of Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr, and the Revolutionary War in general.  (I read Sarah Vowell's Lafayette and the Somewhat United States during that time as well, which only deepened the whole 18th century America obsession.)  I've also gotten really skilled at muting out the worst of the four-letter words in the musical's soundtrack whenever Kiddo is in the car.  We don't need her going to school and singing about the "Mother@#%*ing Democratic Republicans," now do we?

"Work" indeed.

Health-wise, I've remained in a bit of holding pattern.  Lately, I've been dealing with a med change that hasn't gone exactly as planned (mood swings and electrical-feeling brain zaps, anyone?)  Good times, but I haven't been hospitalized or had a major illness since February, so we're definitely calling that a win.  I still get frustrated by the way in which my health issues limit my lifestyle (and that of my family), but I don't suppose that is going anywhere any time soon.

So, while some things may have changed over the last few months, one very important thing remains the same:  I'm still a grumpy, cranky, get-off-my-lawn old lady who really wants a t-shirt that says, "He's a Komondor.  Yes, his hair is supposed to look like that.  Yes, he can see.  Go ahead and take your picture if it means you'll leave me alone.  No, I can't eat that.  No, I won't ever be joining you at a church event, as every single one is centered on food and people don't take no for an answer.  No, I don't want to talk about my Celiac, and I'm so happy that you once met somebody with a tummy ache which you're certain is the same thing and can be cured by juicing.  And stop thinking it's funny/cute when you (a grown man) tell my child she's going to marry you when she grows up."  

I know.  I'm a freaking ray of sunshine.

I hope this won't be a lone post .  No, I know this won't be a lone post.  I'm committed.  I have plenty to say; I just have to plan so that every post isn't an angry, cranky rant.  For now, though, I've put off that white space long enough.  My fingers and brain are warmed up, and the caffeine from my London Fog is circulating.  Time to get writing.

Snowpocalypse? Not so much.

When I got up this morning, there was a lovely blanket of white covering everything, making our ugly backyard beautiful, covering up the rusty wheelbarrow and the old charcoal grill that needs to go to the dump.  Even those stupid wild onions that pop up in our front yard every winter are hidden by the snow.  Unfortunately, that picturesque moment has been pretty much obliterated by a steady fall of freezing rain ever since.  The snow is still under there somewhere, but I don't think any cute kids will be asking if they can sled down our hill this afternoon.

View from the porch (as far our as I intend to venture.)

And while we're on the topic of plans and visions going awry...the weather has also put a stop to my work/reading bonanza of a weekend.  My husband and Kiddo were planning to go to visit grandparents sans mommy this weekend, leaving me to be productive and bask in the quiet solitude of an empty house.  Don't get me wrong--I'm glad they're home safe, but there is a small part of me that is mourning my lost weekend.

On the upside, you haven't lived until you've heard a six year old waking up to snow outside the window. Excited doesn't begin to cover it.  She's been asking to go outside every five minutes since her feet hit the floor.  The child has no understanding of sleet and freezing rain.  Looks like we may have to let her find out the hard way.  At least my husband is off from work and can take her out in the mess whilst I stay warm and cozy in front of my heater.

The furry members of our family have opinions about the weather too.  The Big Dog LOVES cold weather, and snow is even more magical for him than Kiddo, I believe.  You're trying to walk him, and all he wants do is FROLIC.  He has no appreciation of our distaste for icicles on our eyebrows.  Kitten Murderface, however, is just happy that all the blinds are open, the better to wreak havoc on all the cords and slats, all while being highly suspicious of the tink, tink of ice on the windows.

The best part of this most un-Snowmaggedon of days, however, is that we can't/won't go ANYWHERE.  Never one for flitting here and there, I've progressed to nearly hermit levels as I've gotten older, and leaving the house is one of my least favorite things.  So today there was no hauling Kiddo to school before the sun is fully up, or waiting in car line for nearly an hour.  I don't even have to put on pants! (I did, though.  Can I collect my prize now?)

So, while my productivity may be slightly less (especially following a work/teaching related hiccup discovered this morning) and my peace and quiet significantly reduced, at least all my clothes are cotton and have elastic.  My socks are fuzzy.  My tea is hot.  And Kiddo wears fleece footie pajamas at night that make her look like a cuddly stuffed animal.  Snow Day FTW!

Better Late Than Never - My 2015 Favorite Reads

So let's just pretend, shall we?  Let's pretend that the end of 2015 is nearly upon us, or maybe 2016 just arrived fewer than 48 hours ago.  Your now dusty Christmas tree is still holding court in the living room, the tree skirt rumpled and askew.  There are three Christmas cookies left, but they've gone stale and nobody wants them, and an arm wrestling bout is scheduled for later to decide the fate of the last of the Christmas ham.  You're back to work, but you still have that holiday sleep schedule hangover.  And if you hear one more Burl Ives Christmas carol, somebody is getting hurt.  That, my friends, is when the Best Of lists should appear on blogs and vlogs and websites everywhere.  NOT on January 12, 2016.  But we've agreed to pretend that I'm on top of things, so let's all just enjoy this land of make believe and talk about my favorite reads of 2015.


First, it's confession time.  I only read 55 books this year.  (Books read from beginning to end, not counting any DNFs.)  That's down from last year's number, and I'm slightly embarrassed.  I'm the first to admit that I'm fiercely competitive and acquisitional (is that a word?) with my reading, and I would have preferred to top my previous number.  But apparently, teaching and volunteering and chauffeuring took its toll, and I averaged just over a book a week.  MUST do better in 2016.

Now, on to my favorites.

FICTION

1Q84, Haruki Murakami

This wasn't my first Murakami, but I do believe it is my new favorite.  I'm always a sucker for a giant, doorstop of a book, and this "little" tome delivered.  Magical, dream-like, all the things we always say about Murakami, only there was just something else about this one that made it surpass The Wind-up Bird Chronicle as my favorite.  I can't really put my finger on what it is.  Maybe it was the badass lady assassin.  Maybe it was the happy ending.  Maybe the reason is as hard to pin down as one of Murakami's mysterious cats.  Loved this book.

Find Me, Laura Van Den Berg

If you haven't figured this out already, I'm a sucker for dystopian/post-apocalyptic/speculative fiction. Margaret Atwood is my jam.  I never miss an episode of The Walking Dead.  This beautiful book scratches my disaster itch with a story of a young survivor of a plague that has wiped out much of the US.  Van Den Berg is an amazing writer, and combining her skills with my favorite subject matter made for a book I couldn't stop reading (and recommending.)

Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury

I am so embarrassed to admit that I'd never read this book before this year.  It was just one of those bizarre gaps in my reading that I was determined to remedy.  This little book needs no explanation or blurbing.  Loved it.

Saint Mazie, Jami Attenberg

I'm listing these books in the order I read them, not in the order in which I loved and adored them.  Otherwise, this book would be near the top.  Heard about this title on the All the Books podcast, and it just intrigued me.  Reserved it at the library and proceeded to devour this story.  My only regret is that I don't actually own a copy.  If you love stories about the Depression, New York City, independent women, or immigrants, this based-on-a-true-story novel is for you.  It reads as a collection of journal entries, news clippings, and interviews.  It covers a lot of ground, but moves so quickly that you'll be in shock (and maybe in mourning) when it ends.  I need to read this one again.

Music for Wartime, Rebecca Makkai

Not just my favorite short story collection of the year, this may be one of my favorite short story collections of all time.  Another All the Books find, these stories are smart and beautiful and funny and sad in turn.  I especially recommend this collection if you are a lover of classical and/or orchestral music.  And if you need any more prompting to pick this one up, there's a story where a miniature Bach crawls out of a woman's piano and becomes her interim boyfriend.  Yeah, that happened.

In the Country, Mia Alvar

I've read comparisons between Alvar and Jhumpa Lahiri, and they're not off the mark.  This is a gorgeous short story collection about immigrants, outsiders, and the other.  Loved it.

Fates and Furies, Lauren Groff

I'm always suspicious of hype, and this book came with plenty.  Somehow, though, it managed to live up to the raves.  Beautiful, sprawling book about a marriage.  If you liked The Interestings (Meg Wolitzer), you'll like this book.

The Maddaddam Trilogy, Margaret Atwood

So, I cheated.  This is actually three books, but I read the whole trilogy this year, and I couldn't just pick one of the books as a fave.  Loved, loved, loved these books.  Got to the end and wanted to immediately start over and read them all again.  Nobody does speculative fiction like Atwood.  Also, name drop...she tweeted me back!

HONORABLE MENTIONS - FICTION

The Fishermen, by Chigozie Obioma, was amazing and a must-read about Nigerian brothers living with a curse.

Tenth of December, by George Saunders, is another embarrassing gap in my reading.  One of the ultimate short story collections.  Took my breath away.

FAVORITE 2016 BOOK I'M STILL READING

This Angel on my Chest, by Leslie Pietrzyk - Do yourself a favor and read this book immediately.

NON-FICTION

Faith Unraveled, Rachel Held Evans
Searching for Sunday, Rachel Held Evans

Out of Sorts, Sarah Bessey

Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates - Here's a link to my previous mentions of this amazing book.

Well, there you have it.  My latest loves of the literary kind.  I'd post about my TBR, but it's grown to an unmanageable size.  Too much book shopping in Asheville over Christmas break!  (No such thing.)  So I'd better get back to my reading!

Resurrecting a Blog (and a Life)

It has become clear that my real skill is vanishing off the face of the earth at will.  Alas, an intense final month of fall classes followed by the holidays and yet another serious illness (including a hospital stay this time) has kept me from my blog and my writing (as well as lots of other things I love.)  It's discouraging, but it seems to be a fact of life around here.  The good news is that I'm back (again), and I've still got a few weeks until classes start back for me.  I'll be teaching English 102 this term, my first lit class, so there's an incredible amount of planning yet to be done, and I'm grateful to only be teaching the one class.  I am determined to use the extra time to get back to writing and to stop letting life and illness get in the way.  As in the past, this blog is a good tool for holding myself accountable to a daily writing schedule, and if I can manage to stay healthy for a few months, I just might make some progress.

Ah, my little workspace, how I have missed you.

Interestingly, these post-illness life reboots are something I haven't encountered in all my reading about chronic illness.  There's lots out there about missing out and fatigue and trying to help people understand invisible illness, but I don't believe I've seen anything about the starting over (physically, socially, etc) that happens after every episode or relapse.  After dropping out of circulation for days, weeks, or even months, you have to maneuver your way back into your commitments, your friendships, your schedule, and sometimes even current events.  And this isn't something that you have to figure out one time.  You are faced with this jockeying for position every time you return from a major illness (at least until you quit trying and withdraw altogether, which can be a real temptation.)  It's discouraging, intimidating, and isolating.  Basically, it sucks.  Every time.

First, there are the logistics.  You don't generally just wake up one day feeling hale and happy.  In fact, most chronic illness patients exist more on a sliding scale of wellness that never quite reaches "All Better."  So deciding when to go from confined-to-bed to back-to-normal can be tricky.  How much of your "normal" workload/social schedule can you even manage?  Because you don't want to cause a setback in your recovery.

Then you have all the people who have had to make other arrangements when they couldn't rely on you.  No matter how much they care about you and your health, these folks (whether they are work, church, or school colleagues) need someone they can depend on to get the job done, and when your ability to deliver is frequently a big question mark, it can be challenging to convince them to let you back in on the work.  This situation can be painful to navigate, as there is plenty of guilt and frustration to go around for both "sides."  I never feel anger for the person who's reluctant to let me back in, but I do feel incredibly guilty at having failed them and unbelievably frustrated at my body's repeated betrayals.  I'm organized and goal-oriented, and illness is neither of those things.

And let's not forget relationships.  There is a hard truth about chronic illness: When you're sick and confined to home or bed, the outside world keeps turning.  Friends still meet for drinks.  Couples still have dinner parties.  Movies are seen in theaters by those who are well enough to venture beyond their bedrooms.  While certainly, there are those close friends who make the effort to see and encourage you through your periods of incapacitation, it can be very challenging to maintain any sort of social circle when you're constantly having to drop out of the loop.

I have found this socially isolating aspect of chronic illness to be intensified by having special requirements or needs even when you are healthy.  Because of my Celiac, I am very limited to where I can safely eat, and so much (a dizzying amount really) of our social interaction is built around food.  Meals or snacks are incorporated into nearly every church event, club meeting, or even meet-up with friends.  So, even when I'm not pulling a bed-ridden disappearing act, I'm having to manage one of my illnesses by saying no to numerous social events, and it doesn't make for a very full dance card.

Lastly, these repeated beginnings lead to a sense of disconnection.  Talk about feeling irrelevant.  You weren't there.  You don't know the funny stories, the inside jokes.  New shit has come to light, and you missed the memo.  And to make matters even more awkward, every one you see wants to talk about --you guessed it-- your illness.  You look great!  You look tired!  You're so thin.  Should you be out yet?  I don't know how you do it. People are just being kind, and you know this, but when you're trying to make a comeback (for the millionth time), often the last thing you want to talk about is your weight loss or meds.  All you want, really, is just to be in again, to not be marked with that invisible "S" on your chest --Sick.

So here I am, yet again, starting over.  My writing, my commitments, my relationships, my life.  While I was on pause, the rest of the world continued on at what seems like double speed, and nobody recorded what I missed.  Thankfully, this was one of my shorter vanishings, but I live daily with the fear that I will vanish again without warning, and sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever despair of the fight to reinsert myself into my own life.

It's My Birthday And I'll Buy If I Want To

It's actually the day before my birthday, and it's a good time to be me (mostly). Last night was dinner with a few dear friends, courtesy of my husband, The Grill Master.  There was even GF red velvet cake from Coffee to a Tea.  So much cream cheese frosting goodness, and the first red velvet cake I've had since my Celiac diagnosis.  YUM!

I may or may not have had a piece of this for lunch today.

Tonight, it's off to Asheville, just the three of us, at my favorite GF restaurant, Posana.  Until you've been diagnosed with a severe food allergy/sensitivity, it is difficult to understand the glorious freedom of going to a restaurant where everything on the menu is safe to eat.  It's intoxicating.

But I didn't write to make you jealous of my dining option.  This entry is meant, instead, to make you jealous of my Amazon book order.  (Isn't that more important, anyway?) I made the dizzying decision to spend a chunk of my birthday money on one big book order.  I hadn't placed such a large book order since grad school, and never solely for books I wanted to read.  I was practically drunk on the choices.  And the best news?  I got a B&N gift card from a dear friend, which means I get to do an abbreviated version of that order AGAIN very soon.

So here are the soon-to-be latest additions to my TBR:

Fates and Furies, Lauren Groff

I only ordered two new releases, and this is one of them.  Long listed for the National Book Award, this book already has so much buzz, and I can't wait to read it.

The Angel on My Chest, Leslie Pietrzyk

There was no way I was not [pre] ordering this book.  It doesn't come out for a few days yet, but this new release was written by my thesis advisor/faculty mentor from grad school.  I've read some of the stories from this collection previously, and they are amazing.  Can't wait to get this one.

White Teeth, Zadie Smith

Strangely, the only Zadie Smith book I've never read is her first.  Really looking forward to reading what the 24 year old Smith had to say.

The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz

Sad and embarrassed to admit that the only place I've read Diaz is on social media.  Starting with his Pulitzer Prizer winner.

Play It As It Lays, Joan Didion

Joan Didion + fiction.  Can't go wrong.  How have I not read this before?

The Art of Memoir, Mary Karr

Okay, so I lied.  Three new releases.  (I forgot about this one somehow.)  Anyway, so excited about this book.  I am so obsessed with Mary Karr's memoirs.  Lit was mind-blowing, and Liars' Club was gutting.  This is definitely going to be a worthwhile (and instructive) read.

Oryx and Crake, Margaret Atwood

I'm finally going to get to start the Maddaddam Trilogy! I adore Margaret Atwood, despite being woefully under read in her books.  Handmaid's Tale, Blind Assassin, and Alias Grace were impossible to put down, though, so I'm thinking this trilogy will also be right up my very dystopian alley.

Call the Midwife, Jennifer Worth

I am the world's biggest Call the Midwife fan (the tv show), so I cannot wait to start reading the first of Jennifer Worth's three books about her time as a midwife in East London.  I'm admittedly a little late to this particular book party, but I'll be all caught up in no time.

***

I started this post this morning while I was sipping tea in my jammies.  It's now going on eleven o'clock at night, and my jammies have reappeared.  Dinner at Posana was amazing (but that's a whole post of its own), and to make the night perfect, six of my eight ordered books were waiting on my porch when I got home from Asheville.  I had my own private unboxing on the bed, taking pictures of my new pretties.

Just look at those lovely virgin spines and crease-free covers.  Be still my heart

So now that you are gagging on all the saccharine-y goodness that is my perfect birthday weekend (well minus the monsoon weather that kept me from hitting the Asheville bookstores -- so sad), I suppose I will wrap up this post.  Look at this way:  At least it wasn't a rant!  And I'll be back to my grumpy self in no time.

What I'm Reading and What You Should Read NOW (plus TBR)

So it's been a busy reading season lately.  I don't know if it's all the books I picked up at Wonder Book in Frederick or all the BookTube I've been watching or what, but I've been plowing through the titles in August/early September.  I've already talked about some of my favorites here.  But I've managed to squeeze in several more since that post, with one standout in particular, but first:

The Reader, Bernhard Schlink

I'll admit that this was not on my must-read list, but I found it at Wonder Book (a bargain) and decided to pick it up. It was not at all what I expected.  Actually, I don't really know what I expected, but this was a fascinating look at an entire nation's ability/struggle to deal with national sins and personal culpability.  So many more thoughts were swirling in my brain after I finished this, so many more questions -- in my accounting a sign of an excellent book. 

The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

This was a local used book store find.  I was excited to read it as I'd heard so many good things, and everything about this book seemed to line up with my taste.  I wanted to love this book.  But I didn't. I didn't hate it.  But it felt like a bit of a slog to get through it.  Something about the shuffled narrative (which I usually love) just didn't work for me in this book.  The way details are doled out in seemingly random doses aggravated more than intrigued me. Much of the book is written from the limited perspective of very small children, but rather than trusting the reader the to see beyond their childish understanding, we are given sections that explain; we're told how everyone feels.  I was awash in so many human emotions that it nearly drowned out the narrative.  Maybe if I had read this one in another time and place, I would have loved it.  But alas, I read it this year, this season, and I just didn't.

Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates

Cue the music.  Cue the gushing.  Just finished this book last night, and I cannot say enough good things about it.  Toni Morrison's blurb on the front, "This is required reading," is not hyperbole.  I have never read or encountered in other media a more honest and powerful discussion of what it means to be black in America.  I cannot imagine how anyone could read this book and remain unchanged or unaffected.  This is one of those books that after the last sentence I felt like I needed to immediately read it again with highlighter and notebook to catch all the things I missed the first time.  Read this and you will be moved and convicted and changed.  I guarantee it.  Just read this book.

My current read is Jonathan Franzen's Purity, the fiction new release with all the buzz right now.  It is a monster doorstop kind of book, so I'll be reading it for a while, but here is a glimpse at my TBR books-in-waiting:

Note the assemblage masterpiece courtesy of Kiddo and an entire roll of scotch tape.

So lots of good stuff taunting me from my dresser.  Of course, there are also piles of lessons to plan, papers to grade, and writing to be done, so it may be a while before I get to some of these.  Maybe I can even make my Wonder Book haul last me though the end of the year? Or not.

Kindergarten, Blessed Kindergarten

We are nearly through the first week of kindergarten.  One more early morning until I can tell my alarm clock where it can stick that beep.  And no, six thirty won't ever get any easier.  I worked for years at a job that required me to be up between 5:45 and six, and it NEVER was anything less than a soul-sucking drag.  But I digress.

On Tuesday morning, we embarked on that new journey of kindergarten (and new for me, public school kindergarten.)  After five and a half years of being at Kiddo's constant beck and call, I am a free woman every weekday between 7:30 and 2:45.  And it is glorious.  Next week, my school starts back, and I'll be teaching three days a week, but that'll be great, too.  I can still eat my lunch in peace and quiet, and nobody will ask me why my shoes are that color red or whether or not they will be allowed to watch TV next Thursday at 4:15.  (Admittedly, freshmen questions aren't always a vast improvement, but at least they won't be touching me while they ask.)  It's a grand time to be alive.

Now before you write me off as the worst parent ever, no wait, just go ahead and write me off because if you don't get this, then you either don't have kids, or we are very different people who may never completely understand one another.  (That's okay.  Just don't touch me.)  Back to my K-5 narrative...

Kiddo was so massively excited about Tuesday, that I've been considering sedation for the past two weeks (for one of us, not saying which.)  So Tuesday morning dawned bright and bouncy and with new clothes and shoes.  We managed to get out the door with everything (including Kiddo) and made it to the madhouse that is first day at an elementary school.  EVERYONE was walking their kids inside, and the halls were like a VR simulation of a salmon swimming upstream.  The thought of my petite five year old finding her way through that madness every morning gave me the vapors, and I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.

In the classroom, the parentals instantly ceased to exist as Kiddo marched in and up to her teacher like a boss.  I don't think she acknowledged us once after she crossed the classroom threshold.  She's awesome like that.  We hightailed it (well, a squeeze between a million people version of hightailing it) out of there and on with our days.  There were no tears on anyone's part, and I got so much done on my first day of school that I should probably get some kind of award or something.  Maybe a statue on the front lawn.  Or a song.  Yeah, write me a song and make it sound like Billy Joel.

After navigating the carline, I managed to pick-up my newly-minted kindergartener and head to Barnes & Noble for her post-first-day-of-school treat.  Sometime between eight o'clock and the moment when she lugged her new tote bag to the car, Kiddo had morphed into this kindergarten old-hand who spoke of her day's activities with a jaded nonchalance.  She has started using terms like "first bell" and lamenting too-short recess breaks.  Dinner conversations will never be the same.

This morning was a bit different than Tuesday morning.  Yes, I still had everything out and ready to go the night before (this is a necessity for non-morning people like me.)  But Kiddo dragged and dallied, and I nearly lost my mind.  (I didn't even manage to get a picture of her in her adorable new school dress.) But you know what?  She and her daddy still walked out that door at 7:22, and I was alone with my Earl Grey and laptop from that point on.  Ah the life of the introverted mom of a school-aged child.  (And no one is touching me till at least 2:45!)

All joking and rejoicing aside, however, this hasn't been a simple journey/decision.  I never attended public school, and in fact, didn't even attend a kind of brick-and-mortar school half of the time.  I knew we didn't want to homeschool, but beyond that we were a bit at sea regarding the where-do-we-send-her question.  There was the more liberal side of me that was leaning toward the whole public-schools-won't-improve-if-we-don't-send-our-kids-there argument, but then there was the less attractive side of me whispering, "She's smart.  She's reading already.  She's advanced.  Send her to private for a better education."  Of course, money played into the decision as well.  Do we make the massive financial sacrifice that is tuition, or do we send her to public so that we can afford things like dance/music/art lessons and a new car sometime in the next thirteen years?

We debated/prayed over these questions for a long time.  Ultimately, however, we decided to go with our local, zoned-for public school.  Kiddo's education is extremely important to us.  We both went to college, and I went to grad school, and we have similar ambitions for her.  But. And it's a big but.  We also want other things for her.  We want her to know that she's special, yes, but never to think she's better.  We want her to value diversity and equality.  We want her to learn kindness and tolerance.  Not that you can't learn those things when you're homeschooled or attend private school, but in our relatively small circle, school seems like the best place (or at least one of the first places) to encounter people who look and think differently than you.  As tempting as it is to protect and shelter our precious girl, it is imperative to us (and especially meaningful to me) that I stay focused on our primary goal: preparing Kiddo to live and function without us.  That is our job as parents.  It's not a pretty or a particularly happy thought, but it remains true.  One day, we won't be here to take her to church or read her books or help her navigate the world and its bureaucracy (incidentally, I totally had to look up how to spell that word.  I just couldn't get it right.)  She might as well jump right in and start learning how to manage now while we're still here to help.

 So that's our first day of school experience.  No tears from anyone.  All smiles.  Now it's time for me to get back to work on lesson plans and trying to stay awake.  Six-thirty is killing me, and the old Earl of Grey isn't holding up his end of the caffeine bargain.  Until next time.

Edit/clarification: This is a post about our personal decision/thoughts regarding school.  It is not meant to reflect on anyone else's choices for their children/families.  We're all just doing what we think is best for our particular child/family.  Unless you're sending your kid to Nazi Dictator Day School, I'm not judging your choices.

What I'm Reading: 1st Day of Kindergarten Edition

Today is the day -- the day I've waited five and a half years for: KINDERGARTEN!  Yes, folks, we made it.  And I am totally rocking staying awake and staying in my chair working.  (Mostly, anyway.)  But enough about school; I'll write more on that once we've made it through an entire day.  Instead, let's talk about BOOKS!

I've been reading so many good books lately.  And really much of this is due to some really amazing suggestions from one of my favorite podcasts, All the Books, a Book Riot podcast.  They cover everything from literary fiction to YA to memoir to romance, so regardless of your reading habits, they've got you covered.  Here are some of my favorite recent reads:

Saint Maize, by Jami Attenberg

I am so in love with this book.  It's difficult to put my finger on why I loved it so much, but I just didn't want the story to end.  Great female protagonist who is beautifully flawed, set in one of my favorite time periods/places to read about, and the story is revealed though various "historical documents" (such as diaries, news clippings, interviews), which is a conceit that I love.  Can't say enough good things about this one.

The Fishermen, by Chigozie Obioma

This one has made the Man Booker long list, and it's obvious why.  Though it is set in modern Nigeria, something about this story feels almost fable-like, and I loved the voice of the narrator.  While this is a tragic story of family love and loss, I never felt depressed or manipulated.  Just a really beautiful story.

Music for Wartime, by Rebecca Makkai

This is probably the best short story collection I've read in a year or two.  Could not put this down.  Never have I read such an eclectic group of stories that maintain such unity of theme. These were beautiful (and sometimes heartbreaking) stories with just the right amount of whimsy thrown in (mini-Bach crawling out of a piano, anyone?) for the perfect balance.  Read this even if you don't usually like short stories.  Actually, read this especially if you don't like short stories.  It just may change how you feel about short fiction.

In the Country, by Mia Alvar

This is what I'm reading right now, and so far I'm loving it.  I've read some comparisons of this to Jhumpa Lahiri's short fiction, and while I hesitate to label her book as the Filipina version of Lahiri, I will admit to parallels in theme and style.  This is a collection about being in the margins, an outsider, sometimes even in the main character's own country.  The settings are modern and recognizable and the characters are real and surprising.  Can't wait to finish this one.

So, that's all I've got for today.  Of course, I've been reading lots of other stuff, but these are the current standouts.  Now back to lesson plans and reveling in the perfect silence of my house.

Margot the Magnificent!

I can't believe it's been seven months since we lost our sweet Abby Tabby.  I can't believe I went so long without a cat in the house.  It was unnatural.  I may not have grown up with cats (Mom and I were both terribly allergic.  I grew out of it; she didn't.), but I have had at least one (and up to 3 -- insanity) feline(s) in my home since 1997.  First there was Sophie (or more appropriately, Satan).  Then there was Murray (my love), then Abby, then precious Hobson (or Hobbes depending on who you ask).  When Abby died, I was torn between grieving a pet of sixteen years and longing to fill that empty cat-shaped spot in the house.  We attempted to remedy the catless situation back in February when we adopted Oscar.  Sadly, poor Oscar was too troubled (and vicious) for a home with a small child.  It was a heartbreaking decision, but Oscar had to go.

But enough with all the sad stuff.  Because we have a new family member, and this little stinker is here to stay.  Meet Margot!

This little ball of fluff and teeth and purrs is around nine weeks old and was approximately six weeks when we brought her home.  I had been reconsidering my ban on adopting a kitten (usually preferring to rescue an adult cat) because of the size of our beast/dog, Sam.  My hope was that if the kitten grew up with a giant dog, she wouldn't know any different and they could be friends, but more on that in a minute.  A friend had recently rescued a tiny 4 to 5 week old kitten abandoned in a parking lot and had put the call out on Facebook.  The pictures were too cute/pitiful to ignore, and I decided to meet the little orphan.  She was tinier than I expected and had more fleas than any living creature should have to endure, but I was hooked.

The next step was to de-flea the poor baby, and my friend and I rallied for the seven hour ordeal.  (Incidentally, excellent friend-bonding time, elbow deep in flea-filled water, holding a struggling kitten together.  Seriously, it was like months of actual friend time compressed into a day!)  I'll save you the gory details of picking off hundreds of fleas and instead give you this:

And this:

Sweet little Margot (named after a character, Margot Tenenbaum, from my all-time favorite movie, The Royal Tenenbaums) was a real trooper through all the de-fleaing torture, and a few days later she came home to a very excited five year old and an extremely sniffy dog.  She has since adjusted quite nicely to this slightly askew family, and has morphed into a hilarious, fluffy little dictator/clown who runs the house between cuddles.  The dog does little more than annoy her, except for when she's stalking/attacking his cords, which she loves, and her favorite pastime is listening to Kiddo read.  There is no in-between for Margot Kitten, and she is either the Queen of Cuddles, purring and stretching and squeezing her eyes shut tight, or she is Kitten Murderface, wielder of razor claws and microscopically pointy teeth that she clamps down with abandon.  There is much running and hiding and stalking and booty shaking and attacking and flipping and chasing and back arching and purring and head butting and nibbling and swatting and hissing and sniffing and every other kitten good thing there is.

And through it all, Sam remains impassive:

Just a slight size disparity.  Nothing insurmountable. 

Things That Are Making Me Happy

In lieu of another rant on what's making me grumpy today (and there's plenty), here are some of the things that are making me happy (in between the grumpiness):

My little workspace

Yes, that's my dog.  Yes, he looks like a rug.  Ha, ha.  Never heard that before.

While I do sometimes pine for my bigger desk upstairs (if you could see my other desk, you'd get that pun), I am so grateful for my sweet, little workspace that's been squeezed into the guest room.  I can be near Kiddo while still being tucked away.  And that makes me happy.

Weird Stories

This book opens with a story about a woman who dresses us as Bigfoot so people can "hunt" her.  And that kind of weirdness makes me happy.  Also, I met Ms. van den Berg when she came to Converse a few years ago (okay, more than a few years ago), and she was talented and gracious. Somehow this book sat on my shelf, untouched until now.  (Blame grad school.)  Anyway, I read her latest, Find Me, earlier this year and COULD NOT put it down.  Really enjoying her short stories as well.

Perler Beads

Kiddo has discovered the magic of placing tiny little beads on a tiny little pegboard and then melting them to smithereens with an iron (I do that part, obvs.)  While all those itty-bitty holes do make my scalp crawl just a bit (that's a thing, actually, called trypophobia.  Don't Google it.  The images are terrifying), I'm loving the free work time I get while she carefully makes two-dimensional cats and turtles.  

Book Riot Podcasts and YouTube Videos

Okay, I'm pretty sure I mentioned this in an earlier post, but I am just so obsessed with my new bookish "friends."  I've also found at least one other bookish YouTuber that I'm enjoying called, "climbthestacks."  Check them all out!

Gluten-Free Truffles

L to R: Lemon Heaven, Triple Mocha, Hazelnut Gianduia, and Chai Something-I-Can't-Remember

The days of Godiva boxes for Valentine's Day may have ended with my Celiac diagnosis, but the chocolate goodness is back (and actually MUCH better) at The Chocolate Fetish in downtown Asheville.  Such a beautiful shop, with helpful staff, and a really lovely selection of GF truffles!  Yum!

And last, but not LEAST...

My Tiny Empty Picture Frame

No, I haven't lost my mind.  Well, maybe I have, but this isn't evidence of it.

I believe I mentioned in a previous post that I am reading Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird.  If you've read this amazing book on the writing craft, you'll know why I now have an itty-bitty picture frame on my desk.  If not, drop everything and go read it.  I'm not doing the work for you!

Needing All the Stuff, or Hurry Up Birthday

I'm working from Barnes & Noble today while Kiddo bounces her little heart out at summer day camp.  When I dropped her off this morning, there was nary a backward glance after she spotted the bouncy castle and inflatable bouncy slide.  There will be one dirty, sweaty little girl in my backseat come one o'clock.

I've set up camp in the BN cafe, but I'm managing to do everything but the work that I actually need to do.  So much procrastination.  But it's not my fault.  It's difficult to concentrate when you want all the things.

Especially the Wonder Woman mug.  I NEED the Wonder Woman mug.

Also in my current Must Have Now list are:

Stone Mattress, Margaret Atwood

Saint Maize, Jami Attenberg

In the Country, Mia Alvar

Summerlong, Dean Bakopoulos

Born with Teeth, Kate Mulgrew

Too bad that I'm all out of gift receiving opportunities until October.  Anyone for a second Mother's Day?

Writing a Piece in Peace

What do you get when a confirmed introvert gives birth to a raging extrovert?  The longest three weeks of summer ever.  But summer day camp is back this week, and I'm not sure who was more glad to see its arrival, me or Kiddo.  Poor little girl was so over spending long days with just me inside the confines of our four walls, and I desperately needed a break from all the togetherness and talking.  So. Much. Talking.

So it's back to working without interruption.  (Yay!)  I have lots to do over the next few weeks: lessons to plan, writing/editing to do, perhaps a little blogging here or there.  And of course, lots and lots of reading.  (I'm still reading the Southern Reach Trilogy.)

The Big Dog says petting him doesn't count as an interruption.

I have some new bookish obsessions of late.  The first is a bit of an addiction to Book Riot podcasts.  While I've been a Book Riot fan for a while, it's only recently that I've been listening to some of their podcasts.  My favorites are the original podcast, which is kind of a grab bag assortment of books and reading and publishing industry chat, and All the Books, which is a new and upcoming release recommendation show.  There are two other podcasts that I've also listened to, but these are my favorites.  Later in the year, they are adding a recommendation request podcast hosted by the completely awesome, Amanda Nelson, managing editor of Book Riot.  (She also does some great videos on the BR YouTube channel.)  So basically, go enjoy Book Riot.  It's fun, informational, and they cover pretty much any type of book you might be interested in, from literary fiction to graphic novels.  A judgment (and snob) free zone.

My other obsession is my new shirt.  I LOVE bookish gift, like shirts and mugs and other useless items, and drooling over them online is a favorite pastime.  I decided the other week, however, to stop drooling and order this t-shirt.

Photobomb!

Of course, I'm aware that a very large chunk of the population (pretty much everybody more than a few years younger than me, a rapidly growing demographic) has no idea what this shirt is referring to, but in a way, that's half the fun. It's like my own little sartorial secret.  Plus it wins me extra points with my librarian friends, so that's a bonus.

I'm finally reading Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird.  (Yes, I'm a slacker.)  Somehow I made it through a writing BFA and a creative writing MFA without ever reading this craft book.  Really enjoying it so far, if for no other reason than I love Anne Lamott, who is A) cooler than anybody has a right to be, and B) spells her first name in what should be the only acceptable spelling.  

So that's all I've got in the reading/writing department.  May have a more serious blog post in the work shortly.  Unfortunately, life isn't all podcasts and short stories.