Time to resolve

The year is drawing to a close and it is time once again to reflect back on the events of the past twelve months. This year has been chuck-a-block full. Over full. Way too much! Some good and unfortunately some very sad. In spite of it all there has been beauty and joy, and when I have found it, I've grabbed onto it and relished it. The one lesson I firmly learned was to give up playing the "what if" game. It simply doesn't matter and it is just a waste of mental energy. The "Why?" game isn't one you should play either. Sometimes there is no answer, and why make yourself miserable trying to find one? Here's where the Serenity Prayer comes to the rescue:
      God give me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Resolving can mean to solve or to break down into component parts. Instead of resolutions this year I want to seek solutions in order to resolve the "problems" in my life. For example, getting organized. Once and for all I must get organized, I'm tired of living with my current technique of piling. Piles no longer work for me because I waste way too much time sorting through them looking for what I want. It's stressing me out too much! So I've pulled an "oldy" but goody off the shelf, Julie Morgenstern's  Organizing from the Inside Out. Confession time, I never managed to get through it the first time which is probably why I still haven't gotten organized. Well that may be one reason. What I think is really the answer is found in this quote, "Organizing from the inside out means creating a system based on your specific personality, needs, and goals. It focuses on defining who you are and what is important to you as a person so that your system can be designed to reflect that. (page 13)" Up until now I didn't really know who I was or what I wanted in life. I was living based on what I thought people expected of me. No wonder I couldn't come up with a system for myself. Here is where the resolving comes in, the breaking down of my life into its component parts so that I can observe them and fashion them into a new whole. This past year has been one which has challenged me to see myself in a new way and to redefine who I am. It is the work of this new year to express what I've learned and put it into practice.

The days are getting longer again

3:00 pm on a December day
look how low the sun is in the sky

I'm a couple of days late with this post, but on the solstice I was laid low with a seasonal cold. My son brought it home from school and my own students were sitting in class with their colds. I was bound to catch it as my defenses were worn down. We are approaching the time when last year my father fell ill and the devastating news of Stage IV lung cancer was given to us. The days were definitely dark then for all of us. It was over quickly when Dad passed away on February 1st.

I'm listening once again to Rosmund Pilcher's Winter Solstice on my iPod. I first read this book when it came out back in 2000. I was a fan of her other books The Shellseekers and particularly September which I've read a couple of times. I purchased my iTunes copy last December so I could listen to it once again plus have it to enjoy every December.

It is a story tinged with lots of sorrow. There are tragic losses of life and of loves. But then there is healing and starting over. It is the same with all our lives. Last year we didn't get to celebrate Christmas with my parents as my father was hospitalized before we could gather, but we did bring him his Christmas presents to open. This year we prepare to celebrate but with heavy hearts. Yet life goes on and doesn't the solstice prove that. At the darkest point of the year the earth begins its movement back towards the point where the earth's axis will tip us towards the sun again. In the end of Pilcher's story all her characters take up the broken pieces of their lives and begin to fashion something new. So too will my family. We will begin new traditions holding onto some of the old and incorporating the new. It will never be the same, but it will be good.

New Year's Eve

I know I'm a little early to be writing about December 31st but I finished Mitch Albom's The Time Keeper the story of Father Time. *** Spoiler Alert*** It is a twist on the old story of It's A Wonderful Life. It was a bit predictable but worth reading as a good reminder of what is truly important in life and the sin of trying to control our time here on earth. What was hard for me was his choice of his two characters who had their future's revealed to them while time was stopped in the middle of their act of suicide. The young teenage girl is a carbon copy of my own cousin who took her life at the age of 18. The second character an older gentleman with cancer was very much like my grandfather who was dying of cancer chose to take his life (cancer treatment in 1969 isn't what it is today). When I read the story I wondered if Mitch Albom had been reading my personal journals. I've always wondered if my loved ones could have known what life would be like after their deaths if they would have gone through with their actions. It's easy to write a story where there is a happy ending, but what about when there isn't? Our family story has been one of heartbreak, but also of triumph over tragedy. For those who suffer from this type of loss, it gets better, but the unanswerable question of why will still haunts.

Winter's coming

Frosty leaves

On Saturday afternoon we went for a walk in the woods and in patches the morning's frost had not yet thawed as evidenced by the pictures I have taken. It was a beautiful day for a walk, but we had to plan appropriately since the sun would be setting early. As we approach the winter solstice so we come to the day of the year with the shortest amount of day light here in the Northern Hemisphere. The Northern Hemisphere is tilted furthest away from the sun in its annual orbit. Man has used the key points in the earth's orbit to mark time - winter and summer solstices, and the autumnal and vernal equinoxes. They have made their calendars and built their temples/monuments to keep track of these days (think Stonehenge).

Now to continue with my December theme of books to read and re-read, I am currently listening once again to Ngaio Marsh's Death of a Fool.  This time we find Roderick Alleyn detecting the odd death of an old blacksmith who had been playing the role of the fool in a ritualistic winter solstice Morris Dance call the Dance of the Five Sons.

Frosted oak leaves

The ins and outs of village gossip, old traditions, and the fine art of police work all play key roles in this story. I am a huge fan of Marsh's fine dialogue and rich descriptions of the countryside. Plus she has such fine characters, and in her own words they are all "proper masterpieces."

The books we are not ready to read yet

It was a book I thought would be just right up my alley. I found it at the library, it was a memoir (a genre I love to read), it was about England (I am an Anglophile and my sister is currently living there so I thought it would be good to learn more about the country), and it hinted at being funny. Here you go read the back jacket blurb for yourself (Ben Hatch Are We Nearly There Yet?)

It started out okay. In fact it was good. But then a certain incident was inserted into the narrative and my foreboding nerve was stimulated. Something was around the corner and I wasn't going to like it. I kept going. Then it struck like the blow that I received just last January 2nd - Stage IV Cancer. There is nothing that can be done. There are only months. Enjoy what time you have left. I'm sorry Ben Hatch, but I had to put your book down and return it to the library. My pain was too raw and I had no space in my heart to carry yours as well. I was still trying to process my own grief. I have a great deal of empathy for you but I couldn't go on.

There are several of those stories over the last few months I have tried to read. Long before Dad's illness I had read The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. Pausch shared with us the challenge of living out the end of one's life fully knowing of the outcome that awaits someone who's cancer can not be cured. I thought I could handle reading his widow's memoir Dream New Dreams. I'm sorry Jai Pausch but I couldn't do it. Watching my mother's grieving and knowing the pain she was going through putting her new life in order, I couldn't bear another widow's challenges as well. Perhaps one day I will be able to go back and read these memoirs by these talented writers and learn from their life lessons but for today I have my own story to process and write.

If on a winter's morning the traveler arrives....

Note the sticky tabs of learning

Okay I realize that it is not yet winter, the solstice is not until Friday, but it feels and looks like winter outside today. I sat cuddled under a blanket with my morning cup of coffee and finished Calvino's If on a winter's night a traveler just a few minutes ago. It has been one of those intensely rich readings, nourishing and challenging to the brain. He closed the book with a discussion amongst some readers at a library as to the meaning of reading. Each declared their own personal philosophy of why they read and yet as a reader each one made perfect sense to me. We read for all different reasons, yet all our reading is interconnected. It is a matter of our brain chemistry. As discussed, the new reading that we do is connected to what we have previously read. Just like the synapses in our brain are connected, so too are the memories of the things we have read. Haven't you experienced that yourself? As you read you are reminded of something, what was it? Was it in a book? Or a movie or TV show (remember they all started as a written word hatched in the brain of a writer)? Maybe even an event in your life since writers take and fashion the world into their creations. It has been a book that has made me think. I have had to think about my own reading while I've been reading.

The beauty of marking a book while reading is to go back and see what you marked. Don't you know that when I looked at the very first sticky tab, there was the start of the final discussion that the book ended with. Fancy that! A circle was started and completed. Would I have had that insight, had I not been tempted to mark that early passage because it struck me as such a profound thought? I could have finished the book with the memory of the ending most prominent as it was the last stimulus in my mind. Again brain chemistry is to blame. Pathways must be built and strengthened for strong permanent memories to take hold.

One other thing that attracted me about this piece of work was his allusions to matter and the chemistry of the world. Twice he relates the "matter" of a book: words, sentences, grammatical structure to the elemental particles of matter: protons, neutrons, and electrons. Or at least that's what I interpreted from those passages. Writing and reading are real and have substance just like that which makes up the universe. Underlying these two things, writing and reading, is the energy of the universe waiting to be explored and released, a universal truth that runs through us all since each of us is made up of the same matter. We are all just star dust which was generated when the universe expanded with a big bang, and there was light.  

If on a winter's night ....

I chose Italo Calvino's If on a winter's night a traveler thinking it would fit into my theme of winter or Christmas stories, little did I know it wouldn't be any such thing but something even more. Calvino died in 1984 when I was just graduating high school and going off to college. I would not have chosen this book to read at that time in my life. Do you think books find us when we are ready to read them? Something like the old adage that the teacher will come along when the student is ready.

I read the first page while standing among the stacks at the library and thought it sounded fun. The whole first chapter deals with you the reader. The conditions for reading must be just right before you can proceed. Are you the right temperature, if not get a blanket or open the window. Is the light level right, the noise levels (tell the family to pipe down), do you have something to drink at hand, are you sitting in the right chair? Finally when all is right with you and your world you can begin.

Now this book doesn't belong to me, it belongs to the library so I can not highlight it, or write in the margins. This is where I must praise the inventors of the post-it-note, they have expanded their product line to include these tiny pop up strips that come out of a highlighter which I can't use on this book, but I can stick a harmless tag on a page where I have found something I want to jot down later. This book is starting to have a collection of these little tags sticking out all over it.

This morning I came across this quote written by a character who is an author suffering from writer's block, "writing, must be the respiration of this reader, the operation of reading turned into a natural process," (p. 169). This thought piggy backed on a previous post about books being the oxygen to a reader. Here it is the act of writing that provides the breath of the reader. I am going to digress once again into my passion with biology. Only some organisms breathe, and that act is called respiration. Yet all living things must make energy in order to carry out their life functions and this is cellular respiration. To make this energy they must convert the food that they make (photosynthesis or chemosynthesis) or consume (herbivore, omnivore, or carnivore) into energy in the form of ATP. This process can take place in the presence of oxygen (aerobic respiration) or in its absence (anaerobic respiration).

Okay bear with me, biology lesson over. All of this made me think, is writing more like the act of photosynthesis where the inspirational light (for plants it's the sun) is stored in the words of the book (like a sugar molecule) which when read (cellular respiration) releases its energy once again within the mind of the reader? The law of conservation of matter/energy states that matter/energy is neither created nor destroyed in a chemical reaction it simply changes its form. So, are reading and writing the two sides of the equation? The creative energy of the writer becomes the energy of the reader. As a reader I know that what I read stimulates me to think in new ways. To apply lessons to my life. To share what I have read with others. As a writer isn't that what I hope to do for others as well. The energy of my thoughts seek to be shared with others. "If we assume that writing manages to go beyond the limitations of the author, it will continue to have a meaning only when it is read by a single person and passes through his mental circuits. Only the ability to be read by a given individual proves that what is written shares in the power of writing, a power based on something that goes beyond the individual. The universe will express itself as long as somebody will be able to say, 'I read, therefore it writes." (p. 176)

Italo Calvino, If on a winter's night a traveler, translated by William Weaver, Harcourt, Inc. 1981

Getting ready for Christmas vacation

Small tree decorated with
little bird flower picks.

I made a trip to the library tonight to bring back those items that were due and to pick up the next batch of reading material. The best thing about the trip was knowing that I have Christmas vacation starting a week from tomorrow at 2:39 pm. I can come home and enjoy my family, my home, and some much needed quiet time. Plus all that lovely free time for reading snuggled up by the wood stove with a warm mug of coffee, tea, or cocoa and the glow of the Christmas tree lighting the room. I've chosen a variety of new titles to read: Mitch Albom's - The Time keeper, Peter Mayle's - The Marseilles Caper, and Tony Danza's - I'd Like to Apologize to Every Teacher I Ever Had.

I've a confession to make as well. I love choosing books to give my mother as gifts because she always lends them to me afterwards. It's embarrassing to admit I pick things I know that she and I will both like.

A village Christmas Mystery

Thomas Kinkaid church with
Nativity Scene

 I finished listening to Rhys Bowen's The Twelve Clues of Christmas over the weekend. A pleasant English village mystery featuring the aristocracy, the lord and lady of the manor, the local inspector, the villagers - vicar and his wife, butcher, publican, postman, switchboard operator, the villian, and the spinster who has her finger in everyone's pie. There were an awful lot of bodies in this one. Then I got to a certain point and I could see the pattern behind the crimes. Yay me! I thought I knew who was the criminal as well.  Turns out I was right. Won't give away the plot or the solution. Read or listen for yourself.


Thomas Kinkaid designed pieces
that were part of a floral centerpiece

My little village consists of five little houses designed by the artist Thomas Kinkaid for Teleflora and FTD as the focal point of floral centerpieces. As my grandmother got older it was harder to find an appropriate gift so I got in the habit of sending her flowers at Christmas and these arrangements were a real favorite. Unfortunately, my grandmother (now 98 years old) is living in the nursing home where she doesn't have much space for knick knacks. I now have the collection and enjoy them all the more for knowing that they brought her joy and now they do the same for me.

Proof that Reading is Necessary for Life

Alan Bradley's newest
Flavia de Luce Novel and Holiday Mug

And I quote from the character of Ophelia (Daffy) de Luce, page 205 of Alan Bradley's I Am Half-sick of Shadows, "Books are like oxygen to a deep-sea diver...take them away and you might as well begin counting the bubbles." There, see right on the page was the proof I needed to support my honest belief that I would die if I couldn't read. Books are like oxygen, and the mitochondria in our cells can't carry out cellular respiration without it (oxygen that is not books). Cellular respiration is the way in which glucose in the blood stream is broken down into carbon dioxide, water, and transfers the energy from the broken chemical bonds to the energy carrying molecule of life called adenosine triphosphate, commonly known as ATP. Bet you didn't think you'd get a Biology lesson from this posting did you, but let's face it if you enjoy Flavia's antics you probably enjoy science enough to appreciate her passion for chemistry.

I myself am a fan of chemistry (I should be since I spend much of my day teaching it and biology to high  school students) and love to read about Flavia's plans for using her knowledge to outwit her sisters and the criminals she encounters. I won't spoil the out come of this story for you except to say our spunky gal Flavia comes through in the end.

As an aside, pictured with my copy of the newest Flavia novel is a holiday themed mug full of coffee. Caffeine, readers does not give us true energy, only food which is converted into ATP for all of life's energy needs can do that. Caffeine is a chemical that can play with our nervous system speeding up the activity of certain neurotransmitters and giving us the impression of energy. Watch out for it, too much of a good thing can be harmful.  Of course except reading. Then again, "She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain." - Louisa May Alcott

Inspiration for writing

A wise piece of advice I saw in a book one day was Betsy Woodman's quote "Never go a day without turning out a line." (p. 165) from her book Jana Bibi's Excellent Fortunes (Henry Holt & Company c. 2012). They were words used to encourage a writer. It was in this story that I learned that the Hindu God Ganesh is the god of writers.
I did a quick search to learn a little more and discovered that Ganesh is the Elephant headed god and is the Remover of Obstacles and the Lord of Beginnings. He is attributed to be the patron of the arts and sciences. Once I had read this I felt a kinship to Ganesh. I am a lover of the arts and of science and at this time in my life (mid-life that is) I truly find myself in a position of beginnings. Not to mention there are many obstacles in my life that I feel the need to be removed so that I can move forward. Isn't fascinating that Ganesh is responsible for these two duties, often we can not begin something new until we remove the obstacles of the old. Lately, I find that I am the biggest obstacle to my new beginnings. I'm trying to cling to the old ways which have not been working for me and hoping things will change, talk about the definition of insanity.

"It seems a bit mad," she said.
"Mrs. Laird," said Ramachandran, "the thing with madness is it often works much better than method. And when method fails, madness is absolutely essential." p. 133-134.

I like that. We're all a little mad here. (Thanks to Alice and her land of wonder)

Father Christmas and a Christmas Mystery

I am in the middle of Alan Bradley's newest Flavia de Luce novel titled, I Am Half-sick of Shadows. If you are not familiar with this series I highly recommend them especially if you are a science geek. Flavia is an eleven year old girl who has taken up an interest in chemistry following in the footsteps of a great uncle. Flavia's lives in the family manor of Buckshaw where she dabbles in the chemistry lab in the abandoned east wing. Most often she likes to brew up all types of terrible concoctions in order to get even with her two infuriating older sisters.



Images of Father Christmas
better known as Santa Claus

In this story she is out to capture Father Christmas in order to prove that he exists. Her sisters have told her that he doesn't. She has brewed up a batch Birdlime hoping to coat the chimney hence trapping Father Christmas. In the meantime holiday festivities are starting up and a movie crew is in the house having rented it as the backdrop for a new production (Flavia's family is a little hard up for cash at the moment and her father is trying to raise some by letting the house). The murder has occurred, sorry no spoilers here, the police have been called in, and Flavia's ready to give a hand to solve the crime. It's a good read. Plus as a chemistry teacher it's a tad bit of a busman's holiday.

These are all examples of cross stitch ornaments featuring Santa that I have done over the years. Most of them are Dimensions Designs.

Christmas is a coming...

During December one of my favorite things to do is read or re-read stories with a Christmas theme. For example, Ngaio Marsh's Tied Up in Tinsel is one of my favorites. This story feature's Agatha Troy, the artist wife of Inspector Roderick Alleyn, taking a turn getting mixed up in the middle of a crime. Rory, as his wife calls him, only enters the story mid-way through. The story takes place in the fabulously restored home of Hilary Bill-Tasman who has hired ex-cons (murders to be exact) to serve as his staff. Everyone is preparing for the Christmas holidays, decorating the house and tree, cooking up delicious goodies, drinking hot toddies, taking brisk walks on icy moors, and someone is plotting murder.

This weekend we decorated the tree which reminded me of one of the scenes from Marsh's story where Troy and Bill-Tasman are decorating the Christmas tree in an all golden theme. Pictured here is an example of a vintage ornament that came to me from my grandparents. These were produced by the Shiny Brite company which closed its doors in 1962. I have also included a picture of the boxes. One box features Uncle Sam shaking hands with Santa Claus endorsing these decorations as American made. Want to read more and learn about these interesting ornaments? Visit http://www.sheilazellerinteriors.com/tag/shiny-brite-ornaments

Pink Shiny Brite

Packaging for Shiny Brite Ornaments

Cooking Books vs. Cook Books

Have you ever found yourself getting very hungry from reading a book. It seems that more and more books feature food in them. Scenes of fabulous meals, family feasts, or sexy romantic meals for two. Even in my favorite genre, the mystery, food is featured more prominently. To start with there's Diane Mott Davidson's caterer, Goldy Schulz, one of the first detective/chef characters I encountered. When Goldy wasn't out looking for clues or running into or from the bad guys she was in her kitchen whipping up wonderful meals and decadent desserts. Recipes included. Follow that up with baker and cookie shop owner, Hannah Swensen, the sweet creation of Joanna Fluke. I've broken down and purchased ingredients with the intention of baking up some of the cookie recipes featured. Chocolate chip cookies anyone?

Then there's books that are all about cooking. Take for example Julie Powell's memoir Julie and Julia about the year she took to cook her way through Julia Child's quintesential cooking tome. Or a look at Paris through the eyes of pastry chef, David Lebovitch, in his book The Sweet Life in Paris (I must confess that this one is still sitting on the bookshelf waiting to be read. Or still a look at cooking in Tuscany with Frances Mayes in her most recent memoir Everyday in Tuscany  which was chucka-block full of recipes using the fresh produce from her garden or local markets.

Then there's the cook books. Last night I was searching for my favorite apple crisp recipe. I couldn't find it. I know I clipped it from some source years ago but couldn't lay my hands on it in my recipe scrapbook. I eventually went to the old standby my husband's grandmother's 1955 copy of the Good Housekeeping Cook Book. I looked through and found something that would work, or rather in the end I put together a recipe. Let's face it after hundreds of meals, I figure I've learned a thing or two about how to cook. Anyways, I got to flipping through the pages and got a kick out of some of the what I consider antiquated expressions and ingredients, for example what is a number 2 sized can of fruit? But wait, on page 344 I came across the recipe for toast. Yes, that's right toast. You can make it in your oven, under the broiler, in a skillet, use a waffle iron, or the best yet - an electric toaster. And I quote, "Just pop bread into toaster. Today's toasters are better than ever." And you thought boiling water was hard. Oh by the way if you need help with that one just follow this link.

The joy of multitasking and reading

I love hands free reading. I've started a new audiobook today, The Baker Street Brothers. It is how I manage to read and stitch at the same time. Here are a couple of examples of the work I have been able to get done while "reading." Both of these works are from the Dimension's Gold Collection.

Books - a cheap way to travel

Unfortunately, I am not blessed with unlimited time or money in order to travel the world. I do, however, have the local library which can fulfill that need. Today's trip has sent me to the Dordogne region of France with Chief of Police Bruno Courreges, the creation of author Martin Walker, as my tour guide. The newest "Mystery of the French Countryside" is titled The Crowded Grave. Already I have been introduced to many of the region's famous attributes which are to play key roles in this story. The ducks and geese of the region are destined to become the famous foie gras, but not if the members of PETA have anything to say about it. The local archaeological dig searching for more traces of our Cro-Magnon and Neanderthal ancestors (this is the home of the famous cave paintings of Lascaux) is the burial site of a not so ancient dead body. Political intrigue in the guise of Spanish-French forces dealing with the Basque ETA terrorist group forms another angle in the multi sided structure of this engaging novel.

I discovered Bruno and his charming village of St. Denis earlier this year, or could it be as long ago as the summer or fall of 2011, when I picked up The Dark Vineyard at the library. I went back to read his debut in Bruno, Chief of Police and a further case in Black Diamond. In these other stories we have met his boss the Mayor; his friends among the force, Isabelle (and former lover) and J-J; the towns people and friends; the rugby club; his hunting buddies; and his newer love interest Pamela, the "crazy British" woman. We've also gotten a glimpse of Bruno's history and the history of France much of which I was not familiar with. These are not your Peter Mayle type stories of sunny Provence. Although rural in nature, brutal murder happens even in the "quietest" places. People aren't always what they seem, and sometimes the good guys bend the rules to see that justice is served.

"Wake up, sister. It's Your Turn.

Thanks to Joan Anderson and her book, A Weekend to Change Your Life: Find your authentic self after a lifetime of being all things to all people for the title quote for today's post. Actually, I have a lot more to thank her for. I picked up her book Saturday morning at the library and began reading it over the course of the weekend. My weekend has been extended by two days due to Hurricane Sandy and school being closed; first, I was grateful to have the time to get caught up on grading, but mostly, I was grateful for the time to rest.

Anderson's book is about  retreating from the world even for one weekend in order to begin to put one's life back together. I realize how much I need time from the world in order to pull myself back together. Commencing this time last year with the crazy, snowy Halloween storm when we were without power for three days, the searching for a college for my daughter, the holidays, Dad's illness and death, my daughter's leaving for school, my aunt's illness and death, worries over Mom and the building of her new life without Dad but still trying to care for her mother and aunt; all of this has contributed to putting me into a state of confusion. Wow! No wonder I'm feeling the way that I do. I am at that crossroads in life where I am moving from one stage of life to another and feel totally lost. I have been a lot of things for a lot of people and now I need to be someone just for me.

Since my father's death, I have been struggling with my sense of identity. For so long I wanted to live my life to please him and make him proud of me. What I didn't get was that I already did that because he loved me. He would have loved me no matter what I chose to do. Now I need to figure out what that is. What pathway is the right one for me? What path will use my true strengths and gifts? What will bring me true satisfaction and passion? It's really scary! I have a whole second half of life to live. I need to revivify (as used by Anderson and I had to go looking up on Dictionary.com because I hadn't seen it used very often in print). It's a huge challenge, one I am scared of, but as my last journal had printed on it "Always do what you are afraid to do. - Ralph Waldo Emerson" It's the fear I must over come because otherwise I will stay stuck just right where I am, and I am really sick and tired of being stuck here!

Tipping point

All avid readers know when the tipping point has been reached in the reading of a book. The term itself is defined as "the crisis stage in a process." This morning I reached that point in the book I have currently been reading The Almond Picker. I simply had to sit down and finish the book. I had about 50 pages to go. I wrote the other day that this story turned into a mystery and I was anxiously waiting for the explanation to the central character's backstory which drove the plot of this book. I won't spoil it for you but I never saw it coming. The author crafty the story so well that I would never have guessed what was coming. A most excellent read.

As for the reader's tipping point, there have been many a day or late night spent voraciously finishing off a book. There's nothing like a good read. On to the next book. Wish me luck with getting anything else in my life done.

How I read, let me count the ways....

Observing the pile of books on the night stand this morning made me think of all the reasons that I read and how each of the books in the pile serve a different reading purpose.  First there is The Almond Picker, a book for enjoyment. This story takes place in Sicly during the months of September and October of 1963. I'm a little more than half way through and it proving to be an unexpected pleasure. The plot revolves around a woman with the nickname of Mennulara, "the almond picker," who has died in the very first paragraph of the first chapter. Since then Mennulara's character and life story has been revealed to me through the myriad of perspectives held by the people of her village. There's a mystery involved in all of it and the clues are being dropped one by one. I look forward to the denouement when all will be made clear.

Second in the pile is The Gifts of Imperfection: Let go of who you think you're supposed to be and embrace who you are (whew, some title). I read for self discovery, self improvement, for healing, and spiritual development.  In these months following my father and great aunt's deaths, I have explored what various authors have had to say on grief and identity. Then there is the fact that I have reach that time in life (yes middle age is upon me) when one is reflecting on where one has been and where will one go from here. I'm about three quarters through this book and love the fact that I am not alone going through this process, the author and the many subjects that she interviewed as part of her research have all blazed the path ahead of me. Lesson learned, or rather re-learned in a recent chapter is the practice of gratitude and the impact it can have in your life. I'm grateful to be reminded that there are pieces of joy spread all around me I but have to look.

Lastly in the pile is The Poisoner's Handbook:Murder and the birth of forensic medicine in Jazz Age New York. Strange you may think, but hey I'm a nerd at heart. I read to learn, to keep up to date in science, and to teach. I'm always on the look out to find ways to connect the science curriculum I teach to the "real world." I try to find ways to answer the, "why do I need to know this?" question. I love to pepper my lessons with tidbits from history, from current events and research, or personal experience.

I'm sure there are plenty of more reasons that I read, but now it's time to put away the iPad and pick up a book. Now which one should I read tonight?

Audiobooks

Not all of my reading requires the turning of a page. Several years ago now when the technology was cassette tapes listened to in the car or with a Walkman, I discovered audiobooks by Recorded Books at my local library. I fell in love with this form of "reading." I could read while driving. I could read while out for a walk or working in the garden. I could read while doing housework or cooking dinner. I could read while doing my cross-stitching. It was just so wonderful. The Audio editions publishers were the source of my all time favorite author Agatha Christie. You'd have thought I had died and gone to heaven.

Today the technology is more advanced, audiobooks for the iPod or iPhone. You can buy titles from iTunes or borrow titles from the library using Overdrive. There is certainly a different aspect to listening to a story being read to you. If you are an auditory learner it stimulates the brain in a different way than reading text does. One of the best parts of the audiobook experience is the narrator. Some can make you believe there is a whole cast of characters performing the book for you. Unfortunately, every once in a while you come across a dull narrator, most often when the author does his/her own readings (sorry authors that's why you write and not act). Can't wait to see what the future of audiobooks will be, but for now, they allow me to get even more reading done plus a whole lot more.

Taking the night off

Tonight I'm not in the mood to do any heavy reading. I spent a long day reading emails, memos, and student quizzes and my brain is fried. I think I will actually break down and watch TV. Okay not TV per se but Netflix. In 1987, British writer, Caroline Graham introduced her famous detective Chief Inspector Barnaby in The Killings at Badgers Drift. Ten years later, Barnaby made his television debut. I'm not one to watch much TV so when I do the program has to be really worth it and Midsomer Murders fits the bill. Talk about excellent writing. These are some really well crafted mysteries that will keep you guessing right up until the final denouement. So, if you love a good mystery, kick off the shoes, curl up on the sofa or ease the recliner back and tune in for an excellent example of the British village murder story. This isn't Agatha Christie we're talking about.

Ghost story for October

I can remember last Halloween, we were sitting around the wood stove in the family room by the light of several candles; there were no trick or treaters coming to the door as Halloween was cancelled. Cancelled you may ask? Yes, cancelled. A freak snow storm on the 29th had thrown much of the town and the region into darkness. The wet, heavy snow which settled thickly on branches still filled with leaves brought down limbs, trees and power lines. It was unsafe to be out going door to door in search of sweet treats. The four of us sat tucked up to keep warm, heating water over the fire for hot cocoa. My daughter, Maria, read to us from an anthology of stories by Edgar Allen Poe. What a way to spend the night!

I read Susan Hill's The Man in the Picture today. I'm not usually one for reading ghost stories but this one was delightful. I guess that sounds like an oxymoron. It was delightful in the sense that the language was rich and flowing. The suspense built and twisted. I certainly don't want to spoil it for you. It's October after all, time for a good ghost story.

New favorite quote

If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need. - Marcus Tullius Cicero

I went to the library today to return some items and to find some new stuff to read. Blogged about Susan Hill last week and as she was a new author to me (introduced by a web search and recommended by my favorite librarian), I figured I would try some of her other titles (see previous post on Howards End is on the Landing). I've brought home The Man in the Picture, a ghost story, and The Various Haunts of Men, a detective story and one of my favorite genres.

The other titles I chose today include: Simonetta Agnello Hornby's The Almond Picker, The Roots of my Obsession: Thirty great gardeners reveal why they garden edited by Thomas C. Cooper, and The Roots of the Olive Tree by Courtney Miller Santo. Then I get to the circulation desk to check out my choices and the Cicero quote above is on a magnet on the filing cabinet behind the desk. He was so right! Two of the best things in life are having a beautiful garden to work in, or sit in to read; and the other is to have either your own private library or collection of books, or the great blessing of a good public library. What's even better is reading books about gardens, gardeners, or nature. Two pleasures in one!

Good grief? continued

Journal entry from April 18, 2012
Finished a memoir (All Wound Up: The Yarn Harlot Writes for a Spin) by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, a woman who works from home, blogs, raises three teenaged daughters, and has a passion for knitting. Knitting is Stephanie's art form and livelihood, and as she examines life she relates lessons learned back to the ways of knitting.

I loved the escapades of life that she recounted and could appreciate the humor. Daily life is a challenge and we all need something to do to help us through. I myself have used knitting but most often it's my cross-stitching that I find to be relaxing and meditative.

She wrote an essay entitled "The Time of the Big Not Knitting," about a period of grief in which knitting was not a solace. She chose not to knit, but rather found that she needed all her energy to deal with her deep sorrow, as well as, care for those around her. She never mentions what her deep sorrow was but knews that each reader could relate to a time in his/her own life. I'm finding it hard to write even though I know it might help me.

I had signed up for a writing course shortly before my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. I found I couldn't focus on the first assignment. It was so simple. I composed it in my head. I just couldn't get it out and onto paper or typed into the computer. I ended up withdrawing after the first class. Dad passed away shortly there after.

I'm still struggling with grief. Trying to right my life. There are days I feel I am loat at sea just bobbing along among the waves. Other days I seem to be my very efficient self, things get done and I fell competent.

I'm grateful to have taken a few moments to multitask (I've got dinner on the stove), and to write this little essay in my journal. Hopefully, I will find the energy to generate a blog post of this. There are several others that need to be composed and posted from the journal writing I have done over the last several months.

10/16/2012 - so here is the post finally. The writing is starting to happen again. Just like when Stephanie returned to her knitting once the grief had been lived through and the healing took place.

Good grief?

This has been a year of grieving. First my father's passing, the graduation of my daughter and her moving on to college (strange to call it a form of grief), saying good-bye to the lake house and all its wonderful memories, and now Aunt Ruth's funeral mass today. It has been such a challenging year. I've written about reading Tolstoy and the Purple Chair, a memoir of grieving and now I have another title to share, Anne Tyler's The Beginner's Goodbye. Aaron, the narrator of this story has lost his wife and begins the process of grief and the eventual return to life that comes after the healing process.

But I want to focus on this passage, " 'Reading is the first to go,' my mother used to say, meaning that it was a luxury the brain dispensed with under duress. She claimed that after my father died she never again picked up anything more demanding than the morning paper. At the time I thought that was sort of melodramatic of her, but now I found myself reading the same paragraph six times over, and still I couldn't have told you what it was about." (p. 52) I thank God this did not happen to me. Reading was my fallback. I could escape my own thoughts for a while. At times the ideas running through my head were just to much to handle and I needed a break. Thankfully, Tyler's story is an example of someone who makes it through the grief to the other side. It's an example of hope for those of us who are still slogging through the mire.

The Purple Chair Revisited

February 14, 2012 journal entry
I just want to sit and escape from the world for a while. Maybe escaping for a while is okay. Just not forever. The world has been a scary place recently and I've need to get away from it for some time to rebuild my strength. I held it together for so long but now I need to rest. Start from the ground up. The purple chair is a blue love seat that thankfully doesn't smell of old cat urine. Plus I don't plan to retreat so completely as to read a book everyday for a year no matter how attractive that does sound. 

Nearly eight months ago I wrote of the grief over my father's death. My mother and I had brought my dad back from the hospital so that he could die at home. There is no rest for us this year. At the end of June we placed an aunt in the nursing home and she passed away two days ago. Once again we find ourselves planning a funeral. I am exhausted and seek only to take to my bed with a book and read. I crave comfort which can only be found under the covers of my quilt and between the covers of a good book. Maybe Nina Sankovitch had it right in her memoir, Tolstoy and the Purple Chair, there is a way through grief by a dose of daily reading.

What now?

I think Susan Hill has put it very well in her book Howards End is on the Landing, "But I was looking for a book. I have no option but to find one here, in the house, for this is my year of reading from home and suddenly there is nothing, absolutely nothing, I want to take down and open, to read or re-read. I don't think the fault lies in the books, the feeling applies to the wardrobe (nothing to wear), or the full larder (nothing I want to eat). I daresay very rich people with the private jet standing by have the same problem- no where they want to go." (page. 77) I have finished the book and now I need another. 

Bad news came last night with one of those heart thumping, jarring awake from sleep telephone calls. Someone dear had passed away. It was expected and it's a blessing that the suffering was little and quickly over. But now I was wide awake and I needed distraction from the thoughts in my head so I turned to the book and finished it off. Then I was able to sleep once more. 

Thank God for the comfort of books. It has been a year of needing comfort and escape when life has just become to over whelming. Every once in a while the struggle comes when I go to the book shelf for the next volume only to discover I'm not really thrilled with any of the choices there. Oh there are plenty of choices, and just like Susan Hill I could used to go a year without buying anything new (in fact the year before last I vowed to read from my collection or that of my local library). Oh just pick one, try it, if it doesn't work out try another. I often do that only to find a week maybe two goes by and then I find my way back to the discarded choice to pick it up and avidly read it to the end. Sometimes there just must be the right time for the reading of a particular book. The old saying goes "the teacher will appear when the student is ready," in this case it is "that the book will come along when the reader is ready!"

The comfort of books

Today has been a trying day. Life is a tidal wave crashing over my head right now. I've retreated to my bed where I now sit ensconced in my comfy "jammies" and fleecy bathrobe, tucked up seeking solace from a book.  Tonight it is Susan Hill's Howards End is on the Landing a look at one woman's committment to reading from the books found on her own shelves. I loved her description of the SDD - small dark den, the sitting room with its window seat, and the Shakespeare Professor's lair at the top of the stairs which are all sources of shelved reading materials that have been forgotten about, put aside for later, or the much loved and rediscovered. It's satisfied my yearning for a get away to the quintessential English cottage, a lovely mental holiday.   Instead, I find myself in my very New England style cape cod house with its gabled window and slanting front wall, but snug as a bug escaping from my trying day. Thank God for a brief moment to rest the weary soul with a pleasing and restoring distraction. I know that tomorrow I will have to pick up where I left off and go on with the story of my life. In the meantime I can read the story of someone else's life tonight.

I want to be visible

I finished Calling Invisible Women last night. A rather fun read disguising a really deep emotional message, the need to be noticed by others. It's premise (spoiler alert coming) is that a strange pharmaceutical cocktail of prescriptions from the fictitious Dexter-White company is causing middle aged women to become invisible. For many of the victims they had been feeling invisible to family, friends, and employers and now there was no longer a face staring back at them in the mirror. Clover Hobart the narrator of the story is one such woman. She takes us along to support group meetings where she learns about the cause of her physical change. But more than that she takes us along as she discovers the power within.

As a result of her new condition she discovers the urge to right some of the wrongs around her. Who hasn't dreamed of having invisibility as a superpower? Clover takes the plunge and does a few reckless things. What she really learns and tries to teach the rest of us is that we can't lose sight of our passions in life.  We need to shine and maintain our visibility. As a middle aged woman there are days I feel invisible. There are days when I question what is my true passion, will I ever figure it out, and if I do will there be enough time to pursue it.

Not going to tell you how things end, but sometimes I too wish for a superpower. Then again maybe I am super enough already.

Getting back to the blog

I haven't posted to this blog in quite some time. In fact not since life took its dramatic turn over Christmas break when my father fell ill. What a whirlwind experience that was, from bringing him to the hospital thinking he had a small stroke to finding out that his symptoms were a result of the cancer that would swiftly take him by February 1st. What kept me going besides faith and the love and support of family and friends were the words. The words I produced in countless journal entries and the many books I read over the last ten months.

Journal entry from 2/13/12
Today I began reading Nina Sankovitch's memoir Tolstoy and the Purple Chair about her year of reading as a way to deal with the grief of her sister's death from cancer.  I had picked the book up off the library shelf before only to put it back down. I wasn't ready for it yet. 

"I took on a year of reading books for a reason. Because words are witness to life: they record what has happened and they make it all real. Words create the stories that become history and become unforgettable." ( p. 108) 

I certainly haven't had the luxury of taking a year off and spending it snuggled up in my favorite comfy chair with the goal of reading a book a day and reviewing them, but I have read. I have read lots of stories some have been for pure escape and others to help me find my way. That's where I am now on the journey of making sense of where life is taking me now. Things change in the blink of an eye. Sometimes we must cling to those things that bring normalcy to our lives like a cup of coffee, a comfortable spot to sit, and a book in ones lap.