Who Would I be Without Books?

Sometimes I wonder who I would be if I wasn't a reader.  Decidedly less dimensional, and probably more bored with life, I've decided.

Where would my mind wander if I wasn't immersed in the safe world of others' drama (without the messy drawback of being emotionally tied to them in real life)?  When the game is on TV or conversation lags, my brain flits back to the unfinished story in my car or by my bed, working the plot pieces like a puzzle, happy both when I figure out that I was indeed right about what happens next or if it turns out I was clueless.

Right now I am fully involved in two plot lines.  (Three, if you count Discordia, which I am reading with my son.)  As usual these days, when reading something really good, I think, "I should blog about this book."  Problem is, I am often on to another book right away and my interest in sharing with you what I just experienced fades into memory.  So why wait until the stories are over before telling you about them?  I am excited about the plots right now.  Maybe I'll write more to you when I've finished the books, but probably not.  Maybe they will seem even more enticing to you with little clue as to the finale.

Right now in my truck, I am on disk 10 of the 20 disk audio version of The Lonely Polygamist by Brady Udall.  Who isn't fascinated by the world of polygamy?   As a person who loves books with intricate characters and their interactions with what life has in store for them, this book rocks.  Goldie (short for Golden) has 4 wives (and is being pressured to take on a 5th), 28 children (not counting the 4 stillborn or the daughter who died young and tragically), and is attracted to his boss's wife.  (This may make him sound like a scandalous scoundrel, but he is isn't.)  Raised by a chronically depressed mother who was abandoned by her fortune hunting husband, Goldie grew up overly tall for his age and decidedly less social than those around him.  (The school authorities let his mother keep him out of school because she was very difficult to deal with.)  When Goldie is about 17, he discovers letters from his dad, including money and a plane ticket to Vegas.  Innocent and awkward, he leaves mom without notice and goes to live with dad, who is now very rich and has survived booze and too many women and has become Mormon. 

The plot zig-zags back and forth in time, filling in the blanks of the Goldie's life.  Other chapters are from the point of view of 11-year-old Rusty, one of Goldie's son's, who is so desperate for attention and physical contact that he acts out in a myriad of ways.  Goldie's fourth wife, Trish, also has a voice in the story.  Lonely and feeling like she has not done her wifely duty, Trish is aching from 3 miscarriages and resentful of the amount of time she has to sacrifice her "Goldie" time with the other wives and their children.

Goldie is awkward, sincere, and a bit socially inept, despite, his huge family.  His attraction for the wife of his boss seems to stem from his need for a calmer and simpler life.  Alternately amusing and heart-wrenching, The Lonely Polygamist is making my commute a pleasure.

During my lunches and free time at home, I am thoroughly enjoying The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater.  Written for young adults, this hauntingly beautiful story is again, written alternately in chapters by the point of view of different characters.  Kate Connolly (Puck) is reminiscent of an older Scout (To Kill A Mockingbird with her unflinching look at life, sense of humor, adult observations, and gritty spunk.  Puck and her two brothers are recently orphaned and barely managing to keep food in their bellies.  They live on an island that is known for The Scorpio Races, which are like horse races held on the beach, but the horses are capaill uisce (pronounced copple ooshka), which are wild, blood-thirsty beasts who live in the sea and are often captured when they come up to the beach to feed on whatever flesh they can  find.  Sean Patrick, also orphaned, is a strong boy, older than his years, whose gift is to understand the capaill uisce like no-one else can.  When Puck's big brother tells his siblings that he plans to move to the mainland, she impulsively decides to enter into the races, knowing that it will buy her more time with her brother, plus win them some much needed money if she wins.  I am not even halfway through with this book and already it is among my favorites.  The feeling of dangerous foreboding in my stomach at the possible bloody fate of Puck or Sean is offset by humor and witty phrasing.  I know without a doubt that this book will sit on the rack labeled "Mrs. E's Favorites" when it is back in the Library.

I like TV and movies, don't get me wrong.  I get all caught up in plot lines and impatient when I have to wait a week to see the next episode of something that has caught my eye and attention for a time.  But what I think books have done for me and my personality is open my mind the infinite and varied personalities and circumstances that exist.  I know that things are seldom as they seem.  The students in my school who are "acting out" are dealing with so many factors, they themselves are probably not aware of them all, from family dynamics and friendships, to hormones and unexpressed emotions.  Not just the kids, mind you, everyone is so very, very complex, and being a reader has helped me to appreciate it all.

Thanks for listening. 

"Don't Worry if It's Not Good Enough . . ."

Sing.  Sing a song.  Sing out loud.  Sing out strong.  Sing of good things, not bad.  Sing of happy, not sad.  Don't worry if it's not good enough, for anyone else to hear, just sing.  Sing a song."

These are lyrics from a Sesame Street LP that I had as a child.  I can still sing pretty much the whole album by memory.  (Other classic hits included Ernie's "Rubber Ducky, You're the One" and the Count's "Bats in the Belfry".)  As a child, I spent numerous hours, lying on the floor with my head next to the speaker of my grandparents' huge record player cabinet.  It had sliding doors on the top.  In the left side was the record player itself, in the right side was storage for the records.  The unit was huge and took up the entire wall that was just inside their front door.  During the holidays my grandmother would decorate the top with something seasonal.  My grandpa sometimes hid our Easter eggs inside it.

In college I sang in two bands, with E.  We wrote our own music most of the time and covered a Black Sabbath song or two.  For my 40th bday last summer, having a Karaoke DJ was a must.  I broke out the Coldplay, which I'd been practicing for a month.  As the night wore on, and the keg grew empty, more and more friends and family let their inner crooners and rockers fly free.

For a few years now, I have been craving to sing on a regular basis.  Not just in the shower or in the car (or full blast in my closet with a pillow over my face to not alarm the neighbors), but with a group of people.  In public. 

I thought about joining the Fallbrook Choir and it may still be an option in the future.  They sing at public, patriotic events and dress in vintage costume for "Scrooge" every year at the local theatre.  But I recently found something that fits my style even more.

I have started singing as an extra with the Hilltop Center for Spiritual Living.  This sweet church is right across the street from our house and about 9 months ago, I decided to go to a service and see what it was all about.  For the first time in my life, I think I may have found a spiritual home.  AND . . . a few months into it, one of their singers moved.  I spoke to the lead musician and one thing led to another . . . and I'm singing.  Out loud.  In front of people.  And I'm smiling.
 

A Night to Remember

I have to tell you about the meal I ate last night.  Actually,  I didn't just eat it, I inhaled it slowly through all my senses.  I actively ate each bite as in the present as I could, feeling the textures and imbibing the scents like few I have before.  No, I'm not on death row.  I was having one of my last meals with a very dear friend of mine, who is moving too far away.  Also, it's the first "regular" meal I've eaten since starting the Dukan Diet on Labor Day.  So after 30 days of eating strictly lean proteins with alternate days of proteins plus veggies (and being down 18 pounds for my diligence), I broke the fast and ate a little chicken dip, had a shot of tequila, some pollo verde enchiladas, rice, beans, cesaer salad and scalloped potatoes.

It was the potatoes that did me in.  I have been fantasizing about my late Grandmother's scallooped potatoes, with the thinly sliced spuds layered with cheese and celery, baked with a milk sauce.  Omg.  Seriously.  I just had to decide to let up on my strict diet and give in to the call.

Let me back up a little.  This wonderful group of friends evolved from a restaurant job in town.  I was hired by a fantastic lady (Ms. Joni) to be her baker.  Next she hired Lora, an amazing chef (and forever sister of mine), then Marshall came along to round us out, with his artistic flair and wonderful sense of humor and compassion.  Unfortunately, these difficult economic times proved tough for our little small-town eatery, but the friendships live on. 

Marshall hails from Colorado and the longing to move back has been a part of him as long as I've known him.  Well, his dreams are coming true and to celebrate he invited a few of us over to cook with him.  I planned on bringing a notebook and taking copious notes from this Master, but I left the notebook in my bag and simply let the night be my teacher.  The sounds of onions caramelizing, the laughter of friends, and the chopping of thyme drew me in. 

Earlier in the day, I made up my mind to enjoy this meal, (taking one serving of each item) because it symbolized too much to let simply slide by because of diet concerns.  I had been "good" after all and will continue to do so until my desired healthy weight is reached.  Much rides on the success of being healthy, not to mention the bags of clothes eagerly awaiting me in my garage, items I used to wear and look forward to again.  On the other hand, I consciously threw myself into this bittersweet evening of friendship, love and potatoes. 

As we sat around the intimate table, enjoying a small glass of wine and a large glass of iced water, I suddently realized that my plate did not have all the necessary items.  "Where are the f***ing potatoes?!?" I blurted.  With mock indignation, Marshall gave me a hard time for my rudeness.  I was assured that they were in the oven for just a few more minutes.  My heartrate steadied back to normal and I patiently awaited the desired dish, although I was quoted throughout the night. 

This evening was imprinted on my memory and soul.  Although we may be miles apart, Marshall will always remain in my heart.  A roadtrip was planned and I pray it comes to fruition.

I will need more potatoes. 
Thanks for listening.

What a Night

This evening, my girl, L, and I went to see "The Help" at the local theater.  I had been looking forward to seeing the movie ever since devouring the book this past summer.  It was a fantastic film, despite some changes, and I am determined to read the book again A.S.A.P. 

We laughed and cried.  I had some tissue in my pocked, but it wasn't nearly enough to cover the tears, so I simply let them roll down my face before using my jacket sleeve to mop them up.  My girl was sniffling right beside me.

We left the theater around 9:15 and were traveling down the mostly dark Mission Avenue, when we passed a dead Labrador in the middle of the street.  We were instantly saddened again, and decided to pull around to see if it had any identification.  With my little flashlight in hand, we made our way over to the dog, who had a broken neck and was a bloody mess.  Already emotionally fragile from the film, outraged at whoever just left  the dog in the road after killing it was compounded by the heedless drivers who drove past us without slowing.  We were both almost hit.  Multiple times.  I have to say, we didn't use our pretty language as we told them to SLOW DOWN!  L got the collar off, but there were no id tags.  She placed it on a nearby mailbox and as we contemplated what to do, two more cars pulled over.  Turns out, these folks had also been to see the film and had pulled over after seeing a dead white dog on the side of the road.  Two dead dogs.  L ran over.  Same story.  Collar but no tags.  A few more cars pulled over, and even though there were multiple people in the street, with blinking emergency lights and flashlights, the cars just kept barrelling by.  The dog in the middle of the street was miraculously not hit again, right in front of us. 

A teenage girl came running down the driveway and asked what had happened.  I told her there were two dead dogs.  She said they were hers, that they had been out looking for them.  Oh, heartache.  She was crying and I was crying, hugging her.  Her dad came running out and he was very distraught as well. 

One of the bystanders offered to help him move the dogs, but he pulled the black one by himself to the side.  He went and got his truck and the two men picked up both dogs and set them inside.  The girl said she had to go home to tell her sister.  The dad was crying very hard by the time his task was completed, hugged us both and thanked us numerous times.  Seems he and his family had just moved to this house, which explained why the dogs didn't have tags yet.

The whole night was surreal.  I am emotionally drained.  It's almost midnight and I have chores to do, lunches to make, and need to be at work with my son by 7:30 a.m., but I am wired.  I shot off a letter to the editor of my local newspaper, imploring my fellow townspeople to be considerate of people in their times of need.  My heart hurts for the family that just lost their animals.  I was very happy to come home to my own two waggy-tailed pups.  Goodnight and thanks for listening.

Summer's Over . . .

Even though the calendar states that Summer isn't over until September 23rd, for those of us who work in education, it's time to put away our beach towels and comfy clothes.

I had a marvelous summer break.  After obsessing and planning over my 40th birthday party, it went off without too many hitches.  Family and friends filled our modest home and spilled out into the yard.  We put some living room furniture outside to accommodate the karaoke set-up.  I borrowed and rented tables and chairs and a huge jumpy with a slide.  We declared our son's room off limits, so we went on a toy buying spree at Dollar Tree.  Whether the toys survived the party or not didn't matter.  We sanded and painted his tree fort, reinforcing the loose boards and making it cooler and more child friendly.  I ordered unicorn themed decorations to symbolize my inner child.  The party went late into the night.  Friends slept in the furniture out front and in the jumpy.  It was a good time. 

My son and I singing Karaoke.   A Sabbath song, I think.

Mark n Captain Mady

Chef Mady with Auntie Judy, baking Smore Bars on the Houseboat.

Cousins in the Kayak

Two weeks later we went on our ?th annual houseboat trip.  I have lost count of the times we have packed up food and entertainment and driven to Nevada to soak in the lake and enjoy each other's company.  For those of you who have never been on a houseboat trip, there isn't much to it.  Just make sure you invite people who are flexible and fun-minded, bring lots of snacks, and plenty of ice.  I bring along books, movies, games for the kids, and a few changes of clothes.  My husband prides himself on bringing only a pair of swim trunks and a few t-shirts.  This year's trip was bittersweet, being the first one without our beloved Punky (E's father, who died last Labor Day).  At one point, walking up the dock to the store, my breath caught as I saw a broad-backed man filling an inntertube with air.  For a moment, it looked just like my father-in-law, who would be pleased that we continued our traditional summer trip.  This year my brother-in-law drove the boat to the landing spot just right, letting one of the children "help" steer, just like Punky used to.  On our last night, we took a bottle of Punky's favorite Bushmill's whiskey to the top of the boat.  We poured a shot for each of us, plus one for him.  Emotions spilled over as we remembered this amazing man, gone too soon.

I spent the rest of the summer playing mom and chauffeur to my son and his friends, watching movies, reading books, and stripping a new-to-us dining room table.  I love my sander.  With my i-pod blasting tunes in my ear and the wood showing it's true beauty out from under the old stain, I am in heaven.  I still need to re-stain the table, but as the raw wood is just so gorgeous to me, I am loathe to cover it up, even though I know I need to protect the wood and match the table to the chairs.

I went back to work a little early to clear out a room in the library that is now the student store, as well as to help with registration.  I erased the anti-"others" sentiment from the door and put in a request to the custodial staff to clean off the sharpied curse words on my book drop.  I entered to find the usual "mystery" boxes that had been left in the library by those who feel that when in doubt, the library's the place to put it.  Sometimes these are welcome surprises, other times I wonder, "what were they thinking???"

Yesterday was the first day of school.  Students and their parents packed the hallways, waiting to get their class schedules.  Staff was working as efficiently as possible.  Purple papers meant the students had to stay in the MPR, they needed to meet with the principal in regards to their low G.P.A.  Green dots meant their registration packets weren't complete.  Red dots meant they still needed to show proof of their Pertussis immunization to the nurse.  The little 6th graders looked eager and fresh, if not a little nervous about finding their way around.  The 7th and 8th graders were more interested in their class schedules and comparing them with their friends'.  By 2 hours into it, I was finally back into my sanctum, the glorious library.  I had requested fewer Teacher Assistants this year, as last year, I learned that more student helpers were definitely a hindrance to efficiency.  I had 3 returning helpers and 1 new.  I was closed to the general public at lunch, but some of my regulars snuck past security and with the familiar faces around me, it felt like an extension of the year before. 

Summer already seems far away, although the weather is too hot for my cute Fall clothing.  I am surrounded by textbooks that will be distributed next week.  Earlier today, one of my students asked what I was going to dress up as for Halloween.  Yup.  Summer's over.                           Thanks for listening.