Vacation Books

We are going to Denver next week. I will be there for three weeks with the kids. Of course, this brings up a very important question: what will I take to read? I need to bring enough to keep me busy. But, I also need to bring some different kinds of books so that depending on my mood, I have appropriate reading material. There's nothing worse than standing in the airport bookstore, browsing through the best sellers of the moment, and then spending 11.95 for a crappy book. (I get frustrated when AJ does not plan ahead for his trip reading material and then comes home with an 11.95 crappy book that I do not want put on the shelves with our other books.) Or standing at your in-laws book shelves and not seeing anything that grabs your fancy.

This is what I'm thinking about.

Dorothy Sayers: Strong Poison and Gaudy Night. I picked up these two book in small paperback format at a used book store a couple of weeks ago.

Laurel Thatcher Ulrich: Ever since reading Well Behaved Women, I have been wanting to read her Midwife's Tale and her journey in Mormonism recorded in All Gods' Critters Have a Place in the Choir.

Kiran Desai: Inheiritance of Loss. Strongly recommended by B.

Thomas Friedman: The World is Flat.

Maybe I also need to think about some fluffier stuff...

And before I go, I will complete the 5 book reviews that are lingering in the drafts section!

Ten Year Nap

By Meg Wolitzer. Yawn. Nothing really happens in this book. And while I don't need a wild plot to be happy, the mothers in this story aren't really interesting and there aren't any interesting ideas. I thought I'd like it--a book about mothers who choose to stay at home with their kids and the lives they lead and they regrets or non-regrets they feel. I have always wondered what mothers who don't work but whose kids are in school do during the day. All the main characters are these kinds of mothers, but yet, I still don't have an answer to that question. One review said that Wolitzer is a master of the minature. Maybe, but I didn't really pick up on the wit that supposedly makes this book better than I thought it was.

4th of July

I love my library!

My county has a fabulous library system. There are branches all over the area, including one that is a couple of miles from my house. These are things that I love about it:

1. I have an online account that allows me to see what I have checked out, to renew items, and to search the catalog.

2. As an addendum to #1, I can order any piece of material that the library has anywhere in its system, and have it delivered to my branch. And I can do it all online. I have taken such advantage of this. And since MJ has been reading like crazy too this summer, so has she. I wish we got an end of the year statement so I could see what we have checked out and how many things got delivered for us. (I would also love to get a back stage view of the way materials move from one branch to another. When I put an order in, how is it decided where the material will come from? Is it based on proximity to my branch? Do vehicles transport materials to a central location and then send then to the requesting branches, or do vehicles go between branches? How many materials are shifted around between branches over the course of a month or year?) I just sent in my renewal for my "friends of the library" membership because I am so grateful, so often, for the ease that we can get so many books with just a few clicks of the mouse.

3. Great programs. We love storytime at our branch. I take the kids on a regular basis when they are going. Right now, their summer programs are going on. This summer, we have been to different branches for Spanish storytime and a Jr Girls Book Group, which MJ absolutely loved.







Our library has this cool huge planter like box with the words to an Emily Dickenson poem inscribed around it.

TO make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,—
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do
If bees are few.

I wish I would have gotten a picture when the bright yellow lillies were all in bloom, but I kept forgetting my camera.

I Used to be a Daredevil

Tonight, when I was out biking around a lake near my house, with the wind whistling across my face, I was daydreaming about becoming a cyclist. You know--the kind that ride a road bike in spandex and pedal 50 miles or more on a Saturday morning. I've been riding my hybrid bike around leisurely this summer, but would like to go tougher--more confidently, quickly, and aggressively. (I've also been obsessed about converting my bike to electric and then biking around town to do all my errands.)

The kids and I watched the end of the biking portion of a sprint triathlon--AJ competed in his first ever!--and those bikers were coming in so fast. I have my doubts about whether I really could ever develop cycling into a real pursuit. I feel a little nervous about crashes at such high speeds and hills are so intimidating for me.

I was remembering, though, how I used to pedal up to the top of a very steep hill on my orange banana seat bike in my neighborhood in Boise and then just cruise all the way to the bottom, full speed ahead. And I thought back to those Friday nights when my and my mom, dad, and sister would go up to Bogus Basin and ski. I loved the Sunshine trail where I could just ski straight down. N and I would race, and I always won. At least, that's what I remember. I would take every jump and didn't mind the crashes.

Not that I was always jumping off the roof and crashing through the woods. I did a lot of reading and was always pretty nerdy. But, I did do some risky things.

And then I was wondering when I started becoming more cautious. We moved the summer before I started 6th grade. It was such an awkward and self-consious time for me. I felt so uncomfortable in my skin and didn't want to stand out at all. I wanted to wear Rocky Mountain Jeans (not Smacks) and not go to gifted classes. I desparately wanted to wear a bra--like every other girl. Instead, I never took off my powder jacket. There weren't a lot of Mormons and that felt weird. But the time I made it through 9th grade, I finally started settling in and feeling better about myself. But, by that time, I didn't really do any risky things anymore. That was probably the start of it. And I never really did much aggressively on my own to embrace anything risky. Does this follow the Reviving Ophelia thesis?

Anyway, maybe it's time to reclaim some of that.



PS--Thinking about powder jackets really put me on memore lane. I wonder if my parents have any pictures of me in mine. I couldn't find any good online photos of them, except here's a pattern for one. My mom made mine. It was just like the men's shown here, with gray in the middle and maroon on the sleeves with black cuffs and zipper.

Baby Intoxication

A couple of months ago, we discussed A Severe Mercy for book group (haven't written about it here yet, but will soon). It is mostly the memoir of an amazing marriage. As we were talking about the feelings of young love, it struck me that having an infant is a lot like being newly in love. The gazes, the cooing and talking for his-ears-only, and the focus of devotion and adoration--from both mother to baby and vice versa too. It really is intoxicating. It's happened with all three of my kids.

When Z was very little, my visiting teachers came over. I fed him and then sat with him in my arms, chatting with them. Then, I glanced down at him and his gaze was fixed on my face. It took me by surprise a little bit, and I was transfixed. His look was so steady and pure. He seemed to be looking at me in pure adoration. I cooed at him and was a little overcome with emotion. I felt like I was the center of his (admittedly very small) world. I felt like I was everything to him. While I clash wills with my other two, when they say "Go away mommy" and "NO! I won't!", here he was, just so content to gaze up at his mother. And when I am feeling fat and ugly and unsocial, there is no judgement in his eyes. He still adores me all the same.

Another similar experience happened before he was a month old when I was up with him the in the middle of the night. I had fed him and he wasn't going back to sleep, so I sat down at the computer with him in my arms. When I looked down, he was smiling up at me, eyes shining. It was one of his first smiles and it melted my heart.

Today, when we were out running errands, a woman started cooing and smiling at Baby Z and he immediately gave her one of his wide mouthed, gummy smiles. She commented, "Oh, so beautiful! He smiles with his eyes too." And it's true--his eyes really do light up when he smiles. I love when he catches my gaze across the room and smiles at me.

I think it's love!

The End of Food

Going along with all my other food inspired reading, I picked this one up after hearing Paul Roberts speaking on NPR. This is like Michael Pollan somewhat, except on a global scale. So, instead of talking about Joel Salatin in Virginia and the intricate system that he utilizes to strategically use grass and cow and chicken manure, and pigs, chickens, and cows' natural behaviors to produce an amazing amount of eggs and meat on a relatively small parcel of land, Roberts describes a Japanese farmer who uses ducks in rice paddies. He looks at the global food market and the way the agribusiness and food companies have tried to convert food into any other commodity. Unfortunately, Roberts doesn't have any kind of narrative hook like Pollan (tracing four meals from the field to the dinner table) and the book bogged down quite a bit for me.

But, it reinforced some of the other things I've been reading and thinking about. Especially with regards to meat. It turns out that raising beef is particularly resource intensive--7 pounds of corn to get 1 pound of beef. Chicken is more efficient, requiring more like 2.5 pounds of corn to get 1 pound. But, as developing countries increase their meat consumption to approach per-capita Western consumption, more and more corn will be required; if everybody consumed at Western levels, it is nearly impossible to produce the amount of corn that would be needed.

Combine this idea with the CAFOs that Pollan describes, and I'm thinking that we should eat less meat overall. I don't think we need to become vegetarian, but maybe trending toward flexitarian.

Food Obsessions

When I was a kid in elementary school, my mom often packed me a sack lunch. She said that there was time when I would ask for a PB&J every day, every day, without fail. I'll have to ask her how long that phase lasted. It was probably at least one school year, knowing me. And then, from one day to the next, I didn't want PB&J, and didn't want it again for a very long time.

Very typical. I still see this compulsion in myself--in what I choose to eat, but in other things too. I find something I like and then, avoiding any novel kind of behavior, I satiate myself with it until I can't stand to even look at it.

When we lived in Pittsburgh, I mixed up cottage cheese with oregano and tomato and cheese, put it in a pita, and baked it for 15 minutes. I did this every day. I kept going after tomatoes were out of season, and finally switched to canned tomatoes. And then I got really nauseous even thinking about eating this.

Now, my new favorite food obsession is arugula and goat cheese. I like them together on sandwiches or pizza. I like goat cheese quesadillas. And goat cheese on salads. Maybe I will try to avoid going past the point of no return. But, it's doubtful I will be successful...

My messy house

We found out this week that we have to replace our AC. It's been such a mild summer, we've only turned it on a few times, but every time it hasn't really worked. We finally called someone to come take a look. And it's as old as this house and needs to be replaced.

So, I scheduled a bunch of sales people from various heating and cooling companies to come out and give me an estimate. Three today, three tomorrow.

The most annoying and manipulative of the salesmen (yes, they were all male) wanted to do an extra good job bothering me and supposedly coming up with the perfect size ac unit for our house. So, he took my home's measurements. From the laundry room with the shoes scattered all over the floor to my bedroom with the unmade bed, he saw it all. Ugh. Having him walk through a lot of the house made me see the clutter with new eyes. And I am not happy.

In my defense, it has been a crazy day and I have hardly been home. And when I was home, I was talking to ac salesmen or feeding baby Z. And I don't know how to get my kids to pick up their messes, which they are constantly making.

I'm so tired of the clutter. I need clutter busters...

visiting teaching messages

I don't like the way that visiting teaching messages are just an assortment of quotes somewhat related to each other, always placed at the back of the Ensign. It used to be that the visiting teaching message was the very last article before the Latter Day Voices, Random Sampler, and News of the Church. But not anymore. They have moved it up for some unknown reason, but it's still towards the end. There is never any unifying text, but it is just a collection of quotes based on some theme. I wonder why they don't have the General RS Presidency write a more meaty message.

And of course, I can't help but say: the home teaching message is always the first article of the Ensign every month. What does the relative placement of these say?

I glanced at the message this morning for the month before I went visiting teaching. I decided I didn't really like it and turned to the mini-bio of Elder Eyring. Lucky for me, my partner had some good things to say about the message. And I got to talk about Elder Eyring.

Never Let Me Go

By Kazuo Ishiguro. Huh. I read this a while ago and thought I had already posted this. It was nice to read a novel with a great and compelling story, good writing, and interesting characters. What genre is this book? Kind of science fiction, kind of futuristic, but seems to be about real people: like a reviewer said, the point of the novel is about the people, not about the science fictiony plot element. The narrator recounts her life, starting with the elite boarding school that she attended from the time she was an infant until she was 16. The story of unravels bit by bit. I like this description:

[Never Let Me Go] is a masterpiece of indirection. Like the students of Hailsham, readers are "told but not told" what is going on and should be allowed to discover the secrets of Hailsham and the truth about these children on their own.

These students are special and have a societal mission for which they are destined. However, their role in society is morally repugnant. The interesting thing is that it is all so normal for them. They don't try to escape, but just follow through on what they are supposed to do.

I'd like to talk with someone who read it. I'm not sure what I thought of the ending. There was no grand reveal, no final wrapping up. It just kind of drifted off.

Pittsburgh

The NY Times has a travel article about Pittsburgh up right now. I love the opening paragraph.

Pittsburgh has undergone a striking renaissance from a down-and-out smokestack to a gleaming cultural oasis. But old stereotypes die hard, and Pittsburgh probably doesn’t make many people’s short list for a cosmopolitan getaway. Too bad, because this city of 89 distinct neighborhoods is a cool and — dare I say, hip—city. There are great restaurants, excellent shopping, breakthrough galleries and prestigious museums. The convergence of three rivers and surrounding green hills also make it a surprisingly pretty urban setting.

We moved to Pittsburgh because we didn't move to Boston. Boston and MIT were our top choice for relocation for business school. CMU was an ok second choice. When AJ got the scholarship, though, the financial considerations were compelling enough to drop all other options and make a committment to CMU. We drove over in February to visit. Not the best month to see Pittsburgh. It was gray and cold the whole time we were there and the streets were pockmarked with potholes. We didn't venture very far from campus and our hotel because of our schedule and because I get lost easily. After we left to go back to NYC, we were still not so excited about moving there. I still had a picture of an industrial wasteland in my head.

We left NYC at the end of July with all our belongings in a U-Haul and drove across Pennsylvania to our new home that we had never before seen. A good friend had recommended the house and we saw pictures. We drove into town about 4 pm. The area was absolutely beautful. Everything was green and we drove up and down hills. Flowers were out. We drove through interesting neighborhoods to our wonderful and charming new neighborhood. And our house felt enormous after living in a NYC apartment. It was all so perfect. Auntie M took MJ around the corner to the blue slide park where they played until the truck was unloaded. It turns out we were on the edge of one of the city's best parks, with lots of trails and playgrounds and woods to explore. That night, we got pizza from a delicious pizzeria just up the street from our new house. I was giddy for about a week after that. We had simply fallen into a great city, an amazing neighborhood, and a wonderful house. And we later saw that we were in a simply incredible ward.

We would have stayed in Pittsburgh if we could have. I miss living in a city and in a neighborhood where I can walk to the grocery store and library and get interesting ethnic food easily. My new home is just fine, but I think it's ugly (we are slowly trying to change those things that I find most odious, but I don't think we'll ever get rid of the popcorn celings). It's not in an interesting neighborhood, just another generic suburb. And another generic cul de sac. We drive everywhere (except for the park). I like where we live, we have great neighbors, and we absolutely love MJ's school. But, I hope to live in a very different kind of place the next time we move. Maybe even back to Pittsburgh.

Shackleton

For book group this month, we read a YA book--Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World-- about Sir Ernest Shackleton's amazing Antarctic expedition. I also read another account by Caroline Alexander--Endurance: Shackleton's Legendary Antarctic Expedition-- which beautifully reproduced some 170 of Frank Hurley's original photographs of their adventure.





The photographs are truly incredible. They give a real sense of the ice wasteland and the conditions these men faced. They showed the stark beauty (at least, as seen from my balmy Minnesota summer) of the Antarctic. And they captured the men and both their daily routines and special occasions. There were quite a few of the Endurance, the ship that took them south and was ultimately destroyed by the ice. It was a wonderful way to get a glimpse into the mission.




Both authors also draw heavily from the first hand accounts of the men, as recorded in their journals during their travels. These provide the life of the book in their details, chronology, and character sketches. (Alexander does a much better job of bringing the characters and their daily routines to life, while Armstrong focuses more on the chronology of events.) The photographs and the journals preserved an amazing story.





There were a few things that struck me.

1. So many times, they were on the brink of total disaster--these occurred both in the mundane day to day survival in such a harsh climate, as well as in the greatly perilous events such as crossing the open ocean in small boats or trekking across the uncharted mountains and glaciers of South Georgia. But, yet, not one man died during the trip. Simply amazing.

2. Shackleton's amazing leadership: he could diffuse tension, spread his optimism through the group in the face of terrible odds, and maintain unity in a group of diverse men. I loved that the morning after they reached Elephant Island, after a bone chilling, devastatingly awful, open sea voyage, that Shackleton was taking around hot drinks to the men in their tents. He was the one who gave up the sleeping bag for the wool blanket. He was utterly determined that not one man would die, and he was successful. I love the vision of the scene at the end: three filthy men stumble from the mountains into the whaling port on S Georgia island. Shackleton asked to see the Norwegian man in charge, whom he knows. Upon their meeting, Sorlle, the Norwegian captain says, "Well?" Shackelton responds, "Don't you know me?...My name is Shackleton."

3. I would never ever want to be an explorer in any polar region, no matter how amazing the landscape, no matter how many times I could see the Aurora Australis and the multiple species of penguins. I don't think I would even want to read an account of their expedition in the winter.

A question came up. How do we feel about Shackleton the man once we know that he has a mistress? I have mixed feelings about it. He was a remarkable leader and accomplished an amazing feat in this expedition, and I don't think he infidelity to his wife should take away from any of that. He unfailing loyalty to his men stands in contrast to his relationship with his wife. I know nothing about his wife or his mistress, so I am really not in a position to judge the situation. And the fact is, no matter who the hero is, he/she is ultimately mortal and has weaknesses. No hero is without blemish.

I felt a little sad that we spent probably only 45 minutes with the book and the rest of the time socializing. I don't mind the socializing, but I wanted to dig in a bit more.

Where is my mind?

This morning, I had to take baby Z to the pediatrician for his 4 month well baby check. I dropped the other two off at playground camp and raced over there since we were running a little behind. I got baby Z out of the car, walked towards the entrance, and then paused. "Hmm," I thought. "Why does this feel weird?" Then I was trying to remember what floor of this big medical building the pediatrician's office was on. "My ob is on the 6th floor, the dentist on the 5th...Crap!" The pediatrician was in a completely separate location. That's why it felt weird. And we've been going to this ped for well over a year now. How can I do such things? My mind seems to have completely evaporated. My memory feels shot. I'm not even that old. I wonder what will happen to me in my old age.

By the way, Z has gone from the 30th percentile in weight to the 10th. And he is up to the 60th percentile in height. He is such a skinny scrawny little thing. But pretty darn cute!