A Bookish Best Year

People: I'm watching a movie.  Not only that, it's the 2nd one in the space of a week.  I've now increased my movie watching for the year by 200%. 

So, I'm watching Footloose for the first time ever and THIS IS KIND OF A WEIRD MOVIE.  Why does high-schooler-Kevin-Bacon have professional gymnast moves and why are the parallel bars something high schoolers would be using in gym class?  Whoa...body doubles.  Why does he wear a tie on his first day at a new school?  Why does the insult that he flings back to the cowboy-hat-wearing Willard in the hallway make them become friends?  Why is Ariel such a jerk? 

Also, this is the first movie I have seen where there's a game of chicken being played out using John Deere's set to I Need a Hero (which Kevin Bacon wins because his shoelace gets stuck and he can't stop...???).  This contrasts directly with one of the final scenes on the other movie I just watched Danny (i.e. John Travolta) fills in at a drag race and wins...but in a cooler kind of grease-r way.

Also (again): product placement.  Did Coke pay a boatload of money at the people who made this movie? 

I'm also not entirely sure why Ren move to this no-dancing-uber-conservative-anti-Vonnegut-Midtown-city?  I'm (mostly) watching and am confused.

I'm getting all distracted.  I really wanted to talk about my G-O-O-D-B-O-O-K year.  This is the first year of my life where I've kept track of how many books I've read, not really with a particular goal in mind but wanting to get as close to 100 as possible.

I decided to include audio books in my tracking as well, and here's whatI learned about my reading life:

1.  I don't generally like audio books all that much.  The narrator really has to be compelling, which adds another elements to whether or not I like a book.

2.  I read more than I really thought that I would.

3.  I like mysteries a lot, and I can't keep going until I talk about a new devotion to Louise Penny and the Three Pines mysteries.  Oh, that there was this was a real town and I would take me to there.  Other than the alarmingly high rate of murder happening, this place is idyllic, which, frankly, makes for some compelling murdering to happen.  My favorite:  all of them that I've read so far (5) but you have to read them in order

4.  I read more books set in Australia than I ever have before.  So, that was unexpected.  I understand why Liane Moriarty is crazy popular, though she's not ever going to be close to a favorite for me.  Her chapters tend to end on cliffhangers.  A lot.  However, she makes up for a bunch with cleverness in the plot.  My favorite:  What Alice Forgot

5.  Tana French is another famous and wildly popular mystery writer that I'll explore more, I've no doubt, but right now I'm less of a fan.  Bonus:  You can read the Dublin murders in any order.

6.  I really appreciate a clever story, no matter the genre.  One of my favorites of the year that I wasn't expecting to want to read:  The Whisper Man (trigger warnings with this one)

7.  It's hard to write a clever non-fiction story.  I keep getting pulled into these non-fiction books that are often just...not.

8.  My favorite author of the year:  Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie -- Americanah, The Purple Hibiscus, Half of a Yellow Sun, "The Danger of a Single Story"

9.  I make time for reading at the beginning and end of every day.  This is imperative.  Be good to yourself.

10.  Frederick Backman, another favorite of the year:  A Man Called Ove, Britt-Marie Was Here, Beartown, Us Against You, and Things My Son Needs to Know about the World

Next year, I'm changing my tracking method and I'm teaching less, which means yes, I do believe I can reach that pure 100.

YEAR END TOTALS:  82 physical books (though I know I'll finish the 2 that I'm currently reading with an outside shot at finishing a 3rd before the end of the year) + 12 audio books

2 Things I learned This Thanksgiving

Folks, I've been feeding-myself-every-day-all-on-my-own-adulty for 15 years now.  In preparation of this shift from kinda-sorta-adulty to full-on-adulty, I went through a lot of my mom's recipes and copied out a bunch of my favorites.  This has been invaluable, of course, but also somewhat fruitless.  I've learned two things from that:

1. Even if I have Mom's recipes, my food still tastes like my food and her food still tastes like hers.  I don't entirely know how that works.
2. I've only ever needed a handful of those favorites because I virtually cycle through the same twenty over and over again.

One of those essentials that I made sure I got was my mom's / grandmother's pie crust recipe because pie crust is death and I don't love me pie crust, generally, but this one works for me.  I've made at least one pie a year ever since this advent of adulting, and this is the only pie crust I have ever made.  So on the minimum, I've used this pie crust recipe at least fifteen times.  NEVER ONCE have I enjoyed making it.  NEVER ONCE have I felt confident in my pie crust making abilities.  MORE THAN ONCE I have owned my inability to do much with the pie realm.

And here we go...FIFTEEN YEARS LATER, I figured out what the hooey is the problem.  People: I copied the ding dang recipe wrong.  How, might we ask?  What, perchance did I copy incorrectly?  Well.  The recipe that I wrote down has 3 cups of flour, 1 bar of butter (cold, not melted), 1 egg, a pinch of salt, and 1 T of vinegar.  Where is the liquid, one might wonder.  It took me FIFTEEN YEARS to figure this out after grumbling my way through this recipe over and over and over.  So this Thanksgiving, I learned that I'm actually OK at making pie crust.  But I'm somewhat rubbish at copying recipes and absolutely dreadful at figuring out when there's a pretty obvious problem.  Oh.  My.  Word.

Also, what the what is it with my children and Thanksgiving / Christmas?  The Elder went through her first stomach bug on Christmas day when she was 2.  For a 3-year stretch, The Boy and I alternated with who missed each Christmas gathering at the parents' houses while staying home with a throw-uppy kiddo.  I first learned about the convenient marvel of "free shipping" and "online shopping" when a sick child was napping and the other half of the family was enjoying a holiday party elsewhere.  And the oddities continue.  Over the years, I've learned two things from this:

1. My children are weird about stomach bugs.
2. I can always use the quiet-at-home time with my child and never mind missing that slice of pie and chaos.

Yesterday, The Elder did it again, this time waiting until the day after Thanksgiving when we were staying overnight with my parents before leaving early the next morning for the other side of the family.  Gross story short, she made it to the bathroom and then I had to clean the whole thing shortly afterwards. 

Kids are maybe the hardest people to understand.  Or maybe I'm not the most sympathetic of mothers when my child says "Oh, my heard hurts a bit" and "Oh, I'm beyond exhausted."  It may be possible that I rolled my eyes (on the inside) and muttered "Ten year old..." (also on the inside).  On the outside, to my credit, she was cuddled all day long and was dosed with Tylenol twice. 

So, this Thanksgiving, I learned how to use a mop.  The conversation went something like this...
Me:  Mom, what do you want me to use to clean the floor?
Mom:  I have a mop and bucket.
Me:  Mom, can you teach me how to use a mop?  I don't own one.  I would use disinfecting wipes.
Mom:  (blinking at me) You make a lousy adult who keeps humans alive.  (She didn't actually say this.)
Me:  How much of this bright yellow cleaning solution do I dilute in some substantial amount of water? 
Mom:  (blinking at me)  You make a lousy adult who keeps humans alive.  (She also didn't actually say this but I have my doubts that she wasn't thinking this.)

Summarily, it has been a couple of days full of learning opportunities (growth mindset, y'all).  That's what happens when I step away from a day job to "relax" and "catch up on my reading" and "do nothing for a few days."  When we all get back at it on Monday and I get involved in those inevitable conversations about how the handful of days of went, I very well may raise an eyebrow and launch in with "Well, I learned 2 things..."   

A taste of the mid-life feels

I know that 60 or 70 years ago, my age (the big 3-6) would be solidly entering mid-life time.  I'm not at all sure where that distinction starts anymore, though I feel pretty sure that my mentality isn't there yet.  For Patricia's sake, I have a whole gaggle of high school and college friends who are still pushing out sweet, roly-poly babies, which is certainly the antithesis of middle-aged in my mind.

But within the last handful of months, I've been faced with some seemingly incontrovertible evidence that the old bod is aging. 

1. I now take a daily vitamin-y / supplement-y pill for the pigmentation in my eyes.  I'm not a hundo percent sure what the deal is with my sub-par pigmentation other than I'm strongly encouraged to boost my numbers and these pills are supposed to help: $200/year for old-lady-eye-pills.
2. I had a normal dental cleaning this week, and my hygienist was updating my chart when she was done and we were waiting on the dentist to come in for his poke around the mouth region.  In basically talking to herself out loud, the hygienist made a comment about a couple of spots where my gums are receding: What. In. The. World.
3. I pulled out a yoga video that I've had for years and use every once in a while when I want to do something physical but also want to stay home.  The Older joined me, and while I can for certain promise you that my form was way better than hers, I can also promise you that I cramped my hamstrings so hard on a cool-down stretch that I can still feel it two days later:  What is going on with my legs?
4. In the spring, I went through a whole day where my arm was inexplicably sore:  I hurt myself while sleeping.
5. My hip pops when I run:  I sound like a percussive instrument every step I take.
6. I forgot my glasses on a recent 3-night trip, which didn't stop me from reading or doing the work I needed to do on my computer, but it did change the way I felt about my eyeballs:  I fully trust my eye doctor that she knows what my eyes need (refer to #1).
7. The only thing that helps my painfully dry hands as soon as the average temperature falls below 70 degrees is medicated lotion: old lady cream.

All of this just basically makes me want to stay at home, read a good book, and drink loads of warm things like tea.  I might want to eat bread, too.  It makes as good of sense as anything just to hunker down and embrace my middle aged-ness. 

Also, my girls have been entirely invested in baseball all season with me, even now when my / our team is no longer playing in the World Series.  I love them so much.

An introvert day

It's been a stretch of time whereupon I've been meaning to write on here again for literally weeks, since about the middle of September when this day happened.  But life and work are what they are.  (And also -- get this -- I have nothing that I have to grade tonight.)

Also, my boys lost last night so my season of soaring joy and crushing disappointment is over.  For that, I am overly sad, I admit.  But t turns out that I have a fellow baseball-crazed fan who works across the hall from me and we have much to say.  I need people like this person.

About a month ago, the days felt a bit bleak.  A bit weary.  A bit dull.  And I did something that I had never ever in the history of me done before: I took an introvert day.  

I fully intended to work at home.  And I did.

I fully intended to read and run.  And I did.

I fully intended to just BE.  And I did.

It was...nice.  For all that this word is bland and I would never encourage anyone to really use it, that's exactly what this day was.  NICE.  

There was beautiful sun.  There was a sunggly beasty beside me all day.  There was plenty to keep me busy but for which I ultimately felt productive rather than over worked.  I felt satisfied at the end of it.  And not just good-I-got-things-done satisfied, but fundamentally satisfied and quiet.  

I really needed that quiet.  The boy is on the downward slope of a busy coaching season on top of his day job and all-other-time-fatherhood job.  My students have been at times a bit cloying.  I always like them individually, but there are some collective personalities that are just a bit blergh for me this semester.  And truth be told, I really loved my last group of kiddos, who have now all flown the nest.  I miss them, though trying they were as well.  This year's class is really more "normal" for me, and after a year of "love," then "normal" is just a bit off.

So a day came when I could carve out an introvert day and recharge my internal batteries a bit.  In the past, I've always guarded my personal days because of inevitable times I need to use them for saving up days to use when on maternity leave, taking care of a sick child, or attending court for some volunteering that I do.  But now...no more maternity leave time needed, the boy and I try to split any necessary days off for a sick one (which last year = 1 day each I think), and I'm on hiatus from the court time.  Suffice it to say that I used a day on me and it was in September and yes, there's a whole bunch of the year still to come.  

I fully trust in mental health days and support my colleagues who use them.  It's hard(er) I think when it comes to your own choice to engage in some rest.  For me, these days that I am allowed to use each year are not by definition "mental health days," and my type-A personality is a go-by-the-book and ask-permission-first type of person.  But I allowed myself some time for deep breaths and, most importantly, silence, which I have learned is a need rather than a want.  

And right now, the washing machine is running, the refrigerator is humming, and it is otherwise SILENT.  In fact, it's quiet enough that I hear a book calling my name from the other side of the house.  

May we all engage in recuperative silence on purpose and with deep, calming breaths.  

Daughters...BLESS

Sometimes, we have to take care of each other.  Sometimes, it’s hard knowing what to do.

My job forces me to practice empathy each and every day.  I’m glad it does – keeps me human.  As frustrating as it can be when you just don’t believe someone’s sob story, I still need to care for and about the individual.  That person still has a story.  I almost never feel taken advantage of and appreciate having avenues to understand individuals for who they are and what they bring.

I inherently get it that people need compassion and need a community.  I always want to be part of that conversation, no matter what.  And…yet.

I have this thing about being “that parent.”  I don’t want to be “that parent.”  It takes me 15 minutes to write a few sentences to a teacher to give a heads up about my kid feeling her feels because it feels like an imposition to the teacher who I KNOW has ever so much to keep track of. 

My child deserves it.  Absolutely.  My child’s teacher needs to hear about those few times when the feelings are big and when I know that a quick check-in would do loads of good for her ability to trust her adult and to focus. 

Yet…hmm.  It’s a weird feeling for me to be on the other side of the conversation.  I doubt I’ll ever be quite right in that head space, but I’ll still speak up when I would appreciate having the communication shared with me were I in that other teacher’s place. 

People.  Parents who are teachers are generally either the worst or entirely silent.  I don’t want to be either, so this Type A extroverted introvert will just have to keep at it. 

Bless.

Meanwhile, there's been loads of fun baseball in my day-to-day life and some fun books.  I'm f-u-l-l-y onboard the Louise Penny Three Pines mysteries train.  Inspector Gamache is my book crush right now.  AND THEY ARE ALWAYS EATING DELICIOUS FRENCH FOOD.  It makes me want to visit Montreal post haste and eat and read books in a cafe while eating French food in Montreal.  (Read them in order, good interwebby people.)   

I ended last week with an afternoon coffee shop date with the Elder, a card game, and a French soda.  I know there's more of this coming, but I need her to talk with me and if that means we get the whipped cream and pass a drink back and forth, then it shall be so.  Gamache would approve.

Also, there is a small frog clinging to the window right now.  They are adorable and show up in squished places occasionally.  Our previous house had slugs; I choose this.

I know...another camping story

I am happy to report that when your children are exhausted while camping, they sleep through raging neighbors and raging thunderstorms.

Ask me how I know.  (Actually, I'll just tell you.)

Also ask me how well I slept.  (Not well.)

Another week, another camping trip.  The foam pad + self-inflating camping mat are working like a charm even for this side sleeper; I may have sleeping woes, but these aren't part of 'em.  On the other hand, I loathe sleeping bags.  They're restrictive and almost always too hot for camping in the summer.  

We joined some extended family for a few days in Wisconsin and ran into both the hottest/muggiest/grossest weather + loudest/intensest/grossest storms of the summer all in a matter of a couple of days.  

But the bugs weren't terrible. 

The food wasn't terrible, either.  This family knows how to eat.

But the heat was relentless, which really puts the kibosh on family-bonding-hiking time.  I mean, we still went hiking, but the experience was something of a challenge, especially for The Elder, who has a happy temperature zone of 71-74 degrees with low humidity, mostly sunny, no bugs, and almost no humidity.  Given those conditions, she's a smiley child who is a joy and a delight; she will explore new places and marvel at nature.  Outside of those conditions, she has easily notched the 20 or so worst days of her life.  (She'll tell us so because each time, "This is the worst day ever."  We continue to find new ways to ruin her life experience, it seems.) . Her broodiness is prone to infecting others of her age set, so there's no doubt that this kid is a leader.  In other words, we had a few grumpy kids among our hiking group.  

A joy.  And a delight.

At least nature was surrounding us with craggy views and gorgeous lakes.

The kid did have a bit of a point, though: We ended up walking/hiking/plodding almost 3.5 miles with some significant changes in elevation and general rock clambering.  It was also about 2.5 miles longer than I anticipated, so imagine The Elder's delight when my promise at the beginning that "It will be short and easy...no one wants to go on a long, difficult hike in this heat" turned out to be 1000% false.  She was basically expressing all of the frustration that I, too, was feeling toward the 60-year olds who chose the trail.  Who knew that these people felt like tapping into their mountain goat younger selves when the heat index was hovering around 100 degrees and it was s.o. h.u.m.i.d?  

I'll repeat:  At least nature was surrounding us with craggy views and gorgeous lakes for these are the times that try men's souls.

Ah, one tiny detail that I cannot forget:  I had around 2 1/2 hours of sleep from the night before.  The boy had around 3 hours.  BECAUSE OUR NEIGHBORS WERE LUDICROUS AND THE STORMS NEVER STOPPED THE NIGHT BEFORE.  

I mean.  It's hard to start your day with a fortifying gulp and thoughts of doom & gloom.  

The 2 camp sites across from ours had EIGHT tents of people and the children were still crazy hellions at 1 AM when the park ranger finally drove by and said "Hey, friends, this has probably gone on long enough.  FOR THE LOVE."  Even The Boy couldn't sleep, which is telling of their ludicrosity.  We did enjoy a generous 15 minutes of silence then before the first round of storms came.

SO LOUD.  Rain is quite thunderous on a tent.  Searing lightening + bone crunching thunder = no sleep gonna happen.  And these were crazy storms with at least 3 sustained rounds rolling through right on top of each other: one round starts to taper off, the next round rolls in just as fiercely.  I did drift off for about 30 minutes around 2:45 AM before waking back up for a bit and then finally getting to some deeper REM sleep after 3:45 AM.  The Younger, who slept through all of everything, did wake up at 4:30 AM and decide she needed to snuggle (of course she did).  Fortunately, we got to doze for a bit after that.   

My sleep schedule is just to let you know that it was a slog.  And while we have 1 more camping trip planned for the year, I'm ready for a break.  It's just too extra right now.  If you find us vacationing in some fancy schmancy resort in Aruba next year, this could be why.  

Camping whip lash -- a bit of yin to this year's yang.

A 2-week countdown

Interweb people:

I am 2-weeks-from-tomorrow back to my full-time gig and I still have a pile of 12 books waiting to be read.  Because I added 3 more to it today.  That might be possible for some and that "some" is not me.  I've been chugging along at a brisk-ish pace, though, and it has been a good stretch of reading that I'm all in for. 

I do believe that I'll miss that the most of all come 60-work weeks on top of keeping 2 humans alive.  And I'll miss my top-knot-bun thing I've been living with all summer.  Deep layers of sadness and sorrow happened to my hair when my normal hair dresser was at a conference (in somewhere Norway/Sweden/Denmark-y, none the less) and I told the sub, "I usually tell Hannah to just do whatever as long as I can still pull it up in a ponytail."  DEEP layers of sorrow and sadness.  And my hair is fine, slippery stuff, which means that you can tell me all you want that "You can pull this into a ponytail, no problem," but those deeeeeep layers defy your foolish words. 

I've been managing my sorrow, but just barely, as you can tell. 

Also, my kids were about pushing me over a gentle cliff with their anxious we're-waiting-to-leave-the-house-ness, and then they both sat down with books.  My word, that is what dreams are made of (which is also while I'm here for a minute -- when in Rome...).

I had other things to say but am currently beyond irritated at my computer/printer combination.

Also, I am going to eat an ice cream bar today, I believe.

I must go read.

Camping in Our 30s

This is the summer of the camping trip.  We have a whopping FOUR trips planned, which is a couple more than normal.  We're usually down for 2 definite camping trips and sometimes slip a 3rd into the mix somewhere, but scheduling purposes have allowed and encouraged four trips to happen.  

And folks, we are tent campers.  Also, the boy and I are solidly in our 30s and THIS IS NO JOKE anymore.  

Case in point:  As I lay on my bedding situation Sunday night at approximately 1:36 AM (not approximate at all, mind you...I was still trying to fall asleep and had just looked at the time after trudging to the bathrooms twice which is not common to my current life situation & nothing wakes you up more than coming face-to-face with a campground-fat raccoon), I wondered A) how is it that we went from blithely sleeping on grounds/floors/hard surfaces to these-hips-don't-lie in a matter of a mere decade, and B) how do people do it on the regular on legit hiking trips?  Props and claps and all the nods to them.  

I don't know if you've noticed, but this spring has been 178% saturated.  Nary a day has passed in the last 24 weeks (give or take a couple) that hasn't included either threatening or downpouring skies.  I know we're just wallowing in our inconvenience here, but this family is over it.  We have been inside more and crabbier.  We.  Need.  Sun.  

And like any fully technologized person of 2019, we obsessively followed the radar for seemingly by the minute updates on whether or not it would dump buckets on us SLASH throw more severe storms at us.  It turns out that the correct answer here is both "neither" and "yes."  There was rain, it turns out, but it was always conveniently located and the dense foliage basically kept us happily comfortable.  There were severe storms but only as figments of our radar's imagination as they kept magically breaking up.  So, around the witching hour (the one where our children turn into ravenous, impatient little people who must be attended to right now or else they will become banshees), we faced a decision:  There was a (literal) room at the inn and we had the chance to grab it as insurance from those promised and threatening severe storms but we had to make that decision imediamente.  

We paid the $130 insurance policy.

There were also no subsequent storms.

It was a beautiful night for camping.

Oh, the joy that nestled in my heart.

The boy and I were on a camping trip with siblings 11 years ago that was the opposite of this experience.  During ye olden era of 2008, none of us had smart anything or tuned into anything resembling THE WEATHER FORECAST.  Here's what our rationale for the trip likely entailed:  It is summer.  Summer is hot.  Today is sunny.  Today is a sunny, hot, summer day.

Did you know that sunny, hot summer days can also (freakishly) turn into scary, turbulent, stormy summer nights?  True enough.

That trip resulted in leaking tents, scary lightening, high winds, a mad scramble for a hotel room that could house 6 people sometime in the midnight-2 AM range, a wallet left out on a picnic table, and a brand new turned ruined canopy.

It seemed like the prudent idea to grab the room at the inn and not challenge the camping gods again.  And I did get to sleep in a bed instead that night.  But still.

IF we had the space and IF we had a few extra grand (can we talk about a new shed and a new roof and new flooring-that-costs-more-than-the-roof-because-the-previous-owners-installed-it-wrong), we would probably be looking for something like this: 

Because nothing says "riding out the storms at the campground" like a vintage 1970 Shasta camper.  

(It's actually pretty sweet inside.)

It has to be an upgrade over sleeping on dirt and tree roots.

One more trip around her sun

Birthday season happens in some furious bursts around here.  Fresh on the heels of reckoning with the Elder's age change, we have another one today with the Younger.  She is every bit a force clothed in the guise of a cuddle bug.  This one is my special little something that is alternately incomprehensible and perfectly predictable.  Sometimes, that's how our days go as well - as if a veritable pendulum swings us one way and then another.  She loves her people fiercely, and I have no idea what her future will look like.  She's a chameleon who doesn't give us any indication where she will establish her groove into her life's journey.  I find that delicious and tantalizing that there will be options a plenty: It's a joy to watch her casually explore her possibilities.  

She is always our last one to ... and that gives me the feels on a day like today.  She's the last one that I will carry across a parking lot.  She's the last one who will let me hold her hand.  She's the last one who I will drop off before school.  She's the last one who will let me read to her.  I'm not one who cares two pennies for many a socially expected sentimental milestone (my children want to skip the rigmarole of a graduation ceremony...good for them!  skip Senior year entirely and graduate early...YES and PLEASE!), but these are my milestones that I care deeply about, ones that are largely found in the solitude of just me and my girl.  My favorite milestones are measured in the distance between our hands, the space between our cheeks, and the span of our arms.  

This is enough.

 

 

Figuring out what 10 looks like

The Elder is a giganto 1-0 today...fully embracing that decade status.  You might think to yourself that three's not so much of a difference between 9 and 10 years, but there seems to be big changes on the horizon. 

Case in point: NO birthday cake today.  Apparently, we are raising a heathen.  Instead, she wanted a big bowl of homemade whipped cream, a big bowl of chocolate buttercream frosting (which has been her favorite "food" for years now...we talk about it a lot), and ice cream (sorbet and ice cream).  She conceded to throwing some strawberries in there for some sort of nominal foundation for that sugar surge. 

She is truly living her best life, it seems.

A few weeks ago, she learned how to ride her bike.  And I am furiously OK with her waiting until she cared about riding a bike to do this, even if that looks like 9-years old.  And now we're anticipating this kiddo riding herself to school and then back home again all by herself next year.  It's only through our neighborhood, about 1/2 a mile, but there are still things like intersections and teenage drivers and will-she-get-herself-out-of-the-hosue-on-time-all-by-herself that we're going to need to contend with and bump into and generally figure out is a normal transitioning process for a kid her age.  More compelling in this new next-school-year scenario is that she'll be coming home to an empty house every day after school. 

Is this what really happens when your kid suddenly comes up to your shoulders?  WHO KNEW that 21" suddenly morphs into 48" virtually overnight?  It's a mystery (beffudling many, I'm sure).

Meanwhile, I'll just leave this hear to soothe my tender heart strings.  I might revisit this page a few many, many times (just to, you know, glance at my girl).

 

Daily YES

So I started this 2 weeks ago.  I’m finishing it and posting it tonight because of all that’s coming out in the next paragraph.  That’s me life, mates.

All, listen up.  I have more book-y things that I can’t help but talk about (again).  2019 is my year of remembering what I love about reading, I think.  It just so happens that these book-y things have corresponded largely with ends of semesters and beginning of a new course, and 100 essays due.  But that’s also partly why I’m here today:

What is saving your life, today?

I halfheartedly listen to a podcast that ends every show asking the guest this Barbara Brown Taylor question: What is saving your life today?  And in my moments of mind-boggling business, I’m trying to find those chunks of time (even if it’s just 3 or 5 minutes while I’m waiting for the next thing to start) and to remember those daily rituals that truly do save my life right now. 

One of those key “things” for me right now is BOOKS.

A few years ago, I virtually s-t-o-p-p-e-d reading fiction.  I didn’t stop reading…just fiction unless I knew for 100% and certain that I was probably going to like it, which means that I pretty much quit the habit.  I dove hard into memoir and non-fiction, which I was finding to be more reliably satisfying for me.  I went through a period of time where it seemed like virtually every fiction book I picked up was gimmicky, cheesy, trite, predictable, formulaic, and gag-inducing.  Largely speaking, I loathe first person perspective.  Generally, I don’t want to see the end of the story in the first chapter.  Often, I find dialogue tired and irritating.

However, I’ve discovered book-ish podcasts, as I’ve mentioned.  Spoiler: I now listen to 3 a week. 

These really get my ink filled heart ventricles pumping, let me tell you.  Maybe it’s the soothing tones of the podcasters’ voices.  Maybe it’s their collective ability to hit on the best bits of the stories.  Maybe it’s something else…don’t know.  But it’s almost single handedly reunited me with fiction, and I’ve been hoovering up a good bit of it (at least relative to my recent couple of years).  Renewing my confidence in a good story is truly saving my life right now.

(Also, one particular kind of coconut granola.  It’s perfection.  I buy myself 1 box a week and burn through it often M-W.  There are more than 3 servings in a box.  Imagine how I feel when I read while eating a large-y bowl-ful.)

I meant to write a gabby little post over Spring Break five weeks ago about book-y things and book-ness and probably some book-itude, but it never happened because, honestly, I was reading.  So I’ll add this to my life saving moments: carving out thou-shalt-have-these-few-moments-each-day-just-for-reading time has been such a boon to my mental health of late.  I work ever so much better when I set myself up with manageable chunks of work to do each night and then STOP.  Knowing that I have a personality that enjoys a challenge, even if that challenge is DUMB, like “how much can I work tonight?” is h-u-g-e to understanding my limits.  If I don’t set them from the outset, then I just don’t stop well or enough.  That’s another one that’s really saving me right now.  And it only took me a decade and a half of adulthood to start figuring that one out.  (Maybe if I had read a book about it earlier…)

And so, like the particular coconut granola and my book time, I have a few more things that individually are a blip on the day’s radar but collectively are evidence of me supporting ME.

·      Taking a deep breath

·      Not caring if I’m wearing my same, favorite clothes a lot

·      Ice cream – just a few bites

·      Ginger beer – so delicious

·      Food in the freezer – not just the ice cream, but packing lunches is ever so much easier when you can pull a muffin or some flatbread out of the freezer to get things started

·      Project VII front porch lemonade gum

·      Waiting an extra 5 minutes to wake up the girls in the morning – a few more pages of reading & we still get out of the house at the same, general time

Two weeks ago, I had included “Funny, funny teenagers – they’re really something” on my list.  I’ve since removed that.  They’re no longer saving my life (shortening it, more likely); they’re all the feels, though.

It’s been grey and dreary all day, but right now as I am thinking about how to wrap this rambling bit of thoughts up, I glanced out the window and see perfect pre-summer sunset colors.  Less rain lately & more sun…saving my life.  Bless.

A few books of late

Folks,

Every time I work through a couple of books quicker than normal leaves me with a sense of awe.  Why yes, I did just read for fun.  Sure thing I did nothing but just read for a bit.  I know that I've mentioned this before, but it's truly one of the most mind boggling possibilities in my life right now.  The cool thing about the spring semester is that my Spring Breaks are staggered a bit, which effectively draws out one week off to about a month of low workload (read: GRADING).  And. That. Means. More. Reading.

A sample from the last week...

The Reckoning by John Grisham - 400+ pages, done in 1 week while working full-time and keeping 2 minors alive every day

It's a lot of classic Grisham and a decent amount of a different perspective that we've not seen from him before.  Here's the thing.  We still all love Grisham for classic Grisham writing.  But after a couple of dozen novels, I get how he wants to try new things.  I'm cool with that.  I'm even more cool with that when it's caught up in something that's well familiar and, as aforementioned, well loved.  Dang, but he's a good storyteller.  It's hard to get readers to care about characters that they don't like and aren't supposed to like.

Tracks by Robyn Davidson - 200-ish pages, taking longer to get through

I'm a bit too meh about this, but it's gripping in the unexpected.  She's not the best writer, but she also makes no bones about not trying to be.   There are enough Australian moments and wordings that pass me by to keep things tingly as we go, which is really what I like best about it.  I don't want to be reading another American's privileged journey.  Here's the thing...I don't really know WHY the journey was a necessary moment in her life.  And that's a bit disorienting.  But, there are camels.  And who knew that camels could be so interesting. ***Addendum since I've finished reading this: It never paid off for me, but I OK enjoyed it because camels and Australia.***

The Cafe by the Sea: A novel by Jenny Colgan - almost 400 pages, not a debut novel but rather reads like one (a bit twisty, loose ends that are long in the set-up but quick in the resolution)

It's nice to read something that tastes a little bit familiar in a vastly different and unknown environment.  Overall, light and fluffy is sometimes so satisfying just to flip-flip-flip through a chunk of pages.  Skim read.  Who cares if you remember all the details?  Jettison a few chapters instead of just one before bed.  This was my runner-up option to take this new author for a spin, and I think I'll come back for another round once I find the book I was trying for to begin with.

I'm dabbling in the possibility of utilizing more audio books, something I've never really used for myself being more of a podcast kind of girl.  But those podcasts are going to have to go on hiatus for a bit.  Because it turns out that I can listen to a couple of Mary Roach books, which have long been on my list to explore.  And if you're on the Mary Roach fan club, let me know which is your favorite (I have Stiff waiting on deck ready to go tomorrow).  

I have words to hear and sentences to explore, new story lines that I've never been privy to before.  I'm 10 books done for 2019, and it's a comparable feeling (I imagine) as looking up from your iPhone one day in a crowded cafe and locking eyes with the one who you used to believe was going to be the love of your life but has only turned into a passing acquaintance.  But then that eye catching moments leaves you realizing that YES, you remember why this person is so perfect in any way, despite the flaws and weird quirks (s)he has.  It's time to rekindle some of that old fire.

Today: nothing special & pretty great

Today,

1.  I got paid to sit at my desk on my day off and grade for 5+ hours...sounds like a scam, but it even involved doughnut holes.  For the win.

2.  I played Scrabble (the real one) with my 6-year old, who is thrilled to play 2 & 3 letter words and didn't that I got the J, the X, the Z, and the Q and threw them down on a couple of triple letter tiles.  Boss points that we weren't keeping.

3.  I made dinner.  And extra dinner for the week.  And cinnamon rolls for a carry-in brunch at church (have sweeter words ever been uttered before...!?!).  And no one complained that dinner was 40-ish minutes late in so doing.  And it felt great flexing my triple-dipping-at-a-time skills.  Cutting board kung fu.

4.  I got to just read out loud to my child.  Some day they won't want me to anymore.  My soul feels a little bit shrively when I consider that possibility.  (Our pastor will tell me "You read well" when I volunteer for the prayers at church.  I think to myself "I have months upon years of practice.  I can narrate Paul in his letters to the Corinthians like a boss.")  Voices for every chracter.

5.  I ate 2 1/2 of the cinnamon rolls in front of my child while they were perfectly warm, soft & pillowy, and she didn't notice.  Admittedly, I take some joy in my ninja skills.  Plus, I needed her to eat some peas for the love of vegetables.  All were happy.

6.  The boy single parented most of the day, and props to him because winter is wearing on that guy's soul, and the girls have been sharp like icicles a few times too many when he's been wearing the proverbial parent hat.  But then he had some quality Monopoly time and work time and chit-chat-just-because-time with the Elder.  Some things are true and necessary.  For the love.

7.  I got to write a court report tonight for my CASA kid and just glow in it for the first time - so many good things happening, so long in coming.  We're on the upswing here.  Thanks be.

8.  I heard the Younger sing.  And sing.  And SING unconsciously.  She just does, with all of the joyful verve and abandon that a 6-year old can bring to to the table.  She has a knack for picking up on lyrics, and there's something delightfully ironic (if not forehead-slapping-I-can't-believe-my-kid-sings-this) about a tiny tot putting some soul into "Jolene" and the one who's "begging on my knees, don't take my man."  Eat your heart out, Dolly.

9.  There have been a couple of rounds of thunderstorms roll through - honest to goodness, I just jumped out of my skin thunder boomers.  Tonight, the boy added "spring thunderstorms" to our thankful prayer because any sign that the end is drawing 'nigh is a praise ye, hallelujah.  Let it be so. 

10.  Books are saving my soul right now.  Get thee to a book repository and read Tsh Oxenreider's At Home in the World: Reflections on belonging while wondering the globe.  Post haste.  I may have absolutely searched flights and guesthouse rental options for Europe last night.  There's validation in the pages that discomfort and childish airport shenanigans are, you know, worth traveling through.  Why do we need the OKAY in order to take our children and go do world things (not resort things but real, honest-to-different-culture-world-things)?  I don't know.  But validation sure helps.  My itchy travel itch is getting all itched up.  Let's go.

unrelenting grossness

Folks, this winter is the worst.  I’m sure I think that and feel that every winter.  But I’m serious this time.  (Until next winter.)  As a point of comparison, the boy hasn’t had a full 5 days of school any week yet this semester, and they returned from school on January 3.  This winter has all of the bad weather possibilities.  Literally, all of them.  On consecutive days.  Snow, fog, and thunder storms within 24 hours…mind boggling.

Because I live here and that means I actually live in the upstairs of our house for the 6-months of the year when the furnace is in use and hot air rises, I haven’t seen the boy much lately.  He is of the (s-t-r-a-n-g-e) notion that if one wears enough socks and t-shirt/long-sleeved t-shirt/sweater/sweatshirts all at once, then the downstairs is bearable.  I disagree.  I do, however, require slippers/2 blankets/a sweatshirt/a heater of a cat/all of the upstairs heat in order to maintain my winter comfort.  But that also brings about more possibility of STATIC ELECTRICITY. 

Again, I insist that we all consider this to winter to be the absolute worst. 

Case in point: The boy washed a load of blankets because a mercifully short but still germy round of sickness & contagion hit the house.  Some of us like to wrap up in blankets when we are not feeling in tip-top shape.  Some of us like even more to wrap up in MOMMY’S blankets when we’re not feeling at our very best.  So into the wash went Mommy’s blankets.  I retrieved them tonight from the dryer deliciously warm and toasty, ready to wrap up in that luxury only to be (figuratively but also literally) DEMOLISHED by static electricity in separating the blankets to reposition into perfect tuckage-innage-nestage. 

Serious face: During this process, I did entertain the thought that “This hurts now, but it will all be worth it.”  In other words, no pain – no gain. 

One shouldn’t have to contend with considering her personal pain threshold when trying to tuck into blankets.  THIS WINTER IS THE WORST.

As a last point of contention, exhibit Q: I have to dope myself up with 2000 units of vitamin D because my levels are PERILOUSLY LOW (emphasis & embellishment mine).  In other words, THIS WINTER IS THE WORST BECAUSE THERE HAS BEEN NO SUN IN WHICH I WISH TO PARTAKE. 

(Conversation with P.A. who ultimately sent me over to “the labs” for an $800 blood draw that I DID NOT know was $800)

“Are you tired a lot?”

“I teach 9 classes.”

“So…are you tired a lot?”

“See previous answer.”

“Take vitamin D.  Women in the Midwest often have really low levels which leads to feelings of tiredness.”

)

But no matter what the cesspool that is WINTER throws at me, I can still eat ice cream. 

(Yes, it probably is because of the layers upon layers of clothing and languishing in all of the warm air in this house.)

Also, snow banks are fun to drive through and I hope that I don’t accidentally hit someone’s mailbox in so doing because sometimes, I think I get really close.  That would be embarrassing. 

1,000 miles

When you sit down to hammer out the deadlines and details and end up a couple of hours later with your head spinning because all of the numbers to juggle...

The beginning of the semester: lots of dates, lots of assignment points, lots of bits and details that you sometimes remember to do and sometimes don't.  And I'm also trying to jam in all of the reading that I can manage and all of the rounds of Skip-Bo and Yahtzee that we can happily play together.  But it's a good kind of busy.

Except for the painting that I'm (hopefully) finishing up today.  I'm done with painting.

But I'm also going to run first because painting makes me tired, it turns out.  And this year, I'm tracking my exercise miles with a goal for at least 1,000 miles this calendar year.  I broke out my new pair of shoes to start me off, though some of my toes are still getting a bit numb around 15-18 minutes in, but they fit like champs and they have that delightful, grippy feel that just makes me feel faster. 

(But I'm not faster.  True story:  I've slowed down a couple of ticks from where I was running last year and added a couple of extra pounds last year.  I see a correlation, but I'm also hungry a lot.)

But 1,000 miles: 20 miles for 50 weeks.  If you want, check in with me throughout the year.  Once the semester starts, it's really easy to justify a short run every time (2.3 miles = 300 calories x 5 times a week = not enough miles). 

I like round numbers.  I like goals to aim for.  And I really like the accomplishment of an extended effort.  Slow and steady this year, folks.  Let's do it.