I’m writing.

Letter by letter.

Word by word.

Line by line.

Turning the page

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away…

Oops, wrong story. Here’s mine:

A while back – like, four years ago, which is EONS in Internet time, Kira got her eyes lasered, and I waxed poetically, albeit enviously, about how I understood her decision completely and wished I was getting my eyesight fixed too.  Of course, I didn’t, mainly because, hello, that-money-could-should-will-be-spent-elsewhere, but, you know, I still had – and have – a case of laser-envy.

Guess what Kira did this spring? She had a baby. This lovely little baby called Sophia, who is brilliant and charming and pretty, and the perfect girly punctuation mark to a trio of three older brothers.

~~>crickets

Yeah, I’m not having a baby either.  And I don’t plan to, but wow, it’s been weird inside my head lately.

The decision to close that chapter of our lives was made some time ago – the “baby” here is 12, and I think I’m finally starting to get the hang of sort-of beginning to appreciate my “big girls” as adults and all the wonderful, interesting things that means to the mother-daughter relationship.  They – except “the baby” – are through high school, and paying their own cell phone bills and making life decisions,  and my next car will not have to be a minivan. It’s all pretty good. Really.

But I keep seeing myself with a baby, and wondering, is it so crazy to wonder if that was the right choice to make? And the answer, of course, is  yes – it is a little crazy.  Ok, a lot crazy.  So I’m going to chalk these weird ideas up to my mind’s way of coping with a transition that, as much as I’m ready for it, embracing it even, I’m a little sad about.  And a little scared about.

I have never been Super Mom. As much as my life has been about raising kids, lo, these last 20 years, it’s been about other things too – discovering my own unique talents and interests, growing as a person, sharing a set of long-term dreams with my husband.  I’ve never been one of those moms who’s spent the time away from the kids in some kind of holding pattern, waiting for them to return home from school so that I could ply them with cookies and help them with their homework.

So it’s never just been about the kids. But now, as the backdrop of Brownies and baseball and bedtime stories begins its final fade, I’m wondering, what next? There have been several times in recent weeks where I’ve found myself completely alone in the house, in sole possession of the remote control, a hundred books on the shelf to read for hours without interruption, and there I am, thinking: ok, this is fun, but where is everyone and when are they coming home?

Or maybe I’m just scared that when there are no more excuses – no more distractions – I might just have to sit down and write something. And what if I can’t? Because  I can’t figure out where the words went, and on nights like tonight, that makes me want to cry.

So, no, I don’t really want a baby. Really not. Although babies are great. But I’ve had great babies. It’s just not knowing what comes next  – and how to make it great – that’s scaring the heck out of me.

At last, something worth reading

Once again, it’s the mid-week book review.  I picked up two books just prior to my Iowan Odyssey last month, (which was wonderful thankyouverymuch and I really should blog about THAT) and have now finished both of them, plus one more. And since I’m on a major deadline with four things on my to-do list that MUST be done in the next 90 minutes, why not stop everything and blog about books?

Things I Want My Daughters To Know, by Elizabeth Noble

Unlike Angry Housewives Eating Bonbons, Noble’s earlier books The Reading Group and The Tenko Club did not send me raving to friends about them. (all had similar premises, but only Angry Housewives, by Lorna Landvik, stood out for me). However, I didn’t dislike them enough to not want to try Noble’s latest venture, Things I Want My Daughters To Know.

It was much, much better than Noble’s other books I’ve read.

Structured around a dying mother and how her letters and journals carry her daughters through their first year without her, there were times when I felt the corners of my eyes prickling with tears as I imagined what I’d tell my own daughters – or what they might wish I would have told them. The fear that time will run out before all the right things have been said or done – is that everyone’s fear, or only my own? The daughters were sympathetic characters and written as one would expect sisters to be written – different enough to be individual but similar enough to be connected.

Huge thumbs up for this one, and enough to make me take my place firmly among those called Elizabeth Noble’s fans.

My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult

I’ve seen Picoult’s books on the shelves (who hasn’t?) and heard her name mentioned now and again in book talk, but it was seeing the trailer for the upcoming movie version of this novel that prompted me to buy. The importance of artwork – in the last few years, despite seeing entire shelves filled with Picoult’s distinctive covers, all facing front, I have never been curious enough to pick one up and read the cover copy.

My Sister’s Keeper, for those out-of-the-know, is about 13-year-old Anna, who was born for one reason – to keep her older sister from dying. The crisis is that Anna has decided she doesn’t want to do it anymore.

My 17-year-old and I talked about this book for close to an hour once we’d both finished it, and that alone would have made it worth reading.  But the story is captivating. So often, we read headlines, and studies, or listen to debates about the struggle between science and ethics, butit’s hard to attach a face to the theory. Stem cell research, genetic manipulation, etc. are so abstract for most of us – we pick a side or develop an opinion without fully internalizing that cells and embryos become people.  Sister’s Keeper posed some hard questions, and as the narrative moved back and forth through each character’s point of view, I found myself changing my mind and then changing it back again. Several times. In the end I found I really didn’t know where I stood after all.

The one thing I didn’t like, and the daughter agreed, was the ending. It was shocking and unexpected, and felt like a major cop-out on the author’s part.  So I put it down feeling pleased with the story and cheated by the conclusion.

Note: In my copy, Picoult’s Handle With Care is previewed at the end. I ploughed through the preview, but found the story so disturbing that I doubt I will be picking it up. The few pages there have actually instigated a few bad dreams and one nightmare. But maybe that’s just me.

Vanishing Acts by Jodi Picoult

Having disregarded Handle With Care as a possibility, I at least decided to check out the cover copy on some of Picoult’s other offerings during my next book purchase. I chose Vanishing Acts and I’m glad I did.

Delia’s life is turned upside down – at least the life she thought she had, that is. From that pivotal point, Delia’s journey and those of those she hold dearest is also told from several different viewpoints, and Picoult does this well. Again, you find yourself taking sides, but for me there was no doubt at all, start to finish, of which player I was rooting for. Complex characters that evoke both sympathy and empathy narrate, in distinctive voices, their side of the story.

An interesting thing happened about halfway through though. I remembered the end of Sister’s Keeper, and all of a sudden, I wondered what Picoult was going to pull this time. I didn’t trust the author to deliver the ending I was half expecting and mostly hoping for. That has never happened to me when I’ve been reading before – liking a story and suddenly not wanting to finish it because I was afraid I wouldn’t like the ending. Authors might want to keep that in mind – reader loyalty is vital: don’t toy with it.

However, Picoult didn’t cheat me this time. Read it – you’ll like it.

There is no “me” in team either

Some people look ahead to the years when their children will be grown and envision vacations for two or candlelit dinners. Others imagine a time when the remote will always be right where you left it, when you’ll struggle to use a litre of milk before it goes bad, and when the washing machine becomes a place you only visit once a week.

Me, I’m looking forward to the day when there will never again be someone working into the wee small hours of the night on a “group” project. Alone.

I’m a reasonably intelligent soul. I get the purpose behind encouraging students to work as a group. I know that collaborative, co-operative efforts often crop up in the work world too, and that it helps to have mastered some sort of ability to “work well with others.”

But seriously. What is the point in assigning these things to little humans who can’t drive themselves to wherever the “group” has decided to gather, have no control over what time dinner is, aren’t allowed to miss Scouts/baseball/piano becuase “you made a commitment” and have a set bedtime? Not to mention the always-gotta-have-one group member who really doesn’t care all that much about getting a ‘C’ and so chooses not to participate or produces a half-assed effort that leaves the other group members left with the choice to pick up the slack or face the consequences of someone else’s actions? (or inactions, as the case may be)

And almost no one stays friends after a group project in elementary school, so I’m not quite sure what the kids are learning about building relationships.

If you’re going to assign group projects, then do ‘em on school time. Don’t make group work my kid’s PITA. Because resentment, frustration and anger aren’t pretty in anyone. And it’s hard enough to teach kids’ to be responsible for their own stuff without demanding they be responsible for someone else’s.

Rituals

Next Door Neighbour has been there for a few years now, but he’s the second in a series of never-seen-never-home-does-he-really-exist owners in that location, so there haven’t been many conversations over the fence over the years.  We know his first name, and have a vague idea of what he does for a living – someone’s comings and goings are hard to ignore when the houses are three feet apart.

His yard gets a little wild this time of year – wilder than most. We don’t say much, because there are times our yard borders on the absolutely-neglected as well, and we can understand a lifestyle where pushing a lawnmower around the back 40 doesn’t rank very high on the priority list. Not everyone is cut out for manicured flower beds, edged sidewalks and carefully tended perennials.

However, a few weeks ago, it appears that Next Door Neighbour acquired a room-mate of the relationship-type. There’s been a few more signs of life than usual, and a little more in-passing conversation. Yesterday, the backyard was getting hacked and raked and weeded. Later on, I noticed the two of them standing on their back sidewalk.

Their back was to me, but the stance was so familiar. The two of them stood, arm in arm, and gazed at the acreage, exchanging quiet conversation. There was some sweeping gesturing and pointing. It was cute.

And it struck me that I am familiar with that pose. To stand, side by side, and survey what’s yours. To take a joint apparisal of what you are responsible for, to discuss what it is, what you’d like it to be, what it could become. To describe enthusiastically your vision to another person, and listen, just as enthusiastically, to the other’s mind’s eye as well.

It’s a couple thing. In twenty years, how many times have we adopted that we-can-tackle-this-together position, and then moved on into the fray? I never realized, until yesterday, how universal this must be among couples. It’s kind of reassuring really. And a pretty neat part of being married.

And now you all think I’m a creepy stalker who stares at the neighbours out the window. But I’m not, really. For how can one write about the world if one does not look at it every now and then?

At risk of becoming a blog about middle age

Yet another how/when/why did I get so old post. Went to the Little League game tonight. It’s early in the season, so all the mommies and daddies are just getting comfortable with each other. I spent 20 minutes having a lovely conversation with another mom, reminiscing about our own Little League days in the ‘hood. At one point, our experiences contradicted each other, and I fluffed it off as, “well, I must have played a few years before you did.”

“Not really,” she answered. “I’m a year older than you.”

I spent about 15 seconds wondering how in Dog’s name this complete stranger could know exactly how old I was. I took off my sunglasses and squinted at her and realized she’d been in my Grade 9 Biology class and that we’d been married in the same church.

I was very embarassed and apologized for not putting two and two together. Especially when she said, “I have a signed copy of your book!”

Gah.

Plus, my children are starting to wonder if there’s anyone I don’t know, as this happens with alarming frequency. Guess it’s bound to happen when you stay pretty close to home your entire life. But I never imagined myself starting conversations with “Before we begin getting to know each other, can I ask if we already do? Saves time and sheepishness and all that.”

Or maybe I should just not wear sunglasses that obscure my vision.

Wait just a freakin’ minute now….

When one has taken to making weekly visits online to Entertainment Weekly to keep up with the Lost coverage, one tends to accidentally absorb OTHER information. Ok, not absorb it, as such. Let’s say, notice and file away for future processing. Like when you’re wandering back and forth to the fridge and you notice a a bread tag on the floor, but you’re headed for the fridge, and then you’re focused on the food you’re making/eating, then on the dishes, and you see the bread tag nine times and somewhere, a little voice in your head says, “You’re going to have to do something about that bread tag. Like, ACKNOWLEDGE it and DEAL with it.” But the slightly louder voice in your head is muttering “fridge/food/dishes/breadtagLATER.”

What, that doesn’t happen to you?

It happens to me. And as I said, I’ve been visiting EW weekly for a few months and quickly clicking right through to the Lost coverage, but that home page still registers, you know? And today, I went to EW online, but you know, Lost is over now…

DIGRESSION: And by the way, the season finale could have been just two scenes longer and I would have been fine with that. I mean, fade to white without our Losties reuniting? That’s just cruel.

Anyway, Lost is over, which leaves me to notice other stuff on EW, and today I saw that they’re remaking Red Dawn, which is the latest in a succession of notices about remakes of other 80’s movies and TV movies, like Footloose, the Karate Kid, V, Short Circuit…

To which I say…bleh. I mean, it ain’t been that long, people. I am NOT that old. And while some of these movies may not have been much in the first place, (personally I think Weird Science should never have happened), can you imagine if there’s truth to the rumour that another Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is coming? You can’t improve on that, you simply can’t.

And some of these were so very 1980s, if you know what I mean. A new Red Dawn? Who’s the enemy going to be? What will Red Dawn look like post 9/11?

There’s got to be new stories to tell. I know that the themes of these movies are, in many ways, timeless, but you can still tell a new story, or put it in a new place. How about a movie with a 2003-type blackout as a backdrop? Or a movie about a group of teenagers that have to go 48 hours without a cell phone in their hands? That would be interesting.

Or something.  But 20 or so years isn’t long enough to wax nostalgic about, not yet – after all, I still have my Tommy Howell scrapbook stashed around here somewhere.  And the current generation of movie makers is more than clever enough to come up with their own statements without repeating the past.

Apparently, an F-0 tornado doesn’t necessarily lead to a yellow brick road

“May you live in interesting times,” goes the saying, and it has been nothing short of interesting around here.

I’ve spent my whole life living along what is known as “Tornado Alley,” and spent a childhood thankful that I had a basement bedroom.  Ever since I saw that episode of Little House on the Prairie where Laura foolishly leaves the safety of the storm cellar to fetch the cat, I was plagued (ok, moderately annoyed) by occasional nightmares about a funnel cloud coming for me and mine. Should it happen while I was asleep, I reasoned, at least I was already in the basement, and therefore, safe.

And yet, in spite of “the big one” that brought down the local curling club back in 1974, an event I was too young to imprint, and in spite of summer after summer of at least one scarily-green sky, I’ve been lucky enough to escape seeing, or experiencing, a tornado close up.

Until last week, when one dropped into the neighbourhood. Like, two blocks away. Before my very own eyes.

I was reading on the porch, and felt the wind pick up. It had been a very breezy day, so it didn’t seem out of the ordinary. I leaned forward over the railing when I thought I saw a flash of lightning to see if there would be another one. At the same time, a very loud roaring sound began.

We’re in the flight path of some very large cargo jets, so even then, it didn’t seem out of the ordinary. (can you imagine how wiggy I was after 9/11?) Except it got louder. And, Lost addict that I sadly am, I looked over to the water tower, suddenly convinced that a plane was about to crash.

As I looked at the skyline, watching for the errant plane of my imagination, a whirling cloud of debris appeared in the air. Not a funnel cloud, or a storm cloud – a DEBRIS cloud. My thought process went like this:

There are pieces of wood – LARGE pieces of wood – in the air. Large pieces of wood don’t belong in the air. Did a plane crash? DEAR DOG IT’S A TORNADO.

I ran inside shouting, and The Man shooed us toward the basement. Except, one problem: The Baby had gone out riding her bike ten minutes before.

So while my 12-year-old was a block away doing her Dorothy Gale impression, riding hell-bent for home, we her parents were playing Uncle Henry and Auntie Em and shouting her name at the top of our lungs on the lawn.

The whole thing lasted about ten minutes, just long enough to be scared silly. Dorothy sped up the sidewalk, raced for the basement and we could hear it end as we dashed in the front door ourselves. There was a light rain for a few minutes and later, we walked over to take some pictures of where it hit – TWO blocks away.

I kept describing it to the kids as "it ripped the roof off the beer store!" Alas, it has not been the beer store in their lifetime, and is currently a union hall. The roof, or parts of it, as you can see, is lying in the road. The building belong to the roof is on the right.

This guy's front windows were all smashed, I think from flying debris. The yellow stuff is insulation from the beer store roof, and yellow bits were scattered as far as six blocks away.

I think this was soffit from the roof.

I live two blocks on the oppostie side of this water tower. Close call!

It took three days before Environment Canada was willing to call it a tornado for sure, and it came in at F-0, the lowest rating possible. However, it was plenty of excitement for me, and if I never see another one, that’ll be okay.

Another week of mediocre reading

Yep, it’s been a whole week since I dazzled you with my not-so-brilliant book reviews, and it’s been a week of dud, dud, dud.

Ok, only two duds. But considering I only read two books, that’s pretty bad.

Astonishing Splashes of Colour by Claire Morrall

It wasn’t a BAD book. But it’s not one that’s going to linger in my memory, nor one I’m likely to pick up again.

Kitty, our heroine, has synesthesia, a condition that causes her to perceive the world through colours, hence the title. Although initially the author does a great job of conveying the difference in perspective, the narrative bogs down after a while, and Kitty’s unique view of the world doesn’t seem to be nearly as relevant as the fact that her father and brothers are emotionally unavailable, self-centred jerks. The surprise three-quarters of the way through, by the time we got to it, wasn’t a surprise by that time, and the remainder of the story was slightly unbelieveable.

I don’t know what the author intended the message to be, but I did find some value in what I took from it – namely the themes of self-delusion and denial, which are interesting to examine. Kitty’s brothers seemed equally mired in these pursuits, making her synesthesia not nearly as important as I suspect the author hoped it would be.

Curious Incudent of the Dog in the Night-time did a MUCH better job of showing the world through the eyes of someone who sees “different”.

The Secret Lives of the Sushi Club by Christy Yorke

Yet another tome about four women who like each other, then don’t, then do again. But it’s also about nature and ecology. And  rivers. And terrorism.  And Game Boys. And there’s nothing about sushi.

There’s just way too much going on in this book for it to truly focus on what it purports to be about – the relationship between four friends and how it’s affected by the actions of one.  The first chapter/intro just about lost me – I stuck with it though. And waited, until the very last sentence, for it to get better. It didn’t, much. It’s also got half a dozen viewpoints, and they’re not necessarily neatly divided. Hard for the reader to keep track of – and hard for the writer too, apparently, as I caught two or three instances of head-hoppping along the way.

It’s kind of about women and friendship. And love and loss and regret. And a river.  If the river had been just a backdrop, it might have worked, but the author seemed to want the river to be more than that.

If you’re looking for a book about women and friendship, try Angry Housewives Eating Bonbons instead.

So I’ve now read my 4 books for $10, and it wasn’t worth it. In desperation, I’ve started re-reading Tell Me Lies by Jennifer Cruisie for the third time, because at least I know I’m going to like it. And it looks like the next Diana Gabaldon Outlander series book is coming in September!

Mid Week Book Review

I’ve been on a reading frenzy the last few weeks. I’d picked up a new book by a favourite author for my week away, went back and re-read a few of her others and decided it was time to read something new. Not as a result of being disappointed in the re-reading, mind you, just a desire to get out of a rut.

So off to Chapters, gift cards in hand, I did go. For once, I managed to cobble together a few likelies from the 4 for $10 table, and picked up some extras to boot. I’m still working through that pile, but I’m not feeling way satisfied so far.

Here’s my take on the pages I’ve perused these last few weeks:

Heart and Soul by Maeve Binchy

You can’t go wrong with Maeve Binchy, or at least I can’t. I love love love the way she writes, and the way her writing has evolved over the years. I first fell in love with the lady’s writing at the tender age of 10 or 11, when I read an excerpt from Light a Penny Candle in my mother’s Good Housekeeping Magazine.  I eventually caught up with all that she wrote through the 80s and 90s and have been able to keep pace with her releases for the last several years. Heart and Soul brings together characters from several recent books – Nights of Rain and Stars, Whitethorn Woods, even Evening Class, and others and expands on their stories, as well as introducing new characters. I love how this has become a pattern in the books of the latter part of Binchy’s continuing career. This was the vacation book – nice, light reading that is both new and familiar all at once.

The Ten Year Nap by Meg Wolitzer

The back-cover copy and a quick flip-through were intriguing enough to make me buy, but once I got started I found myself reading it just so I could say I finished it. It’s a familiar refrain – successful career woman puts it all on hiatus to stay home and mother and then starts to wonder if that’s all there is? I have a really hard time relating to characters like this or having any sympathy for them – their money angst stems from trying to afford private school and piano lessons on hubby’s six-figure salary alone and they just don’t walk in a world that’s familiar to me. It’s not about working or not working, or what’s more fulfilling – these women just don’t seem to ever consider that there might be a happy middle ground. I had the same issues a few years ago with I Don’t Know How She Does It by Allison Pearson. While Nap’s women aren’t quite as…bitter…I still didn’t find them likeable, and therefore, it was hard to muster a whole lot of compassion.

My Sister From the Black Lagoon by Laurie Fox

This novelized version of the author’s life growing up with a mentally ill sister started strong. She did a good job of illustrating the confusion and conflict I could imagine a young child experiencing in that atmosphere, but the later chapters just seem to…wander. I kept waiting for the triumph, the epiphany, as it were, but it never seemed to come. Perhaps she does succeed after all, then…it’s an age-old lesson that you bring who you are with you wherever you go.  Where I get hung up is my personal belief that it’s not about how life events have shaped who you are…it’s what you do with who you are. Again, I finished it to finish it. There was a line though, that resonated…and I’m paraphrasing here: “When I run out of gas, everyone that’s riding in my car stops too.”

The Solomon Sisters Wise Up by Melissa Senate

Just to prove I’m a walking contradiction – I couldn’t really relate to any of these characters either but I loved the book. It’s funny, sad, compassionate and complicated, but it works. I’ve only read one other Senate novel, The Break-Up Club, and liked it, but this was WAY better. Classic chick lit, in its way, but with more meaning. Or maybe I’m just a sucker for girls with daddy issues. This would make a great movie too – I could see the scenes as I was reading, and was almost disappointed when it was over.

So, there’s where I’m at. I’ve just started Astonishing Splashes of Color by Claire Morrall, so it looks like I’m continuing on the exploring mental illness theme. This, however, is flowing, and even early on there are some twists that keep the pages turning. I hope it stays good. And I really, really wish that my local bookstore would carry Lani’s books. Also, how long until the next Diana Gabaldon? Summer’s coming!