I recently finished a book called The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert. Without giving away the whole story, I will say that much of it was about the main character, Alma, and a kind of happiness that seemed to be eternally out of her reach. Despite her best intentions, it simply was never to be.
As my kids have started yet another year in full-day school, I have begun slowly reaching toward my professional self. She has lain dormant for many years and I'm having a hard time finding her. Not feeling completely fulfilled to stay home all day and cook and clean, however, I do know that she exists. Of course she is hesitant to come out after so long and I've been indulging her reticence. However, that desire to reach for new professional heights nudges me along every so often.
I have searched in vain for my features clips these past months, and that has held me back from making any real moves. However, just a couple of weeks ago Zach accidentally stumbled upon my clips when I was a stringer for the Courier-Post so many years ago. I was at first filled with excitement that they had been found, and of course followed up quickly by trepidation. Now is the time. I began scanning articles and am preparing to apply for some freelance positions. It may be extremely slow and almost tedious, but I am reaching. I'm getting there.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Five minute Friday: finish
As a child, most people seem to be impulsive, reckless, indecisive. These traits can often be explained away by youth and often continue into the teenage years and even into the early 20s without anyone really questioning it. It just goes with the territory. Most people grow up, and by "grow up" I mean become responsible, do what you're told, be practical... at least most of the time. Not all of us grow out of it, however. Not so much impulsive or reckless, I am absolutely indecisive and a procrastinator. Not saying that I believe in it, but this seems to be in complete agreement with my zodiac sign (Libra). My indecisiveness has not even gotten better as I've gotten older; in many cases, it seems to have gotten worse. Eventually I have to just push through and make a decision whether I truly believe in it or not.
As a result, it's hard for me to finish things. I start projects all the time and they sit unattended to, all set up and ready and waiting for me, for weeks or even months at a time. Looking like a dog waiting expectantly at his master's knee for a treat or to go play or... whatever. I have the best of intentions, and I have Pinterest to prove that, but once my projects begin I can pretty much guarantee only about a 25% chance that it will actually finish, no matter what time I have set aside.
Currently I'm looking at my family room wall. It's big and blank due to the large painting that I recently removed from it. I want to do it over, and I will. I've recently begun a project featuring an old window which I'm sure is going to look awesome when it's done. I'll let you know when it is. All I have to do is finish it.
As a result, it's hard for me to finish things. I start projects all the time and they sit unattended to, all set up and ready and waiting for me, for weeks or even months at a time. Looking like a dog waiting expectantly at his master's knee for a treat or to go play or... whatever. I have the best of intentions, and I have Pinterest to prove that, but once my projects begin I can pretty much guarantee only about a 25% chance that it will actually finish, no matter what time I have set aside.
Currently I'm looking at my family room wall. It's big and blank due to the large painting that I recently removed from it. I want to do it over, and I will. I've recently begun a project featuring an old window which I'm sure is going to look awesome when it's done. I'll let you know when it is. All I have to do is finish it.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Five minute Friday: begin
As August draws to a close, there are few topics on my mind with as much frequency as the start of the new school year. I guess it's that way for most parents of young children, but when you're a sensitive person, it's probably worse. On the one hand, I'm excited to see the new school year begin to restore some sense of peace and order to my days. As much fun as you might think it is to go food shopping with two kids in tow, trying to avoid the crowds, while one child (who shall remain nameless) delights in simultaneously careening the cart around sharp corners at dangerous speeds AND tossing into the cart every baked good you pass, well, it's really not.
On the other hand. I worry about my kids, probably more than most, and how they fare in school is one of those worries. Colette is very outgoing and social. She is looking forward to school with great excitement. Alexander, on the other hand, is the one I worry about more. He keeps to himself more, enjoys the company of other kids but has a more difficult time making friends. I spend a fair amount of time when they're in school, much more than I should, wondering how he's doing and worrying.
But no matter how I feel about it, school will begin again, and with it all the nervous butterflies I've become so accustomed to. And once that begins, well, it's hard to stop.
Monday, August 18, 2014
Five minute Friday: Bloom
I love things that bloom. All plants and flowers, the brighter, the better. I love those huge tropical flowers that come in dazzling shades of orange, red and fuchsia. The ones that require round-the-clock sun.
I myself have never been good about getting things to bloom. Try as I might, my thumb has never been very green. I wouldn't go so far as to say black, but definitely a muddy shade of brown, much like the healthy soil these plants need to survive. I have killed bamboo plants and cacti, which I thought were supposed to be indestructible. "Bloom where you are planted." Which would not be at my house. Currently, I have four plants decorating my large bay window. Three of them are dead. I keep watering them anyway, not willing to accept that they're really gone.
So it seemed like nature was doing us a little bit of a favor when we moved into this house. Zach likes to refer to it as being "eternally shrouded in darkness." We don't get much sunlight, and what we do get is dappled and moves during the course of the day. I would love to have a garden and grow vegetables, but our property is just not cut out for that. We do have a hanging tomato plant on the side of the house, which doesn't get as much sun as it should and not nearly enough water. A couple of small tomatoes are on there, and they are red, but they're tiny and suffering. Dying, actually, I think.
My children, however, are flourishing. I can keep them alive just fine, thanks, by giving them food and water, and of course lots of love and encouragement. I can look on my windowsill at my faltering plants with a twinge of sadness, but when I look at my kids and how they're growing tall, strong and beautiful, I can't complain about my dirt-brown thumb too much. Besides, the weeds in the front yard are totally thriving.
I myself have never been good about getting things to bloom. Try as I might, my thumb has never been very green. I wouldn't go so far as to say black, but definitely a muddy shade of brown, much like the healthy soil these plants need to survive. I have killed bamboo plants and cacti, which I thought were supposed to be indestructible. "Bloom where you are planted." Which would not be at my house. Currently, I have four plants decorating my large bay window. Three of them are dead. I keep watering them anyway, not willing to accept that they're really gone.
So it seemed like nature was doing us a little bit of a favor when we moved into this house. Zach likes to refer to it as being "eternally shrouded in darkness." We don't get much sunlight, and what we do get is dappled and moves during the course of the day. I would love to have a garden and grow vegetables, but our property is just not cut out for that. We do have a hanging tomato plant on the side of the house, which doesn't get as much sun as it should and not nearly enough water. A couple of small tomatoes are on there, and they are red, but they're tiny and suffering. Dying, actually, I think.
My children, however, are flourishing. I can keep them alive just fine, thanks, by giving them food and water, and of course lots of love and encouragement. I can look on my windowsill at my faltering plants with a twinge of sadness, but when I look at my kids and how they're growing tall, strong and beautiful, I can't complain about my dirt-brown thumb too much. Besides, the weeds in the front yard are totally thriving.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Five-minute Thursday: belong
To some extent, at one point or another in their life, everyone struggles to belong. For some it's easier than others. For me, I was so shy as a child and had a hard time overcoming it growing up. It didn't help that in my town, if you were either rich or athletic - or, if you were very blessed, both - you were easily accepted. Unfortunately, I was neither. Well, I could have been athletic, but I let my shyness get in the way and prevent me from doing things I secretly wanted to do. So as a child and then a teenager in school, I struggled to belong, to find my place. It happened eventually, once I stopped caring about things that just weren't worth it.
Moving to a new area would always bring up the same old issues for me - trying to find my place. In our last place, we lived there for 5 years and still knew no one, not even our next-door neighbors. We both worked full-time, until I had Alexander, so it was easy not to get out and meet people. After he was born, it was nearly impossible to get myself out and about. I tried, for his sake, and enrolled us in one Music Together class. That was big for me. We didn't make any lifelong friendships but it was a good experience.
Now, after 7 years here, I feel like I finally belong. Part of me will never stop pining my old town, where I grew up (and have since forgiven for the whole money/athletics thing), but otherwise, I feel like I belong in this town. I know people, my kids know people, and in spite of my shyness that still crops up every so often, I push past my hermitical tendencies and get out there with the people of the real world. I may still not want to belong to any club that would have me as a member, but even still, it's nice to belong.
Moving to a new area would always bring up the same old issues for me - trying to find my place. In our last place, we lived there for 5 years and still knew no one, not even our next-door neighbors. We both worked full-time, until I had Alexander, so it was easy not to get out and meet people. After he was born, it was nearly impossible to get myself out and about. I tried, for his sake, and enrolled us in one Music Together class. That was big for me. We didn't make any lifelong friendships but it was a good experience.
Now, after 7 years here, I feel like I finally belong. Part of me will never stop pining my old town, where I grew up (and have since forgiven for the whole money/athletics thing), but otherwise, I feel like I belong in this town. I know people, my kids know people, and in spite of my shyness that still crops up every so often, I push past my hermitical tendencies and get out there with the people of the real world. I may still not want to belong to any club that would have me as a member, but even still, it's nice to belong.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Five minute Tuesday: lost
I've been looking for a job. Not in your typical pounding-the-pavement, trolling monster.com, reaching out to LinkedIn members every morning kind of way, but in more of a relaxed sort of "let's see what's out there" kind of search. In fact, search may be too strong a word to use in this case.
We have a lot that needs to be done on this house, but it's not even so much about money. I need a little direction in life. You don't often hear about the lull that takes place when you're a stay-at-home parent and the kids are in full-time school. You feel a little lost. There is a big flurry of life events that take place one after another for a while there - you get engaged, you get married, you get pregnant or adopt a child, there are milestone party celebrations of one kind or another all along the way. Then, for some years, you've got your hands full with babies and toddlers. And when that ends... you suddenly feel lost.
What to do? Well, look for a job, of course. Not so much a job as a career. No offense to those who do, but I'm not simply looking for a 9-5 (or 9-2, or whatever would fit in to the kids' school schedule) job to fill my time and bring in some cash. I have my degree, I have some experience and I want to use it to be a writer or an editor again. It's getting out there that's so terrifying. It's scary, but maybe I'll finally have some sense of direction.
We have a lot that needs to be done on this house, but it's not even so much about money. I need a little direction in life. You don't often hear about the lull that takes place when you're a stay-at-home parent and the kids are in full-time school. You feel a little lost. There is a big flurry of life events that take place one after another for a while there - you get engaged, you get married, you get pregnant or adopt a child, there are milestone party celebrations of one kind or another all along the way. Then, for some years, you've got your hands full with babies and toddlers. And when that ends... you suddenly feel lost.
What to do? Well, look for a job, of course. Not so much a job as a career. No offense to those who do, but I'm not simply looking for a 9-5 (or 9-2, or whatever would fit in to the kids' school schedule) job to fill my time and bring in some cash. I have my degree, I have some experience and I want to use it to be a writer or an editor again. It's getting out there that's so terrifying. It's scary, but maybe I'll finally have some sense of direction.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Five minute Friday (in theory): release
When summer begins, most people, I think, tend to see it as a time of freedom. More freedom from schedules, as a release from the day-to-day drudgery when their summer vacation rolls around. I suppose if you're accustomed to working every day throughout the year and are anticipating easier summer days with reduced hours, maybe short Fridays, and a long vacation away, then summer is a form of release. For a stay-at-home mom, however, it is viewed quite differently. Freedom ends.
For people who relish in the challenge, in the daily adventures of life at home with kids, those who are excited for day trips, play dates, and time at the pool, this is fun. Some people even look forward to it. I, unfortunately, am not one of those people. As a type B personality, I'm quite content to hang out at home and, often, do nothing. I have to get myself motivated to get out there and do something. If I can check off 2 or 3 items that I've accomplished at the end of a week that involve getting out of the house then I consider it a successful week.
So, while summer may be a time of reduced freedom for me, I'm going to try and enjoy my time with the kids. I know these years are fleeting and one day I'll look back and wish we had had more summertime adventures. I'll do my best to make some fun memories for them (and for me). And then, in September, comes my release.
For people who relish in the challenge, in the daily adventures of life at home with kids, those who are excited for day trips, play dates, and time at the pool, this is fun. Some people even look forward to it. I, unfortunately, am not one of those people. As a type B personality, I'm quite content to hang out at home and, often, do nothing. I have to get myself motivated to get out there and do something. If I can check off 2 or 3 items that I've accomplished at the end of a week that involve getting out of the house then I consider it a successful week.
So, while summer may be a time of reduced freedom for me, I'm going to try and enjoy my time with the kids. I know these years are fleeting and one day I'll look back and wish we had had more summertime adventures. I'll do my best to make some fun memories for them (and for me). And then, in September, comes my release.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Five-minute whatever day: messenger
I had a hard time coming up with something for this one.
But a messenger is someone who delivers a message, or news, for someone... which inevitably makes me think of a paperboy (or person, or man) delivering the news. A courier. Which in more ways than one makes me think of my maiden voyage in the news business at the Courier-Post.
Until I started working at the CP, actually even after for a little while, I didn't care much about the news. I was only part time there, but once I made friends in the news and features departments and started getting writing assignments, suddenly I cared a lot about what was printed in the newspaper. I used to wait with baited breath each Friday morning to bring in that newspaper and flip right to the middle weekend section, TGIF, to see how my latest feature about the local car show or mini golf tournament appeared between its pages. An accompanying sigh of relief each time to find my name spelled right, an acceptable headline, and that my lede had not changed in the last hours between when I last saw it and it went to the printer.
I never wanted to be a journalist when I was in college, even though I was an English major. I was interested only in creative writing for my own purposes and hopefully, one day, for the entertainment of others. But that changed when I started working for the Courier Post. An opportunity fell into my lap, and that job led to a full-time reporting position at another local newspaper. I heard once that once the reporting bug gets into your system, it's hard to get it out. That's definitely true.
But a messenger is someone who delivers a message, or news, for someone... which inevitably makes me think of a paperboy (or person, or man) delivering the news. A courier. Which in more ways than one makes me think of my maiden voyage in the news business at the Courier-Post.
Until I started working at the CP, actually even after for a little while, I didn't care much about the news. I was only part time there, but once I made friends in the news and features departments and started getting writing assignments, suddenly I cared a lot about what was printed in the newspaper. I used to wait with baited breath each Friday morning to bring in that newspaper and flip right to the middle weekend section, TGIF, to see how my latest feature about the local car show or mini golf tournament appeared between its pages. An accompanying sigh of relief each time to find my name spelled right, an acceptable headline, and that my lede had not changed in the last hours between when I last saw it and it went to the printer.
I never wanted to be a journalist when I was in college, even though I was an English major. I was interested only in creative writing for my own purposes and hopefully, one day, for the entertainment of others. But that changed when I started working for the Courier Post. An opportunity fell into my lap, and that job led to a full-time reporting position at another local newspaper. I heard once that once the reporting bug gets into your system, it's hard to get it out. That's definitely true.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Five minute Friday: hands
It's funny, I've been thinking about my hands recently. And by recently I mean over the past several months or so. I never really thought about my hands once before. I mean, as a kid, my mom told me that I had long fingers like my dad and that I would be great at playing piano. I did take lessons for a little while, but if you've ever taken piano lessons, you know how downright tedious they are in the beginning. I didn't last long. And, again, from my parents, my fingers were so long - I was destined to be tall. As a kid who for whatever reason delighted in dreams of one day becoming a model (along with a writer, and a veterinarian, and I forget what all else), this was great news. How tall? I would ask. Oh, 5'7, 5'8 probably.
Forever stunted at 5'3 1/2, I've forgiven them long ago. But still, lately, I've been looking at my hands. I've noticed little tiny freckles (yes, I will call them that) that weren't there before. In fact, as I look at them, they don't look as youthful as I remember. Why? This doesn't seem fair. I guess I forget about them when applying sunscreen. So, over the past several months, I've become more diligent about sunscreen on my hands and arms even when I'm just doing everyday things like driving the car on a sunny day.
This bothers me, a little bit anyway, although no one else seems to notice or mind. My daughter loves holding my hands, and being hugged, and my son is very accustomed to my ruffling his hair, patting him affectionately on the chest, or grabbing his face to plant a kiss on his cheek whether he likes it or not. So if they've noticed my new set of hand freckles, they haven't said so. I'm thinking it probably doesn't matter.
Forever stunted at 5'3 1/2, I've forgiven them long ago. But still, lately, I've been looking at my hands. I've noticed little tiny freckles (yes, I will call them that) that weren't there before. In fact, as I look at them, they don't look as youthful as I remember. Why? This doesn't seem fair. I guess I forget about them when applying sunscreen. So, over the past several months, I've become more diligent about sunscreen on my hands and arms even when I'm just doing everyday things like driving the car on a sunny day.
This bothers me, a little bit anyway, although no one else seems to notice or mind. My daughter loves holding my hands, and being hugged, and my son is very accustomed to my ruffling his hair, patting him affectionately on the chest, or grabbing his face to plant a kiss on his cheek whether he likes it or not. So if they've noticed my new set of hand freckles, they haven't said so. I'm thinking it probably doesn't matter.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Five minute Friday: one Friday ago
Word: nothing.
Fittingly, I could think of nothing I really wanted to write about with this word, which is why it's taken me an entire week to post something. More specifically, I wasn't inspired by anything. I had some ideas here and there, but nothing really grabbed me and therefore I just let it go. Nothing was the result.
This is my problem overall. If I can't find inspiration, I'll have nothing to write about. Maybe it's that way with everyone, but at SOME point, that inspiration will come along - from a person, from a book, from a particular experience in your life. As far as writing that elusive book of mine, I've simply been uninspired. I do have one idea that keeps coming back to me, which makes me think it's worth pursuing, but at the same time it's a bit overwhelming, the idea of writing a novel. So that keeps me doing nothing, creatively speaking.
My days are full of a variety of things; it's not like I sit around doing nothing all the time. I take care of the house, shopping, school-related activities and obligations. Cooking, sometimes, if I feel like it. :) Once 3 o'clock hits things generally amp up in the business department. But in terms of writing, it seems like it's been a lot of nothing. I'm wondering when that will change.
Fittingly, I could think of nothing I really wanted to write about with this word, which is why it's taken me an entire week to post something. More specifically, I wasn't inspired by anything. I had some ideas here and there, but nothing really grabbed me and therefore I just let it go. Nothing was the result.
This is my problem overall. If I can't find inspiration, I'll have nothing to write about. Maybe it's that way with everyone, but at SOME point, that inspiration will come along - from a person, from a book, from a particular experience in your life. As far as writing that elusive book of mine, I've simply been uninspired. I do have one idea that keeps coming back to me, which makes me think it's worth pursuing, but at the same time it's a bit overwhelming, the idea of writing a novel. So that keeps me doing nothing, creatively speaking.
My days are full of a variety of things; it's not like I sit around doing nothing all the time. I take care of the house, shopping, school-related activities and obligations. Cooking, sometimes, if I feel like it. :) Once 3 o'clock hits things generally amp up in the business department. But in terms of writing, it seems like it's been a lot of nothing. I'm wondering when that will change.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Five minute Friday: May 22, 2014
Today's word: close
A couple of years ago, we went to adopt a dog at a local animal shelter. We were so disappointed and shocked when Colette ended up with hives after coming in contact with a dog. A couple of weeks later, my fears were confirmed at the allergist's office when she came up as having moderate to severe dog allergies.
Now, we're looking at labradoodles. I've been looking since then, on and off, but holding back due to the high cost as well as the possibility that she will still be allergic to this so-called hypoallergenic dog.
Well, I decided - finally - to make a decision about it. Tomorrow, we are on our way to visit a breeder in NJ to expose her to a labradoodle and see if she has any reaction. The kids don't know yet and I am very guarded about it. I don't want to hope because honestly I'm not really expecting it to work out.
But still, with every encouraging text exchange with the breeder, I'm feeling a little more hopeful. I don't want my hopes to be dashed, but it seems we've found a great lady who's very willing to work with us. I know this has no bearing on whether or not Colette will start sneezing and her eyes tearing up when we meet this dog, but somehow, it makes me feel like having a dog may FINALLY be in reach for our family. I hope I'm not wrong.
Whatever happens, it's suddenly become a very good possibility. I can almost taste it. We're getting close.
A couple of years ago, we went to adopt a dog at a local animal shelter. We were so disappointed and shocked when Colette ended up with hives after coming in contact with a dog. A couple of weeks later, my fears were confirmed at the allergist's office when she came up as having moderate to severe dog allergies.
Now, we're looking at labradoodles. I've been looking since then, on and off, but holding back due to the high cost as well as the possibility that she will still be allergic to this so-called hypoallergenic dog.
Well, I decided - finally - to make a decision about it. Tomorrow, we are on our way to visit a breeder in NJ to expose her to a labradoodle and see if she has any reaction. The kids don't know yet and I am very guarded about it. I don't want to hope because honestly I'm not really expecting it to work out.
But still, with every encouraging text exchange with the breeder, I'm feeling a little more hopeful. I don't want my hopes to be dashed, but it seems we've found a great lady who's very willing to work with us. I know this has no bearing on whether or not Colette will start sneezing and her eyes tearing up when we meet this dog, but somehow, it makes me feel like having a dog may FINALLY be in reach for our family. I hope I'm not wrong.
Whatever happens, it's suddenly become a very good possibility. I can almost taste it. We're getting close.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Five minute Friday: May 11, 2014
Yes, that's a Sunday. I KNOW.
Grateful.
When most people are in their growing-up years, their formative years, you know, the pre-18 most formative years of them all, they're taught to be grateful. You want more toys? Be grateful for what you have. Don't like your dinner? Be grateful you have dinner at all because some people are going to bed hungry. (Ok, then send my pork chops to those kids in Africa. Sure, we all know what you were thinking.)
As you get older, you are supposed to be grateful on your own. With those life lessons pounded into your head as a kid, by now, they should be well settled and you should have LEARNED. Be grateful for what you have and stop asking for more. For me, I always worried that I was never grateful enough. I still am. If I feel myself start to complain, which happens a lot, or wish for more, which also happens fairly frequently, I am immediately sorry for it. I think I'm trying to protect myself against something bad happening - you know, karma, careening around the corner like the bus that it is, ready to slam me down just for being so ungrateful when so many people have it worse than I do. And as we all know, SOMEone always has it worse than you.
So. I suppose I have to be grateful in the small, everyday things and not fret that I'm not being grateful enough. Don't think about it, just be. When I appreciate those beautiful azaleas outside, that's good. When my daughter throws her arms around me without provocation and proclaims her love for me, that's enough. I'm grateful, and it's enough to know that I'm feeling it and not so worried about saying it.
Grateful.
When most people are in their growing-up years, their formative years, you know, the pre-18 most formative years of them all, they're taught to be grateful. You want more toys? Be grateful for what you have. Don't like your dinner? Be grateful you have dinner at all because some people are going to bed hungry. (Ok, then send my pork chops to those kids in Africa. Sure, we all know what you were thinking.)
As you get older, you are supposed to be grateful on your own. With those life lessons pounded into your head as a kid, by now, they should be well settled and you should have LEARNED. Be grateful for what you have and stop asking for more. For me, I always worried that I was never grateful enough. I still am. If I feel myself start to complain, which happens a lot, or wish for more, which also happens fairly frequently, I am immediately sorry for it. I think I'm trying to protect myself against something bad happening - you know, karma, careening around the corner like the bus that it is, ready to slam me down just for being so ungrateful when so many people have it worse than I do. And as we all know, SOMEone always has it worse than you.
So. I suppose I have to be grateful in the small, everyday things and not fret that I'm not being grateful enough. Don't think about it, just be. When I appreciate those beautiful azaleas outside, that's good. When my daughter throws her arms around me without provocation and proclaims her love for me, that's enough. I'm grateful, and it's enough to know that I'm feeling it and not so worried about saying it.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Sometimes you just gotta be cranky.
Not being a teenager anymore (yeah that's right, I said it), and with two kids still in elementary school, I'm not too up on the newest catchphrases and teen lingo. Thanks to the wonderful world of Facebook, I have been enlightened. Unfortunately. As a writer, I don't enjoy hating words and phrases, but people keep forcing my hand. Therefore I've decided to compile a list of the top 10 Phrases I Hate, in no particular order.
Phrases I Hate
10. "Totes adorbs," or just "adorbs," or, for that matter, just "totes." Apparently this stands for "totally adorable." If you are over the age of 16, and even that number is questionable, please, PLEASE never say this. It sounds utterly ridiculous. My teeth actually hurt when grown adults use this phrase. Adorbs is no better. And Totes is a kind of umbrella and it should stay that way.
9. "Truth." This is the newest kind of one-word definitive statement. Remember the old days when people used to say, "That's true" or "I completely agree"? Those days are over. It's the hipper, cooler form of "true dat." Those phrases are for the elderly and the shut-ins or at least those stuck in the early 2000s. Now, if you agree with an article, something someone says or, better yet, a particularly meaningful MEME, the correct response is "Truth." Simple, straightforward, and POWERFUL. And stupid.
8. "No bueno." I can't express how ridiculous I think this one is. Again, we just have to come up with new ways to say things, don't we? This one replaces "This is bad." What was wrong with that? And why the Spanish - is this Dora's influence again? It sounds another of those kind of new-wave, hipster, catchy word-crap things. Trying too hard. I keep hearing it from people every time something goes wrong in their life, like it's just the most awesome thing to say, and I want to tell them that I'm already sick of it. It's almost like they're excited about sharing the crappy event of their day just so that they can say it. Can we at least switch to another language? How about Greek?
7. "Cray" or "cray cray." I guess crazy was just too long to say. Ahh, what a relief to leave out that long, cumbersome z. That really helps free up my time so that I can do other things, like make up more stupid words. I realize this one isn't completely new but it's still stupid enough to make the list.
6. "Want." This is similar to #9. I believe that we as a society have simply become too lazy to speak too many words in a row. Perhaps this is the result of too much texting - no more complete sentences and instead just one-word statements. We're beginning to sound like a bunch of 1-year olds pointing our chubby little fingers. Or maybe neanderthals, grunting demands without all those pesky words getting in the way.
5. I have no problem with Twitter. I've even been thinking of joining myself because let's face it - don't you think my humor deserves a larger audience than it currently has?! That being said, IMO there is only one place for hashtags: Twitter. And NOWHERE ELSE. Please don't use hashtags on Facebook. Ok fine, so a friend pointed out hashtags are searchable on fb, but that doesn't make them any less annoying. Especially the super-long hashtags and my least favorite hashtag ever: #blessed. Dear lord. This should be eradicated from the earth. #neverwanttoseethisagainorIjustmaykillsomeone
and this leads me to...
4. Saying "hashtag" out loud before a word. It's bad enough having to read it, but hearing someone say it gives me a headache. Like I don't have enough regular stuff to hurt my head. I think the first time I heard this was last season on American Idol with everyone's favorite most annoying entertainer, Mariah Carey, when she described one singer's performance like this: "Hashtag POW." I'm sorry, but WHAT? At first I wasn't sure if she was even speaking English. Who-tag what now?
3. "Beauteous." Yes I know it’s literary and everything but I find it annoyingly pretentious, or at least pretentiously annoying. Can we all please just agree to say beautiful unless you’re starring in some kind of 19th century period piece? Again: for those times when the normal, commonplace word is just NOT enough. It just sounds silly.
2. Saying the letters "O-M-G" aloud. Most people come to accept these abbreviations in everyday facebook or email chat, with OMG being probably the most popular one. But saying it out loud? There is no need for that. The first time someone said "oh em gee," I honestly thought they were stammering, at a loss for words. I waited for the rest, only to quickly realize that there was no rest. That's it. They said "OMG" aloud. HATE IT. Can we just go back to taking the Lord's name in vain like normal people? What was so wrong with that?
1. "I can't even." I honestly don't mind this one too much except that EVERYONE is saying it all of a sudden, and a LOT! Stop it!! You can't even WHAT? I'm sorry, when a word or phrase gets overused it loses any modicum of coolness it may have once had. And really, really should be avoided by the over-35 crowd.
I realize this may make me sound even older and more curmudgeonly than usual, and I don't care. Someone had to say it. (In normal English.)
Phrases I Hate
10. "Totes adorbs," or just "adorbs," or, for that matter, just "totes." Apparently this stands for "totally adorable." If you are over the age of 16, and even that number is questionable, please, PLEASE never say this. It sounds utterly ridiculous. My teeth actually hurt when grown adults use this phrase. Adorbs is no better. And Totes is a kind of umbrella and it should stay that way.
9. "Truth." This is the newest kind of one-word definitive statement. Remember the old days when people used to say, "That's true" or "I completely agree"? Those days are over. It's the hipper, cooler form of "true dat." Those phrases are for the elderly and the shut-ins or at least those stuck in the early 2000s. Now, if you agree with an article, something someone says or, better yet, a particularly meaningful MEME, the correct response is "Truth." Simple, straightforward, and POWERFUL. And stupid.
8. "No bueno." I can't express how ridiculous I think this one is. Again, we just have to come up with new ways to say things, don't we? This one replaces "This is bad." What was wrong with that? And why the Spanish - is this Dora's influence again? It sounds another of those kind of new-wave, hipster, catchy word-crap things. Trying too hard. I keep hearing it from people every time something goes wrong in their life, like it's just the most awesome thing to say, and I want to tell them that I'm already sick of it. It's almost like they're excited about sharing the crappy event of their day just so that they can say it. Can we at least switch to another language? How about Greek?
7. "Cray" or "cray cray." I guess crazy was just too long to say. Ahh, what a relief to leave out that long, cumbersome z. That really helps free up my time so that I can do other things, like make up more stupid words. I realize this one isn't completely new but it's still stupid enough to make the list.
6. "Want." This is similar to #9. I believe that we as a society have simply become too lazy to speak too many words in a row. Perhaps this is the result of too much texting - no more complete sentences and instead just one-word statements. We're beginning to sound like a bunch of 1-year olds pointing our chubby little fingers. Or maybe neanderthals, grunting demands without all those pesky words getting in the way.
5. I have no problem with Twitter. I've even been thinking of joining myself because let's face it - don't you think my humor deserves a larger audience than it currently has?! That being said, IMO there is only one place for hashtags: Twitter. And NOWHERE ELSE. Please don't use hashtags on Facebook. Ok fine, so a friend pointed out hashtags are searchable on fb, but that doesn't make them any less annoying. Especially the super-long hashtags and my least favorite hashtag ever: #blessed. Dear lord. This should be eradicated from the earth. #neverwanttoseethisagainorIjustmaykillsomeone
and this leads me to...
4. Saying "hashtag" out loud before a word. It's bad enough having to read it, but hearing someone say it gives me a headache. Like I don't have enough regular stuff to hurt my head. I think the first time I heard this was last season on American Idol with everyone's favorite most annoying entertainer, Mariah Carey, when she described one singer's performance like this: "Hashtag POW." I'm sorry, but WHAT? At first I wasn't sure if she was even speaking English. Who-tag what now?
3. "Beauteous." Yes I know it’s literary and everything but I find it annoyingly pretentious, or at least pretentiously annoying. Can we all please just agree to say beautiful unless you’re starring in some kind of 19th century period piece? Again: for those times when the normal, commonplace word is just NOT enough. It just sounds silly.
2. Saying the letters "O-M-G" aloud. Most people come to accept these abbreviations in everyday facebook or email chat, with OMG being probably the most popular one. But saying it out loud? There is no need for that. The first time someone said "oh em gee," I honestly thought they were stammering, at a loss for words. I waited for the rest, only to quickly realize that there was no rest. That's it. They said "OMG" aloud. HATE IT. Can we just go back to taking the Lord's name in vain like normal people? What was so wrong with that?
1. "I can't even." I honestly don't mind this one too much except that EVERYONE is saying it all of a sudden, and a LOT! Stop it!! You can't even WHAT? I'm sorry, when a word or phrase gets overused it loses any modicum of coolness it may have once had. And really, really should be avoided by the over-35 crowd.
I realize this may make me sound even older and more curmudgeonly than usual, and I don't care. Someone had to say it. (In normal English.)
Friday, May 2, 2014
Five minute Friday: May 2
Mess.
As a regular person, this could go in so many ways. As a parent, we all know where it's going to go. :)
Alexander and Colette are clearly brother and sister. They look SO much alike, from their big blue eyes to their crowded set of teeth to their goofy sense of humor. However, there are also many differences. One is that Colette is neat and clean, and Alexander is... well, a MESS.
He's 9 years old now. When he was 2, I expected his messes. He was a huge drooler, so he always had a bib on until he was, like, 3, and I carried extras around with me in the diaper bag. As he got older, he began using his shirt sleeve/shoulder as a napkin. I made jokes that they should sew napkins onto the shoulders of all of his shirts, detachable so that I could toss those directly into the OxiClean without even looking at them.
Unfortunately, he hasn't cleaned up his act much at this age. At the end of any typical day I can see exactly what he's eaten throughout the day. I know in the morning if he's brushed his teeth or not just by looking at his shirt. If he's used the towel, it's often on the floor. He's a MESS, and he leaves a mess wherever he's been. He's like my own little Pigpen.
The ironic thing is that he's in Cub Scouts, and one of their sayings is "Leave no trace." Cracks me up. Oh, he leaves traces all right, and lots of them. The path of his destruction has become legendary in this house.
The past couple of nights when I've checked on Colette before bed, she's entangled in her quilt. It's falling off the bed, it's over her head. Her pillow is askew and her sheets are all wadded up at the bottom of the bed. No matter how neatly she starts out, it's nothing short of a disaster by morning.
I really need just one neat kid. Please, can we keep her messes contained to nighttime tossings and turnings? I'm hoping her big brother will learn a thing or two from her.
As a regular person, this could go in so many ways. As a parent, we all know where it's going to go. :)
Alexander and Colette are clearly brother and sister. They look SO much alike, from their big blue eyes to their crowded set of teeth to their goofy sense of humor. However, there are also many differences. One is that Colette is neat and clean, and Alexander is... well, a MESS.
He's 9 years old now. When he was 2, I expected his messes. He was a huge drooler, so he always had a bib on until he was, like, 3, and I carried extras around with me in the diaper bag. As he got older, he began using his shirt sleeve/shoulder as a napkin. I made jokes that they should sew napkins onto the shoulders of all of his shirts, detachable so that I could toss those directly into the OxiClean without even looking at them.
Unfortunately, he hasn't cleaned up his act much at this age. At the end of any typical day I can see exactly what he's eaten throughout the day. I know in the morning if he's brushed his teeth or not just by looking at his shirt. If he's used the towel, it's often on the floor. He's a MESS, and he leaves a mess wherever he's been. He's like my own little Pigpen.
The ironic thing is that he's in Cub Scouts, and one of their sayings is "Leave no trace." Cracks me up. Oh, he leaves traces all right, and lots of them. The path of his destruction has become legendary in this house.
The past couple of nights when I've checked on Colette before bed, she's entangled in her quilt. It's falling off the bed, it's over her head. Her pillow is askew and her sheets are all wadded up at the bottom of the bed. No matter how neatly she starts out, it's nothing short of a disaster by morning.
I really need just one neat kid. Please, can we keep her messes contained to nighttime tossings and turnings? I'm hoping her big brother will learn a thing or two from her.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Five minute Friday: April 25, 2014
Five minute Friday was... 4 days ago. I think it's time for me to come up with a new title, maybe?
What's another "f" word that could come after "five minute"? No, not THAT one. Anyway...
This (or last) week's word is "friend."
When I was younger, I wanted more friends. More specifically, I was worried about being popular. Of course, now I know that being popular really has nothing to do with having friends. Not good ones, anyway. That's more about quantity than quality.
Being a shy child, making lots of friends did not come easily to me. It was hard for me to reach out to others and make new friendships or cultivate casual ones that I already had in school. I always wondered what was wrong with me that I didn't have a whole big bunch of friends like I thought I was supposed to.
As I got older, I became less concerned with how many friends I had and contemplated more often just how important the ones I had were. But even then, it proved difficult each time I changed jobs or moved. My good "old" friends were always there, but making new ones still eluded me.
Now that we've been living here for several years, I have found myself with more friends - good ones - than probably ever before. Turns out whoever said that "once you stop looking for it, it will come" kinda knew what they were talking about. I've made a few good friends, and I look forward to getting to know the more casual acquaintances I have even better. I'm just happy that I stopped worrying about making friends and began enjoying the ones I had (some without even realizing they had turned into friendships).
I always knew I was a catch.
What's another "f" word that could come after "five minute"? No, not THAT one. Anyway...
This (or last) week's word is "friend."
When I was younger, I wanted more friends. More specifically, I was worried about being popular. Of course, now I know that being popular really has nothing to do with having friends. Not good ones, anyway. That's more about quantity than quality.
Being a shy child, making lots of friends did not come easily to me. It was hard for me to reach out to others and make new friendships or cultivate casual ones that I already had in school. I always wondered what was wrong with me that I didn't have a whole big bunch of friends like I thought I was supposed to.
As I got older, I became less concerned with how many friends I had and contemplated more often just how important the ones I had were. But even then, it proved difficult each time I changed jobs or moved. My good "old" friends were always there, but making new ones still eluded me.
Now that we've been living here for several years, I have found myself with more friends - good ones - than probably ever before. Turns out whoever said that "once you stop looking for it, it will come" kinda knew what they were talking about. I've made a few good friends, and I look forward to getting to know the more casual acquaintances I have even better. I'm just happy that I stopped worrying about making friends and began enjoying the ones I had (some without even realizing they had turned into friendships).
I always knew I was a catch.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Five minute Friday - April 18
Oops, I missed last week. :)
Today's word is: glue.
I'll admit it, I am a picky person. By that I don't mean picky in the figurative sense (although sure, I can be that too) but in the literal sense. I like picking things. Even as a kid, I was always that person who liked peeling off sunburned skin. Now, as a mother, I'm like one of those mother gorillas who go all over her children picking bugs off of them (except the main difference here is I don't eat what I remove from them). But I do pick at them all the time - their faces, fixing their hair, clipping their nails all the time, making sure every little thing is relatively neat and in place and nothing is hanging off. Pick, pick, pick.
I remember once as a child in elementary school, walking out of school. I couldn't have been any more than 7 or so years old. And I have a terrible memory, generally speaking, so when I have a memory as a younger child, one would have to assume it's something fairly important or pivotal. Well, for some reason, I remember seeing another student walking out of the school peeling glue off of her hands. I don't know if she was in art class (well, I hope so, I guess) or what the situation was, but she had glue ALLLL over her hands and she was so dutifully picking it off. I remember being so envious! Every so often, after that time, I would purposely put a little glue on my hands just so I could peel it off.
I'm not sure why this is, but I suppose glue doesn't just hold together, but it can also come apart if you try hard enough. I'd like to keep that literal and not figurative.
Today's word is: glue.
I'll admit it, I am a picky person. By that I don't mean picky in the figurative sense (although sure, I can be that too) but in the literal sense. I like picking things. Even as a kid, I was always that person who liked peeling off sunburned skin. Now, as a mother, I'm like one of those mother gorillas who go all over her children picking bugs off of them (except the main difference here is I don't eat what I remove from them). But I do pick at them all the time - their faces, fixing their hair, clipping their nails all the time, making sure every little thing is relatively neat and in place and nothing is hanging off. Pick, pick, pick.
I remember once as a child in elementary school, walking out of school. I couldn't have been any more than 7 or so years old. And I have a terrible memory, generally speaking, so when I have a memory as a younger child, one would have to assume it's something fairly important or pivotal. Well, for some reason, I remember seeing another student walking out of the school peeling glue off of her hands. I don't know if she was in art class (well, I hope so, I guess) or what the situation was, but she had glue ALLLL over her hands and she was so dutifully picking it off. I remember being so envious! Every so often, after that time, I would purposely put a little glue on my hands just so I could peel it off.
I'm not sure why this is, but I suppose glue doesn't just hold together, but it can also come apart if you try hard enough. I'd like to keep that literal and not figurative.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Five minute Friday - April 4
This week's prompt from http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/ is "writer."
And I'm only supposed to take 5 minutes?
Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a writer. This of course does not include the "I want to be a nurse" proclamation as a young child, the veterinarian thing (until I found out that vets also put animals to sleep), and the ballerina thing that was too off-again on-again to be a true dancer.
When I was about 12 years old, I was writing a book. The book, strangely enough, was about a 12-year-old girl who liked doing the exact same things as I did. She probably looked the same, too - I can't remember. I got up to about 15 chapters, all about 1 1/2 pages or so in length, until I decided it was horrible and threw the whole thing away.
Oh, how I wish I hadn't done that! First of all, what a kick it would be to go back to that now and see it. But also... hey, what if what was the ONE? The seed for my great novel that somehow has gone unwritten all of these years?
But yes, I did become a writer. I was a newspaper writer, covering town council meetings and BOE snoozefests. Oh, and that one time I contributed to the piece about a mall shooting that ended up winning a NJPA award. I wrote for a soap opera magazine, which wasn't quite as fun as it sounds. I wrote for medical journals, which pretty much wasn't fun at all. :)
I am a writer, and a published one, but the book still eludes me. When will that great idea come to me? Or did I trash it at 12 years old? I sure hope not.
And I'm only supposed to take 5 minutes?
Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a writer. This of course does not include the "I want to be a nurse" proclamation as a young child, the veterinarian thing (until I found out that vets also put animals to sleep), and the ballerina thing that was too off-again on-again to be a true dancer.
When I was about 12 years old, I was writing a book. The book, strangely enough, was about a 12-year-old girl who liked doing the exact same things as I did. She probably looked the same, too - I can't remember. I got up to about 15 chapters, all about 1 1/2 pages or so in length, until I decided it was horrible and threw the whole thing away.
Oh, how I wish I hadn't done that! First of all, what a kick it would be to go back to that now and see it. But also... hey, what if what was the ONE? The seed for my great novel that somehow has gone unwritten all of these years?
But yes, I did become a writer. I was a newspaper writer, covering town council meetings and BOE snoozefests. Oh, and that one time I contributed to the piece about a mall shooting that ended up winning a NJPA award. I wrote for a soap opera magazine, which wasn't quite as fun as it sounds. I wrote for medical journals, which pretty much wasn't fun at all. :)
I am a writer, and a published one, but the book still eludes me. When will that great idea come to me? Or did I trash it at 12 years old? I sure hope not.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Living a thousand lives
When I was a kid, one of my very favorite things to do was read. I loved to pick the next Judy Blume book in line from the shelf at our local library - and if you took me to that library today I could lead you to the shelf - take it home, and read it that same afternoon. As I got older and became an English major, this love for reading served me well. I loved the John Steinbeck, the Emily Dickinson and the JD Salinger. I enjoyed dissecting the Sylvia Plath and the Adrienne Rich. I fell asleep, time after time, face down on the smooth, cool pages of Beowulf, which can be incredibly comfortable if you're tired (or bored) enough.
In the years that have passed, with work and kids to get in the way, as well as the advent of the internet and all things technological, reading has fallen a bit by the wayside. Ok, more than just a bit. This bothers me, not just because as a former English major I can picture one of my professors frowning at my veritable abandonment of the written word, but because I can remember with great fondness just how much I relished it once upon a time. So last year, when New Year's resolution time rolled around, I made a decision to read more. And I did - I read about 5 books last year, which won't win me any reading awards, but was a vast improvement from the previous year's zero. And I was happy about that. This year, I decided to raise the stakes to one book a month. So far, I have read four books and it's still February.
I remember the joy of becoming immersed in a book. That feeling you get when you are transported somewhere else, when you are barely aware of where you are, of your breathing, of even being alive at all. When a book so sucks you in it's like you go into a coma, but you're not asleep - you're in another plane, you're inside the story, not interacting but rather like a fly on the wall who's watching every little thing transpire right up close. And when you love a book so much and it ends, the intense and surprising despair you feel when it's over. I remember when I read Kathryn Stockett's The Help, and as I neared the end I kept casting quick glances to the small stack of pages at the end of the book. "It's ok, I still have several more pages to go," I thought to myself, trying unsuccessfully to extend the experience for as long as I could. Reading eagerly to find out how it would end, and when I suddenly, unexpectedly reached that end, I was crushed. Without warning, I was thrust back into the real world, left hanging with no more to go, and I looked up and around me as if suddenly realizing where I was. Because of my investment in the story (not to mention that awful feeling that I had been deceived by someone I trusted once I learned that several of the pages were for an afterword and dedications) I started to cry a little. I felt like my friends had left me behind and were continuing on in some other level without me. Then, of course, I felt stupid for crying and was kind of glad that those same friends weren't watching.
Many years ago - it has to be close to 20 - I was temping somewhere doing some kind of clerical work. I don't even remember the name of the company or exactly what I was doing. But I do know it was before everyone at work had computers on their desks, before the internet was there to suck everyone in when they should be working, before everyone was on Facebook at their lunch hour (and other hours). For weeks, I spent my lunch breaks in the cafeteria glued to Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone, a massive tome with an even more massive lifetime packed into it. I still recall the day I finished that book at my lunch hour. I closed the book and stared at the cover, lifted my jaw from the cafeteria table, and just said "Wow. Wow. Wow" over and over. And when you finish a story of that emotional magnitude, you look around at everyone else, eating their lunches, flipping through magazines, living their dull little lives, and you just want to shake them and say, "Don't you KNOW what just happened here? How you can you just sit there like that like nothing happened?" But they don't know, and they don't know you, and for that reason, their earth is not shaking like yours is, which is probably why they look so bored and just generally glum in the first place. They don't know what happened, and it's not their fault, but sadly, they weren't where you just were, so they missed out. It's their loss. Or as author John Green put it, "“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.” EXACTLY!
And as time goes on, many favorites hold a place of honor on your own mental bookshelf and sometimes you don't even remember why. You may remember the general subject and perhaps a few details, but the intricacies of the story and why you fell so in love with it have escaped you long ago. This is the kind of thing that happens as you get older. :) Once you realize this has happened, you know you need to go back and re-read some favorites so that you can experience that feeling of falling in love all over again. This was an addendum to my book-reading resolution - to add in some long-forgotten classics to the ever-growing pile of newer fiction. For many years, Toni Morrison's Beloved held court as my all-time favorite book, and I'm sorry to say most of the details of the story have been lost from me. But it's on my list of re-reads. I recently read John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men again, and I'm so glad that I reconnected with George and Lenny after all these years. The Winter of Our Discontent is next after I finish Jonathan Tropper's This Is Where I Leave You, which has had me laughing out loud for several days now. Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird is on deck as well, but it may be a couple of months before I get to it. :)
Then there are the new classics that you are so excited to share with others and so pleased to add to your list of favorites... such as Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love. When you feel like you're experiencing the journey right alongside the author - laughing, crying and having spiritual awakenings as she does - rather than just reading about it, you know you have a classic on your hands. Elizabeth's story was so awe-inspiring it made me wonder exactly what I'm doing with my life. (Which I've been wondering anyway.)
Some days I almost wish it was like the old days again, with no internet available so that I would have more time to read. Once I get going with a good book, I wonder what kept me away for so long. I almost wish for a simpler time where there would be nothing to distract me from my latest literary adventure. Almost.
In the years that have passed, with work and kids to get in the way, as well as the advent of the internet and all things technological, reading has fallen a bit by the wayside. Ok, more than just a bit. This bothers me, not just because as a former English major I can picture one of my professors frowning at my veritable abandonment of the written word, but because I can remember with great fondness just how much I relished it once upon a time. So last year, when New Year's resolution time rolled around, I made a decision to read more. And I did - I read about 5 books last year, which won't win me any reading awards, but was a vast improvement from the previous year's zero. And I was happy about that. This year, I decided to raise the stakes to one book a month. So far, I have read four books and it's still February.
I remember the joy of becoming immersed in a book. That feeling you get when you are transported somewhere else, when you are barely aware of where you are, of your breathing, of even being alive at all. When a book so sucks you in it's like you go into a coma, but you're not asleep - you're in another plane, you're inside the story, not interacting but rather like a fly on the wall who's watching every little thing transpire right up close. And when you love a book so much and it ends, the intense and surprising despair you feel when it's over. I remember when I read Kathryn Stockett's The Help, and as I neared the end I kept casting quick glances to the small stack of pages at the end of the book. "It's ok, I still have several more pages to go," I thought to myself, trying unsuccessfully to extend the experience for as long as I could. Reading eagerly to find out how it would end, and when I suddenly, unexpectedly reached that end, I was crushed. Without warning, I was thrust back into the real world, left hanging with no more to go, and I looked up and around me as if suddenly realizing where I was. Because of my investment in the story (not to mention that awful feeling that I had been deceived by someone I trusted once I learned that several of the pages were for an afterword and dedications) I started to cry a little. I felt like my friends had left me behind and were continuing on in some other level without me. Then, of course, I felt stupid for crying and was kind of glad that those same friends weren't watching.
Many years ago - it has to be close to 20 - I was temping somewhere doing some kind of clerical work. I don't even remember the name of the company or exactly what I was doing. But I do know it was before everyone at work had computers on their desks, before the internet was there to suck everyone in when they should be working, before everyone was on Facebook at their lunch hour (and other hours). For weeks, I spent my lunch breaks in the cafeteria glued to Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone, a massive tome with an even more massive lifetime packed into it. I still recall the day I finished that book at my lunch hour. I closed the book and stared at the cover, lifted my jaw from the cafeteria table, and just said "Wow. Wow. Wow" over and over. And when you finish a story of that emotional magnitude, you look around at everyone else, eating their lunches, flipping through magazines, living their dull little lives, and you just want to shake them and say, "Don't you KNOW what just happened here? How you can you just sit there like that like nothing happened?" But they don't know, and they don't know you, and for that reason, their earth is not shaking like yours is, which is probably why they look so bored and just generally glum in the first place. They don't know what happened, and it's not their fault, but sadly, they weren't where you just were, so they missed out. It's their loss. Or as author John Green put it, "“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.” EXACTLY!
And as time goes on, many favorites hold a place of honor on your own mental bookshelf and sometimes you don't even remember why. You may remember the general subject and perhaps a few details, but the intricacies of the story and why you fell so in love with it have escaped you long ago. This is the kind of thing that happens as you get older. :) Once you realize this has happened, you know you need to go back and re-read some favorites so that you can experience that feeling of falling in love all over again. This was an addendum to my book-reading resolution - to add in some long-forgotten classics to the ever-growing pile of newer fiction. For many years, Toni Morrison's Beloved held court as my all-time favorite book, and I'm sorry to say most of the details of the story have been lost from me. But it's on my list of re-reads. I recently read John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men again, and I'm so glad that I reconnected with George and Lenny after all these years. The Winter of Our Discontent is next after I finish Jonathan Tropper's This Is Where I Leave You, which has had me laughing out loud for several days now. Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird is on deck as well, but it may be a couple of months before I get to it. :)
Then there are the new classics that you are so excited to share with others and so pleased to add to your list of favorites... such as Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love. When you feel like you're experiencing the journey right alongside the author - laughing, crying and having spiritual awakenings as she does - rather than just reading about it, you know you have a classic on your hands. Elizabeth's story was so awe-inspiring it made me wonder exactly what I'm doing with my life. (Which I've been wondering anyway.)
Some days I almost wish it was like the old days again, with no internet available so that I would have more time to read. Once I get going with a good book, I wonder what kept me away for so long. I almost wish for a simpler time where there would be nothing to distract me from my latest literary adventure. Almost.
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