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You know what I'm getting a little tired of? Characters in literary fiction that wax poetic about their love of words and books and writing. We all know how that happens, right? Authors love books. Golly gee. My own writing's not immune to the phenomenon, either, sorry to say.
I'm in need of an antidote. Anybody know a good book about a kid who's really into, say, chemisty? (Besides Catalyst, that is. God bless you, Laurie Anderson.)
There is snow on the ground, but I don't care. It's February in Michigan and it's 56 degrees outside and I'M SITTING IN THE WENDY HOUSE.
But I do have a down comforter and a sweater that used to comprise the better part of a sheep in here with me, just in case.
I'll either get some work done, or just sit here sniffing the fresh lumber/snickerdoodle candle smell. Either is ok with me.
...and goodness knows I can't pass up a chance to be irreverent:
Get yours here. (Like you haven't already.)
The other day
Kirby Larson posted a teensy glimpse into her writing space, putting out a request for "the things you keep on your shelves or on your walls that celebrate your writing self? That comfort you? That inspire you?" Here's some of the stuff that tends to attract my gaze while I'm sitting in my writing chair. For what it's worth, all these images were taken without moving my tushie from said chair:
1. Front and center, my framed autographs of Annie Sullivan, Helen Keller, and Laura Bridgman. Other interesting tidbits: a genuine sweetgrass basket filled with shells from the shores of South Carolina; a photo of my buddy Sarah Jean the Green Bean; a copy of
Luther's Small Catechism stamped "Property of Sarah Miller" (my great-grandmother); and my first very first book,
Ladybug, Ladybug and Other Nursery Rhymes.
2. To the right of that, my Romanov library. Which seems like it ought to intimidate me with the sheer scale of what I've taken on with this project, but I always seem to find it oddly pleasing. (Note the nifty Nikolai II matroyshka, direct from the Catherine Palace gift shop.)
3. On the back of my door (which opens directly parallel to my chair) original artwork of the kiddo from the Halfway Down the Stairs logo, presented on the day of the shop's Grand Closing party.
4. Below that, my bill/bookmark/scissors holder, adorned with four itsy-bitsy framed formal portraits of the grand duchesses Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia taken in 1914 -- the year O.T.M.A. begins. Regarding the size of those frames, see the section in Bird by Bird entitled, "Short Assignments" (page 16 in my hardcover edition).
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Currently reading:
The Walls of Cartagena
by Julia Durango
...and goodness knows I can't pass up a chance to be irreverent:
Get yours here. (Like you haven't already.)
I suspect I'm not the only person feeling this way, but so far I seem to be the only person admitting it. (Which is why I've taken so long to get around to saying so.)
Like most folks, I did my fair share of choking up on inauguration day. I am moved by President Obama's eloquence, his charisma, his humility, and his message of hope and change. Intellectually I understand and appreciate the significance of a black man taking the oath of office. But I didn't feel the same sense of gravity and history that others did on Tuesday.
My best guess is that witnessing the culmination doesn't mean as much when you haven't also witnessed the battle for equality. Because even though I was once thrilled to shake Rosa Parks's hand, I am a white girl who's lived her entire life within an hour of the Canadian border, and my experience of the Civil Rights movement comes entirely from social studies textbooks.
For as long as I have been alive, African-Americans have been able to eat lunch and go to school where they please. As far back as my memory reaches (and further), black people have been able to vote. Unless you count the time Luphia Brooks clobbered a kid on the playground for calling her "Chocolate," I've observed virtually no racism first hand. I didn't even realize my elementary school was smack-dab in the middle of the black neighborhood until I was in junior high. In short, although it was never something I took for granted, the notion of a black man in the oval office never seemed impossible or outlandish to me. Maybe that's something to be proud of, but at the same time I can't help feeling a little left out of this year's inaugural glee. That got me thinking -- what might become an equivalent inaugural moment for people of my generation?
The nearest thing I can come up with is a gay president. A female president would be a milestone of course, but consider that we currently live in an era where allegations of homosexuality can ruin a politician's career. Can you even imagine what would have to change for that phenomenon to completely reverse itself, how many people will have to re-evaluate their values and beliefs? To someone who in elementary school was shocked by a classmate's suggestion to go "nigger-knocking" but had no qualms about proclaiming, "That's so gay!" the idea of this country knowingly electing a gay commander in chief does seem far-fetched -- perhaps as far-fetched as a black president seemed to my parents' generation. But then I look at President Obama, and I remember how once upon a time, the institutions of slavery and segregation were defended from the pulpit, and racism was government policy, and I think, well, maybe. Someday....
It is widely believed (in my little universe, at least) that we've got the best darn Christmas tree in town. But let me tell you, come January, when that tree and the garlands and Santas and angels and all that STUFF comes down, wow. The house is so smooth and crisp and bright. Makes me want to sit right down on the bare floor and grin.
1. No more purposeless surfing of the internet. Specifically:
- No more checking, rechecking, and double rechecking (ad nauseam) of the email.
- No more loitering on the Alexander Palace or Blueboards, waiting for fresh posts to pounce on.
2. Turn the effing router o-f-f, OFF when working.
Sounds simple, doesn't it? Heh.
First, Great Grandma Gass-Ball's molasses cookies:
Yeah, "flour." Try five or six cups -- enough so you can roll them out without breaking your wrists. Then sprinkle a little sugar on top and bake at 350 for 10-15 minutes or so.
(Maybe next summer I'll share her BBQ sauce recipe. Maybe.)
And now, pound cake. I dunno whose recipe this is, but it happens to be in Grandma Miller's handwriting:
Look out -- there's baking powder in the ingredients list but not in the instructions, so don't forget to dump a teaspoonful in there with the flour. Also, it takes an hour and 40 minutes only if you're making a bundt cake. I do two loaf pans for 50-60 minutes instead.
Um...I've quite recently discovered that "inertia" means precisely the opposite of what I thought it meant. Crap. It's one thing to be a little foggy on a definition, but c'mon -- COMPLETELY OPPOSITE? So now I'm sitting here trying to think of how many times I might have managed to misuse "inertia' in the last, oh, 20 years. And who might have been listening/reading.
I remember this happening once before, with "frequently." I think I was in elementary school. It is the kookiest feeling.
Ever happen to you?
Imagine me blithely strolling out to the garage with a dried flower arrangement in hand, intent on swapping the summer doorway decor for the indian corn that hangs on a nail right outside the kitchen. Now imagine grabbing that indian corn off the wall and uncovering...a bat.
A small, furry bat with tiny toenails gripping a groove in the paneling, snoozing away in the relative warmth of the garage. An inch or less from where my fingers had just been groping. Gah.
Confession: Once I got over the initial holy-crap-that's-a-freaking-bat impulse, I really wanted to take a nice closeup photo -- this being an unforseen but fine opportunity to make use of my 10x optical zoom lens and all -- but I was kinda scared the flash would send the critter screeching for my blood.
After a 15-minute phone call across town for moral support, I ventured back out, armed with a round Gladware container and an ultra thin plastic cutting board still encased in its original shrink wrap. In less than 90 seconds, I'd trapped the oblivious winged intruder under plastic, pried it from the wall with the cutting board and conveyed it to the attic steps, where I had to park the whole apparatus while I wrestled with the door to the back porch. This is the part when batty darling finally starts to wake up and STRECH ITS WINGS. Until that moment I'd begun to seriously question whether it was even alive.
At arms' length now, I hustle my lidded bat-bowl out to the yard and deposit the creature into the snow. At which point the bat extends its wings, opens its little pink vampire mouth and says:
"REEEEEEEEEEET!"
To which I replied with a cartoon-worthy leap backwards and some version of "Jesus Quincy Adams!"
And then I got hold of myself and crept back outside with my camera to capture this significantly less impressive pose:
I tell you, that bat is only pretending to be asleep. And cute. That elfish little face is all an act. It is waiting for the opportune moment to go Count Dracula on me again. Sneaky bugger.
...but I did.
I joined FaceBook.
I mostly have no idea how this works - not even how to direct you to my profile - so come and get me.
Starting with the highbrow and saving the...um...best for last:
What I should have mentioned yesterday instead of grousing:
Thursday, I spent the whole freaking day with Donna Jo Napoli. The whole freaking day. I even managed to act like a real live grown-up author instead of a squeeing bouncing fangirl. Ok, except for the part when I had her sign, um, 14 books for me, including a linguistics textbook. I spared her the photo-session, though.
Aside from the fact that I'm hog-wild for her books, it's a truckload of fun to talk about writing and reading AND linguistics with someone who's as proficient as Donna Jo. Plus, she's really, really nice.
Here's the real mind-boggler: 11 years ago I was a fan. Now I'm a colleague. Crazy, man. (Especially when you consider there was probably a time when it could have gone
like this instead.)
Buckets full of thanks to Linda Pannuto for making such a super day possible.
Yeah, so it's Poetry Friday, but I'm in a mood. Think Judy Moody, plus a liberal helping of Alzheimer's. The last straw was watching three snotty kids steal a presidential campaign sign from my neighbor's lawn. (Never mind the uncomfortable realization that I wouldn't be half so cheesed off if it had been that other candidate's sign. How charming of me.)
Anyhow, I couldn't find a good poem about being crabby, so I'm slacking off -- going to watch
Schindler's List instead. Great way to top off a less-than-stellar day, eh?
You know what I'd really get a kick out of right now? A copy of I Was So Mad, by Mercer Mayer.
*******************
Currently reading:
My Mother the Cheerleaderby Robert Sharenow
(Casey, this one's for you:)
Just now, I got a piece of Spam advertising "Pedi-Paws." Apparently it's some sort of dog and cat grooming apparatus, but you know what mental image jumped into my twisted little mind when I glanced at that name in the subject line? People tormented by impure thoughts about puppies and kittens.
That's all for now. I have to go shake my head and roll my eyes at myself.
*****************
Currently reading:
Greetings from Planet Earth
by Barbara Kerley
Tomorrow morning, I step on a plane (eek -- a plane!) and whisk myself away to Walt Disney World for TEN. Whole. Days.
Disney World ain't for everybody, but it's where I go to get my screws tightened.
Alas, my friendly little MacBook is not making the trip. I'm packing just two books, but there's no guarantee I'll even crack them open -- good friends and good times await in Orlando. The blog will be dark until at least August 25.
(That'd be me, getting overly cozy with "Uncle" Roy Disney)
*****************
In my suitcase:
The Animated Man: A Life of Walt Disney
by Michael BarrierThe Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Clubby Laurie Notaro
On my iPod:
Book of a Thousand Daysby Shannon Hale(full cast audio)
No, I didn't write this article on Rielle Hunter. I, um, actually had to Google "Rielle Hunter" after two journalists contacted me this afternoon asking for interviews to find out what they were talking about. Yep, I'm that oblivious sometimes.
Oh, and I didn't write Inside the Mind of Gideon Rayburn, either.
If you're looking for that other Sarah Miller who writes articles and things, this is about as close as I can get you:
Yet another pathetic installment:
Assassin's Accomplice: Mary Surratt and the Plot to Kill Abraham Lincolnby Kate Clifford LarsonPorcupine Year, by Louise ErdrichI'm not even posting a TBR list for this week. C'mon, the Olympics are on. For those of you that haven't heard, I am 98.325% indifferent to sports -- to the extent that I remain deliberately ignorant of who's playing in the Super Bowl until game day -- but I am an Olympic junkie. Every two years I indulge in a 16-days sports binge during which I will watch ANY and EVERY competition I can find on both American and Canadian TV. All that brotherhood of man stuff chokes me up as quick as the fireworks at Epcot. Cripes, even the Coca-Cola and Visa commercials are doing me in.
Maybe in lieu of a TBR list I should post an OSV (Olympic Sports Viewed) tally. So far this weekend I've seen swimming, gymnastics, soccer, basketball, rowing, weightlifting, and a smidge of cycling and water polo. And I liked it. So weird.
New month, two books down in the first week, and two ho-hum reactions already. Plus, one of them was Louise Erdrich's new Birchbark House book, for Pete's sake. I feel like a traitor to the cause.
Anybody else saddled with reading doldrums? I've got some good stuff on the TBR shelf, and I don't want to ruin it with my meh-ness. If this is how August reading is gonna be, then I might as well pick up The Luxe, Twilight, and the Gossip Girls and just wallow in it...
********************
Currently attempting:
The Pixar Touch
by David A. Price
A person who bought a new MacBook in January and a Wendy House in May has positively no business entertaining fantasies of going to Walt Disney World in the fall. Especially when said person is still without a day job, and has not published anything in nearly a year.
But gads, I'm finally to the halfway point in this monstrous biography of Walt Disney by Neal Gabler, and it's giving me the most wicked case of WDW-fever I've had in ages. Who knew reading could be so perilous...
Read the rest of this post
Spotted just up the block:
******************
Currently reading:
Cybele's Secret
by Juliet Marillier
Picture it:
10:00 AM
I'm curled up in my chair in my pajamas with a chortle-inducing book, having swigged down the last slurp from my bowl of Fruity Cheerios, when I hear a knock at the door. I stuff my finger into the book I'm reading and skip (rather merrily for someone not dressed at this hour) down the stairs. The book jostling along under my arm just so happens to be this:
Talk to the Hand:
The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or
Six Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door
by Lynne TrussAnd guess who's at the door when I peek through the window? Go on, you know what's coming, right?
Jehovah's Witnesses.
Perfect. I had me a nice little moral dilemma right then and there. How could I possibly giggle and snigger along with Lynne Truss about the jerks of the world and leave two well-meaning, painfully polite ladies on my porch? They probably know I'm home. They always know -- they even remember my name. Plus, there's 3 cars in the driveway; there's no denying
someone's home. But hello, I'm in my jammies!
They knocked again. Oh, the pressure!
I caved and answered. I showed them the book, gestured to my pajamas, robe, and Crisco-inspired hair, and we all grinned and chuckled. I offered some sympathy for the unanswered doors they face every day, got my latest installment of
The Watchtower, and we all carried on with our day. The end.
But this got me to thinking:
They're always passing their literature on to me, so if I had the chance (and the moxy) what book would I recommend to
them on their next visit?
Patron Saint of Butterflies jumped to mind, but that might come off as hitting below the belt. Suggestions?
...and coming from someone who only yesterday devoured a plate of kibbeh nayeh (that's fancy Lebanese-talk for raw lamb, folks) that's saying something.
Let me back up a little.
I've just cracked open a care package from my charmingly looney pal Casey, whom you may recognize from the comments department. It's full of ultra fun stuff: sticky white rice sushi wraps, TWO bags of Haribo Happy-Cola candy (I'm thinking of hiring a rottweiler to protect them) and an intriguing book called The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club, which is likely to be a screaming hoot if it carries a Casey-endorsement.
Now for the slightly scary part:
Yeah, octopus. I eat squid and headcheese, so what's the big deal, right? I dunno, but I can tell you right now I'm going to have to work up to this one. I'm even a little edgy about opening the box. Casey dear, a pep-talk may be in order....
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I'm reading This Full House by Virginia Euwer Wolff, which is about a high school girl growing up in a lower-class neighborhood and joining a Women in Science group. It's the third in a trilogy, though, so it would probably make more sense if you read Make Lemonade and True Believer first.
Have you read The Green Glass Sea by Ellen Klages?
Those are the two that come to mind at the moment, but I'll get back to ya if I think of more...
It's been ages since I read the first two of Wolff's books. Good call.
I've read Green Glass Sea, but not the sequel. Worth it?
Have you read Catherine Gilbert Murdock's D.J. Schwenk books? (Dairy Queen and The Off Season.) D.J. is a high school girl who's kind of allergic to writing / reading / communication in general. She loves football, though :o). They're a total hoot and also happen to be really good books...
YES. Isn't there a third one now?
I usually forsake sequels, but I seem to be making a lot of exceptions lately. Heh.
It's not out quite yet but will be soon. Front and Center.
:o)
Dear Julia by Amy Bronwen Zemser is a lot of fun. The main character loves to cook and Julia Childs of course.
I loved Dairy Queen, and the sequel. And I actually recommended Catalyst to someone today! Yay for books you told me to read!
I can't comment on this question.
But CONGRAGULATIONS on 84.66% overall satisfaction rating on OTMA.
I'll look for a box for mailing.
CM
I don't know about chemistry, but the main character in Secrets, Lies and Algebra sees math in everything.
The Puzzling World of Winston Breen is also good for that logic/puzzle edge. I suppose we could also throw Chasing Vermeer on the puzzle pile!
Ah, but don't forget Petra's rapturous ramblings on the beauty of words in Chasing Vermeer ! Great book all the same, though.
I seem to remember seeing a Top Ten list of YA cliches once, and a protagonist with a love of books/writing was one of them. Also on the list? Characters who make lists, best friends with red hair ('tis true) and describing African-American characters as having "coffee" or "espresso" colored skin. Eugh.
*twitch* This gets to me too. There are some memoirs out there, and one in particular, where the authors sound so full of themselves when they talk about their love for literature and poetry. The one I'm thinking of seemed to think that life without poetry was akin to life without oxygen- impossible. By the end of the book, I wanted to step on her face with a pair of golf cleats.
Let me recommend to you A Higher Geometry, by Sharelle Byars Moranville. It's about a teenager in the 50's, a girl, who loves math, and whose family doesn't understand that. They try to keep her from pursuing intellectual things because girls should stay home and have babies. She asks for a slide rule for Christmas. :) LOVED this one.
OMG there's a new DJ Schwenk? Rapture!
I second those and GREEN GLASS SEA and its sequel (worth it). Perhaps AN ABUNDANCE OF KATHERINES, too? Lotsa math in there (though a fair amount of rhapsodizing, too).
Re: the new DJ Schwenk: I was very lucky and got to read it. It rocks!
Re: sequel to Green Glass Sea
I actually haven't read it yet, even though it's been sitting on my shelf (SIGNED) since... October? BUT I have heard that it is very good.