Edenbrooke by Julianne Donaldson

Go find a copy of Edenbrooke by Julianne Donaldson. Find it right now because you will like it. Think Jane Austen time period with a feisty, funny, intelligent heroine and a dashing, determined hero.

You will laugh and laugh, especially with the dairymaid song.

You may cry (I did) at the heroine's vulnerability and honesty.

And you will get your fix of the Regency period as you haven't done since PBS remade all the Jane Austens.

But one thing you won't do, but I did . . . is remember the courtship of the woman who recommended this book to you.

Because the woman who recommended this to me acted very similarly as the heroine acted towards the hero as he was trying to court her, when my recommendeder was being courted by her husband-to-be.

I liked the guy all along, and cheered for him all along.

So here's to the woman who recommended this book to me, and her husband who proposed once by writing a note to her and putting it on the library bulletin board, "(Name withheld) . . . will you marry me?"

Here's to me when I said, "I think he really likes you" and here's to her who said, "No, he's just kidding."

And here's to their marriage and the adorable children who followed.

Here's to women who are hard to woo. And the men who catch them in the end.

Here's to Donaldson for bringing it all back, for writing such a great debut book, and for not killing off her characters in the end---a common misstep of new writers.

And here's to you . . . find a copy and enjoy.

Maternity Leave Over

Does anyone see these gaps and think, "Oh, Deborah must be pregnant again"? Like Meg in Sheridan, my one fan :), do you get suspicious about that?

Because the same thing happens in my journal. I went to write in it and found the last entry was mid-May, which would have been about week six. Now it's early October, about week 26. 20 weeks out of commission, first trimester to third, that's about right.

Oh yes, I am expecting again. A boy this time, in January.

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

I'll write more about the pregnancy in another post, but sufficieth to say: We are excited and I am large with child. All I want to do is just sit, sit, sit. And read, preferably, because my mind isn't blurry anymore from fatigue or morning sickness.

I'm starting with the complete works of Madeline L'Engle, for no particular reason. All that I can find. Anyone want to join me?

Anyone have any other suggestions? Putting my feet up (and reading) is, actually, exactly what the doctor orders as it turns out.

Perfect!

Oceans, Chimpanzee, African Cats, the movies

Has anyone seen the movies Oceans, Chimpanzee, or African Cats?

They are playing in our movie theater as dollar movies and I'd love to take the kids, but not if there's violence.

Anyone?

Mariann, Guess What Happened. Harry Potter.

I knew today would come eventually. The books were sitting there on the shelf, just waiting for my oldest son to grow up.

But today is the day. His buddy Sam has been reading them, devouring them, and begged his mom (my friend) to loan my son the books.

His mom assured him that, really, Deborah probably owns the whole set.

So . . . .

After some discussion from me about scary parts and It's-OK-to-Skip-the-Battles, I handed my oldest child the first book in the Harry Potter series.

I've been trying to put a name on these feelings I've been having.

I can only imagine this is what it will be like to discover that my teenage son has been kissing girls. "Is he old enough for this?" I'll wonder. "Guess so. Here we go."

After this, Kid, life will never be the same.

First Harry Potter, then LOTR. I can see it coming . . .

Ah, my baby is growing up.

The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat by Oliver Sacks

I'm getting to the point in my literary feasting that I don't really care what the author writes about as long as it's uplifting, and as long as the author writes it well. Kind of like I don't really have a preference for one ethnic restaurant over another as long as the food preparation is executed nicely.

Who knew I would enjoy a book about the workings of the brain, written by a neurologist? Or rather . . . the workings of the brain when it's working differently than most.

But so I did enjoy it! Oliver Sacks is a solid writer and gives case by case examples of patients he has seen whose brains are working in interesting ways. Like the man who mistook his wife for a hat, for instance.

Not a novel to cruise through, not a beach read. More of a "Let it sit on your night stand and read one chapter a night." Read it and go, "Hmmmmm. Wow. Interesting." Then take a break and come back.

Probably not a book group read, unless all members are cerebral (no pun intended). Sue Ann and Laura, you might take a stab at this one.

Interesting at the very least.

Books on CD, recommendations?

So the most expensive lesson I learned recently is that our van CD player gets stuck on the stickers on library CDs. Or the stickers on any CDs, for that matter, are no-no-no's for our van CD player. To the painful tune of $200 or so to pay to fix the CD player, consider it a lesson learned. No more CDs with stickers allowed, which means we won't be getting anything from the library, thank you very much. It's just less expensive to buy the ones we want. Or borrow them from friends.

So with summer road trips coming up, anyone have an ideas for books on CD that you love? Here are our top six:

1. Charlotte's Web by E B White.

2. Stuart Little by E B White.

3. Beatrix Potter tales

4. Wind in the Willows

5. The Cat in the Hat and Other Dr. Seuss

6. Green Eggs and Ham and other Servings of Dr. Seuss.

We listen to these over and over. Great, sound investments.

Any other suggestions?

Jig

If you need a good Netflix documentary fix, try Jig, about Irish dancing competitions.

It's fun. But at the end I found myself saying, "Ahhhhhh . . . I wanted the other kid to win."

Liz, you should try this. You could even watch it with Millie, I think, if she's be interested in it.

About those Inspirational blogs over there

Sometimes I tire of mom blogs. Things blur and everything looks the same. All kids are witty and attractive. Moms post only self-flattering pictures where they look good. The side of the couch with the stain is under a pillow.

Sometimes I wonder if it's real, or it's the Mom blog show.

So. I've quit reading most Mom blogs---I do make exceptions for family, friends I'm really friends with, or good writers. But random "Everything is SO GREAT!" mom blogs . . . It wasn't working for me. I really don't have much interest anyway in 4,000 ways to make lunch cute. Or elaborate party decorations I won't do anyway.

However. I do, really and truly, enjoy hearing how good moms use their faith to mom well. Instead of the show, lately I've really wanted the tell. Fewer pictures. More application. Fewer food shots. More religious ponderings. Fewer vacation pictures. More discussion of the highs and lows and ins and outs.

Less sugar, more meat. (Or your own protein substitute. :)

In this process, I've found some of the faith-based mom discussion forums listed to the right. Good stuff! Really good stuff. Meat. But well-written, funny meat. I love the recent post on Grow Mama Grow, the one titled My Secret Identity.

Here's a tangent story to go with all this, but trust me, I'll bring it back around:

When my son was two years old, I tried to teach him to share. Share is when you take a turn, they take a turn, you take a turn, they take a turn. Everyone gets a turn. So he would march into a room with another child, yell "SHARE!", and yank the toy from the kid. You know, share. My turn. Right now.

Sometimes I feel this is what happens in inter-religious dialogue. Everyone comes yelling SHARE and talking, talking, talking. They want the first turn to talk. The first turn to explain. The first turn to be understood. But to truly understand people of other faiths, we have to be more mature than two year olds.

Shouldn't we listen first? Attempt to understand first? Be willing to pay attention first? . . . all in the name of getting along and understanding.

So back to these posts. I'm listening. Trying to understand. Laughing hysterically at some of the things the Jewish moms are saying on Kveller . . . marvelling at GrowMamaGrow that although I don't know Mecca, I can understand why Muslim moms want their kids to go there/I have religious places I want my kids to reverence as well. Being willing to listen to the perspective on Visionary  Womanhood. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Even though I don't agree with everything that anyone says, I'm listening to what they say and their beliefs behind it. And above all, I marvel at the things we all have in common: Love of God, love of family, devotion to mothering, a living belief in the value of women and their intelligence. How we choose, as women, as mothers, to apply these principles varies. How to educate children, how many children to have, how to be modest in an immodest society, how to navigate tricky relationships of being both a parent to children and a child of parents,  . . . The WHAT's of the final decisions of an individual woman isn't as important to me as the WHY's of what she chooses.

So that's why those blogs are there. Come with me. Laugh. Think. Be inspired.

Studio C: Clean Comedy

Have you happened upon Studio C yet? Think Saturday Night Live, but family-friendly.

Funny. So funny.

OK, more goofy and silly than anything, but still funny.

The sketch about the couple in Whole Foods from Season 2, Episode Six is hilarious.

Here's the link: 

Liz, at least go watch Season 2, episode 6 . . . the sketches. I can hear you laugh when I watch the Youtube one.

Miscarriage, Comfort from So Many Religious Perspectives

Yesterday was Mother's Day. I hugged all my kids who are here, and missed the one I carried near my heart, only to have her slip away. I miss her even though I never met her. I found this draft of a post I never finished, so I'm finishing it now. It's my Mother's Day present to myself. There is healing in the telling---a wise woman told me that. The beauty is that every time I tell it, there's more beauty and more healing. So here is the post I started three months months ago . . .  

Today is the day my baby was due. The one I lost. Last week a very kind friend asked how I was doing. I dodged the question, made up some passable answer that I was fine, thinking it was an "How are you?" kind of a question. But she persisted. She meant about the miscarriage. She pressed past my dodge. 


I cried. Not because I mourn as constantly as I did at the beginning, but because I was so touched by her kindness---she remembered. She remembered there was baby. I remember there was a baby, too. 


It's lonely to mourn, especially a loss when it appears that even those close to me have pretty much forgotten about the whole thing. It makes friends who remember all the more dear.


I have found the most amazing comfort in the writing of religious women who do not share my faith. Our tenents and texts may be different, but the sorrow and the comfort is the same. 


Here are some that touch me the most:


From a Jewish woman's perspective: 


"In the Olam HaNeshamos (Hall of Souls), all souls wait to come into a physical body. Before the End of Days and arrival of Mashiach, all the souls have to come into physicality.

Some souls, however, are so pure, so holy, that the transition into physicality is too great and painful for them. But as we are coming closer to the time of Mashiach, they, too, have to come down. So Hashem finds bodies to hold them that are special, to hold those incredible souls, and they don’t stay long. Just long enough to fulfill their tafkid (purpose) of achieving physicality.

And I know this is true. Because I don’t know one person who has had a miscarriage that isn’t a special person, an incredible neshama in her own right."

I love this---there are souls that need to come down, they just don't stay long, just long enough to achieve their purpose. It resonates with what I believe, even though I'm not Jewish myself. 

Here's one giving advice to community members of Muslims from a sensitive Muslim woman: 

The thing I love about this article advice is good advice, and universal. It could be about any congregation, anywhere. 

My two favorite quotes:

1. "Indeed, it is a way of life among our communities for everyone to be involved in everything, sharing in each other's sadness and happiness. So either as a close relation or as a distant acquaintance, we all feel inclined to help the couple through their situation. For each role, however, there are some vital things to keep in mind so as not to intensify their grief or make them re-hash their harrowing experience.

You obviously want to help the couple through this difficult time, and you want to help solve their problems, but it is important to choose your words carefully."

2. "Don't suggest that this is karma or punishment for a sin, that perhaps the couple wasn't worthy of raising a child, or that maybe this happened since they put the evil eye on someone else's happiness. Allah has His merciful reasons for what He does, and no one else needs to speculate about what the reasons could be."


Beautiful. Allah has merciful reasons for what He does, and no one else needs to speculate about what the reasons could be. I call my Creator by a different name, but I believe he does have merciful reasons for what he does.


And this one from Momma Buddist:

"I believe that miscarried babies are souls who have reached Nibbana (Nirvana) and simply needed a human life form to get there. We know that in our past lives we have already built incredibly good Karma, because only those with very good Karma can be reborn into human form. I believe that these little souls are actually very old souls who needed one last stepping stone to get where they were going, to get out of the wheel of samsara. They have reached the end of their journeys, after thousands, perhaps millions of years in existence. I am honored to have housed many of these souls."

I don’t believe in the reincarnation of the soul as Mommabuddist does, but still, her words touch me because I do believe that I did house an eternal soul who has always lived and who always will live. For whatever reason, I was a stop in her journey. And, with Mommabuddist, it was an honor to carry this eternal soul. Even if it was for a little while.

And here’s this one, from a Mormon mom who wrote an article in the church’s magazine, which is here,

“It’s hard to say good-bye when you never had the chance to say hello. I may never be able to hold them in my arms, but I will always hold them in my heart. They are part of me. Because of them, I walk softer. Life is more fragile, more precious.

The other night my four-year-old son cried out to me from his room. I quickly crawled out of my bed and went to his side.

“What’s the matter, Joseph?” I asked as I entered his dark room.

“I’m so scared,” he replied.

I held him in my arms to reassure him, and we talked. Soon he settled back in his bed with his arms around his teddy bear.

“If you need me again, just call me and I’ll come,” I said as I kissed him on the cheek and stroked his shoulder.

He was content.

I, too, have cried out in my dark nights, and He has been there. I don’t have all the answers, but I have peace, the peace that someday I will know and understand, the peace that only the Savior can give. And so I am content.”

Here in the words of these women, of so many faiths, of so many backgrounds, I have found such solace. There is so much that binds us:  Mourning for the child we never met, hope, belief in the eternal, a yearning for comfort from Heaven.

The terms and tenets are different, but the loss and the love is the same.

And that comforts me.

And in that, I am not alone. 

I wish I could meet these women, every one. I believe we could sit down at the table of faith, reach our hands out, and be comforted. 

I could spend a whole lot of time at pbs.org and Call the Midwife

Have you seen this?

http://video.pbs.org

PBS has full episodes and you (OK, me, really it's me) can watch to your (my) heart's content or until your (my) eyeballs glaze over.

I just finished all the full episodes they have of Call the Midwife, which I adored. But warning: It's about midwives. Who help women give birth. There are bodies involved. It's birth, which isn't always pretty.

Sidenote: I always laugh really hard at Hollywood's take on birth, where the woman in labor has her hair perfect, her make-up on, and she's having these "When we first fell in love" reminiscing moments with her husband, who is there, calm and unflustered. When is the woman doing these? In between contractions? Oh, when her body is splitting itself in half and is just about to push out a bowling ball?

Well, that's always the time I personally get sentimental myself, so I completely understand.

Anyway. Call the Midwife. I'd say . . . check it out.

The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Fadiman

I try to put the brakes on when it comes to buying books. Classics, new publications, authors who are just starting out, authors who I already adore, children's books, vegetarian cookbooks (not that I'm a vegetarian, I just like to eat vegetarian), literature of or commentary on world religions . . . these are my temptations. Just those.

The "Save for Later" portion of my Amazon cart overfloweth.

It's a struggle, but usually I really do save these for later.

But the other day I realized why I do like to have books, the real thing, on my shelf. I was at a friend's house with her sleeping baby. (Just the baby, all my kids were at home with Eric.) I was perusing her shelf and found "The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down: A Hmong Child, Her American Doctors, and the Collision of Two Cultures" by Anne Fadiman. I'd read it a decade or so ago and this was a re-read.

It's good. It's worth reading. It's worth reading again. Fadiman is a natural storyteller and she has a way of understanding and explaining people, culture, and medicine that makes the story interesting and accessible. The storyline is about the clashes that come as the parents and doctors of Lia, a Hmong girl in Merced, California, try to communicate. Bottom line is: they don't.

It's hard enough to communicate with doctors when everyone is speaking the same language and is from some similarities in culture. It's way hard enough. But with language and culture barriers, it's trickier. That's one of the main points.

So yes on reading it, yes on book club choice, yes on having a friend who owns her own copy so you can borrow it.

And one more comment about one of my favorite parts . . . in the book, the Hmong parents insist to doctors that the medicine they've prescribed is making their daughter sick. The doctors disregard the parents, and the parents (guess what!) turn out to be right.

Been there. Told doctors right to their faces what the problem was and had them ignore what I was saying, only for me to be right later on. Arrogant doctors with no people skills can't handle this . . . but the good docs, the really good docs (and we have many) just shrug, grin, and say, "The moms ALWAYS know. I tell ya . . . the moms ALWAYS know."

Power to the moms. And power to the doctors who listen to the moms.

Wishing you a lovely Easter

ee cummings "i thank you God for this most amazing"


i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Kingsolver, getting there

I've been reading the rest of Kingsolver, that's where I've been lately.

She's such an artist. I've been skimming through everything I can find, snorkeling, figuring out where I will scuba dive later. Some of her work I like, some doesn't interest me, but all is marvelously well-written.

Now if this were a recipe blog, I could just whip something out so I'd have something to post. But it doesn't really work that way with books.

Amazon Used Book Buying is Very Very Dangerous

When I was writing my thesis, Amazon came up with One-Click buying. One click, it shipped. It was very dangerous and I had to be careful. In the end, I bought a bunch of books I wanted/needed for my writing, and it was a good thing because the darn thing took two years to write and I was glad I just owned the books and didn't have to keep pleading my renewal case to the university library in another state.

But I've discovered something even more dangerous on Amazon---buying used books. My voracious reader son wanted the Brainwaves books (think Where's Waldo, but about science, really good stuff) about space, the body, and chemistry. I decided to just buy them because they are enthralling and informative---the kind of books I like to own. I didn't want to pay full price, so I gave used book buying a try. The prices were fabulous. $2 plus $4 in shipping. Seriously? Much better than full price. I bought three---one was "like new", one was "very good" and one was "acceptable". All came in excellent condition.

Dangerous, very dangerous. I save money by paying less, but spend money by buying more. For less. You see the problem.

Caution! Caution!

13 year old boy book suggestions

I found this link on the blog Clover Lane, with lots of suggestions for "13 year old boy books." Mostly, this post is for me so that I'll remember where it is and where I put it.

Here, Deborah, you put that list right here.

http://www.memoriesoncloverlane.com/2013/02/book-help.html

Yes, Betsy, Louise Plummer does have a blog!

I could have commented to Betsy individually, or just emailed her, or called her, or seen her at park day. But I've been meaning to talk about Louise's blog anyway, so it's a great chance to rejoice with Betsy. Louise Plummer does have a blog! And the link is right down there on the left.

Here's why I wanted to bring up Louise and her blog. First, because she's funny. And she writes well. Two reasons to read her blog in their own right, but she's doing something I wanted to point out.

Louise is writing her memoir. On her blog. So every day (or so, no pressure Louise, not that Louise reads this blog, it's just that if she happens to pop by I don't want her to think that there's a timetable here or expectation, or that there's this random woman checking her watch saying "Tick, tick, Louise, where's your daily post?".) . . . where was I? . . . Oh . . . every day or so Louise posts a picture on her blog and then writes her memories about it.

A very manageable way to write a memoir, really just a fancy name for personal history. But personal history sounds more clinical, like it's a place where one must go and confess all medical history, while memoir is much more warm and fuzzy and really, no one cares what your LDL cholesterol was last time you checked anyway.

It reminds me of this other blog I know, by my friend Katy. But Katy's blog is completely private and no one has seen it. Not even me.

So if you wanted to be a cross between Louise and Katy, you could make your own blog, keep it to yourself, and then write a daily memory. If I ever teach a writing class, I'll advise my students to do that. And then if you wanted to make that blog public for just a sliver of time, you could blog to book it and TADA! there would be your personal history. And in all those church lessons about the importance of writing your personal history, you could think of your secret blog and your memories and you could be smug while everyone was thinking, "I need to write that", you could think, "I write that! But I will never let anyone see it!"

Or you could just go read Louise's blog and see what she's doing and it's great.

But, alas, you won't be able to read Katy's blog. Which is OK. And if you don't know Katy, you should find someone like Katy because my experience is that every woman needs a good dose of Katy in their lives every now and then.

Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson Story

It's decided to be the dead of winter in our neck of the woods. Of course "dead of winter" where we live means it's 51 degrees outside and it's cold and it rains and the hummingbirds flit amongst the blossoms on the trees . . . the kind of weather that says spring/early summer/let's-go-to-the lake in some parts of Idaho, I realize, but it's winter for us. And that makes me want cocoa and movies.

So last night I huddled under a quilt and watched Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson Story, about a pediatric neurosurgeon and his inspiring story. It was on my Netflix instant queue.

We're going to read the book for my book club later this year and when I read that part of the plot of the book is that Carson has problems with some of the arrogant doctors he meets in peds neurosurgery, I knew this was the book for me. Someone else who has had a problem with a peds neurosurgeon---sign me up!

You should watch this movie. It is marvelous. Liz, you and Dan will like it.

I know I've already mentioned how much I liked Something The Lord Made, about the first heart surgery done on a child, but that's a good movie too.

After you've watched both of those, that should give you your medical movie fix for awhile.

I warn you, though, if you have ever loved a child who has been in the ICU, or surgery, or had medical adventures, you should bring some Kleenex.

Hypnotist's Love Story by Moriarty

Usually I don't blog about books I don't recommend. But I'm making an exception for Moriarty's new The Hypnotist's Love Story because I so liked What Alice Forgot.

But Hypnotist. Didn't finish it. Too many parts I had to skip . . .

Plot. Good.

Character Development. Fabulous. This is where Moriarty shines.

Content. Sketchy. Too much too much, you know. Sad, really, it didn't have to be that way. But if that doesn't bother you, proceed at your own risk.

Not for my shelves, that's all I'm saying.

Poisonwood Bible by Kingsolver

It took me a long time to read Pride and Prejudice. I tried, and quit, about seven times before I could finally blither through the details and find the plot. Once I realized that the details were the plot, it got easier. And then I read all of Austen, and Persuasion was my far favorite. I think I just had to grow up a little and meet a few more Mr. Wickhams. Get to know a Mr. Willoughby or two. See glimpses of Mr. Darcy and find Captain Wentworth. I think I stayed in Anne phase (nothing wrong with Anne phase) and with Anne it's that you either marry Gilbert or you don't.

With Austen, it's a little more complicated. There are more things to put the heroine in a tizzy than a rowboat.

But when I tried Poisonwood Bible, AGAIN, I had low hopes for success. I had to put it down the first time when the dad broke the plate---too dark, no thanks. But then a good friend of mine said, "Really, Deborah, you have to go read Poisonwood Bible." And maybe, like with Austen, I'd finally grown up enough, and seen or suffered enough, or become enough to get it.

I got it this time, and it haunts me. Now I wish I had read it when all my cohorts in literature were discovering it. I missed some good discussions. I have questions to ask. I have problems with the text. I want to deconstruct, find the holes, find the wholes, and put them back together again. I need to buy my own copy and read it again with a highlighter so I can figure out what Kingsolver is doing. I could write critiques and commentary and still be just getting to the meaning.

This is just my first reading, but there will be more.

But let me just say, as a post-script . . . that part where the African women are carrying things on their heads, and Leah puts her bundle up on her head and she says that after a few miles she couldn't even feel it . . . that is really real. I have walked with African women, lifting my whatever, too heavy to carry in my arms, up onto my head, and walked. As I read, I could feel my arms strain, my neck straighten, and the weight shift onto my hips. I was reading, but I was there. I was right back there.

I believe that is one of the messages of this book. Once you have been in there, you can leave Mother Africa, but she will never leave you. Her memories will flow in your blood and your heart will beat in time to her rhythm. You cannot go in and come out the same. She will birth you and you will then be her child.

And that was definitely one of themes of the book---what we become as we go and then return or choose to stay. How we change even as we resist. What life puts us through, how we are shaped. And in the end, what we believe and what we refuse to believe.

Good stuff. It was time.

The jilting

The problem with Edith getting jilted at the altar is that it's boring.

Aha! We say. Edith can finally be happy! She finally gets her man!

Oh . . . he jilted her. What a surprise.

See? The surprise would have been had they actually gotten married. And Sir Whatever could have either

a) turned out to be a compulsive gambler. Edith, of course, would have either put a stop to it or she would have joined in and been an even better gambler and saved the family fortune. Now that would have been interesting.

b) Died. Left Edith all his money. She would have been distraught, but then level-headed. Hopefully had a child and they could have been financially stable while the Abbey was in dire straights. Everyone would have had to crawl to Edith for money. Now that would have been interesting.

c) encouraged Edith to get an education. She would have gotten a degree in something practical like botany and they could have turned their estate into a bed and breakfast. Now that would have been interesting.

But leaving her at the altar . . . boring.

Edith needs to move out. Edith needs to go to America and live with her grandmother. Edith needs to get of Dodge, or she's going to have to play her role that's pretty boring.

Run, Edith! Run away! The script writers haven't given you anything interesting in the past two seasons (except for burnt guy), so they probably don't have anything more for you in season three. Get out fast! Go Edith, go!

The Day I Became A Woman

In my quest for fascinating foreign film, I watched the Iranian film The Day I Became A Woman.

I didn't get it. Plenty of fodder for discussion, but it was very artsy and the creation of the meaning would be better done in a group setting.

It reminded me of the first foreign film I saw, as part of an Honors conference my freshman year of college. That film was My Life as a Dog.

As I was watching Dog, I was eavesdropping on the professors who were going to lead the post-watching discussion. They were sitting behind me and one said to the other, "Do you know what you are going to say?" And the other said, "No," and blurbed something about making it up.

Which was of great comfort to me that they didn't get it either.

Katy?

Anyone?

Let me know if you thought this was profound. You could convince me, really. I'm just sure there was more to get than I got, that's all I'm saying.

But I thought the whole tea on the beach scene was interesting and the girl with the headphones and the  shrinking shadow . . . well, we could all write a good essay about those, now couldn't we?

It's so hard to say good-bye to yesterday

So there's this box, waiting for me in our office, of old VCR tapes. It's time to let go. It's time to recycle. It's time to embrace the fact that I can request any movie via Netlix. It's time to come to grips with the fact that we don't even own a VCR.

Yet, still, I'm having a hard time. It's like a break up even though it's a relationship that's dead weight.

I think I'm clinging to these tapes because I spent so many hours with them. These were my mindless grading movies that made pleasant the hours of grading vocab. Not essays---I needed full attention for those---but other projects where I could give my attention to my grading and then let my mind wander off for a moment or two.

Some of these I even own on DVD for Pete's sake. But here is my list in farewell. These tapes will not last past my New Year's clean-up.

Really. I'm letting go.

Really.

So here's the list. If you haven't discovered these yet, I would recommend them. I've put *s next to the ones that some mild swearing. (That I remember)

1. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
2. Persuasion with Amanda Root.
3. What about Bob?
4. Twelfth Night with Helena Bonham Carter
5. The Scarlet Pimpernel with Anthony Andrews
6. An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant
7. The Man from Snowy River
8. Jane Eyre with Samantha Morton
9. Emma with Gweneth Paltrow
10. Sense and Sensibility with Emma Thomspsen
11. Ever After with Drew Barrymore
12. The Parent Trap with a very young and innocent Lindsay Lohan
13. Veggie Tales Very Silly Songs
14. Sabrina with Harrison Ford
*15. My Dog Skip (good, but some violence)
16. That Thing You Do
17. The Princess Diaries with Anne Hathaway
*18. Wide Awake with Rosie O'Donnell (Rather obscure, but worth seeing)
19. Return to Me with Minnie Driver
20. Corrina, Corrina with Whoppi Goldberg
21. The Sandlot
22. Karen Voight's Pure and Simple Stretch (that's a stretching tape for when I really needed a break)

See? Isn't that just a classic list?

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

(Burst into singing with me . . . )

So I'll take with me the memories to be my sunshine after the RAY-AIN-IN. It's so HAR ARD to say GOOD bye to yesterday AHAY.

Pressure Cooker, the movie

You should check out Pressure Cooker, a documentary about a high school foods teacher in inner city somewhere (Philly?) who teaches her kids culinary arts in preparation for scholarship competitions.

(Lots of prepositional phrases in that sentence. Sorry.)

I think there's some swearing. I think it's the teacher. :) Boy, is she feisty.

You'll love her.

And she loves her kids.

My favorite quote from the movie is one character chiding her teenage pals, "Ya'll's palate consists of Fritos and Cheetos."

Or something like that.

Just thinking about it makes me smile.

Mrs. Mike by the Freedmans

The day we visited Macchu Picchu it was not a busy tourist day. We didn't have the place to ourselves, but we didn't have a lot of company either. No one chased us down to tour guide us, so we got to wander. Sit by the llamas. Flip water with our fingertips from the still-flowing man-made waterways.

The discovery was what made it so magical.

So it is with books. I'd never heard of Mrs. Mike, written by the Freedmans. Turns out the book is famous. Turns out a lot of people love it. Turns out it's right up there with A Tree Grows in Brookln. But it's better because I didn't know that it was so renowned before I read it. That's what made finding it all the better.

Add this to your list if you haven't read it. It's sort of like These is My Words, except Kathy marries a Mountie and goes north, not west. The writing is good, not sappy. The plot is good, not overdone. The characters are good, neither too real nor too fake.

And that's a description that makes the book sound average, which it wasn't. It was heart-wrenching. It was great.

Here's what Peggy Orenstein* had to say about it:

http://www.oprah.com/omagazine/Mrs-Mike-Changed-My-Life

Definitely would work for book club. And not sketchy---your advanced teen readers wouldn't be scandolized. Would be just fine for a high school home school literature class if you home school, or Katy, if you needed something for early 1900 Canadian history---though it's not history heavy, just a period piece.

Happy reading. Let me know what you think.

*Peggy Orenstein writes about the caustic messages that modern-day society sends young women. She wrote Schoolgirls: Young Women, Self-esteem, and the Confidence Gap. I used her work for my thesis. Good stuff, interesting culture commentary. Her other books, Cinderella Ate My Daughter and Waiting for Daisy are on my list to read. I don't agree with everything she thinks, but her outlook is interesting and, I think, worth considering.