Bibliophil-itis

Is that even a real word outside of my world?  Don’t know, don’t care.  So for those of you interested parties – Bibliophil-itis means Book Lover or Reader’s Disease.  I’m infected. Gloriously infected. And hopefully, contagious. I’ve loved books – and reading, since early childhood.   ” Reada me ‘nocchio, Mama” (read me Pinocchio) was the staple chorus at bedtime for me.  I taught myself to read by the age of 4 – and even earlier could always tell when someone tried to cut corners while reading a familiar story. I imagine we all could do that with our beloved bedtime tales.  Bit by the reading bug – you betcha. And I quickly became a speed reader on top of it.  As a teenager I read ‘Jaws” in about 3 hours.  Books were the gift of choice to me at Christmas; but my family soon learned not to give them to me first – or I would literally not open my other presents once I opened the book.  I have bibliophil-itis in the worst best way

I was in a discussion on Facebook today- I had posted a link to a picture of Leonardo DiCaprio as Jay Gatsby – which led to the following -  ( rather than paraphrase I figured I’d save time and copy/paste) I have erudite, intelligent friends – just so you know – several of whom are wonderful  educators.  Here is the transcript:

  • Friend 1:  I still have mental twitches from having to read “The Great Gatsby” in school — I have been thinking, after lo, these many years, I might have to overcome this and try reading it again…
    Friend 2: Friend 1, you just hit on something that is one of my pet peeves. We force kids to read novels the content of which really is just over their heads, and it turns so many off of reading. They are capable of decoding the words and maybe even grasping the general concepts, but they are not mentally or emotionally ready to absorb the true message. I probably didn’t say that as well as I could, but I’m super tired and just took cough syrup.
  • Friend 1: no, I think you got it exactly right — my son was assigned to read Maya Angelou’s “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings” over the summer as a HS freshman, and that is not a book that a 14-year-old boy has an interest in, he hated it; I remember also detesting Steinbeck and Hemingway, who were the “in” authors of so-called classics at that time. Luckily I did a lot of extracurricular reading, so I wasn’t turned off to reading as such, but many kids don’t come from families that read a great deal, and that would make a difference. Sorry to be so long-winded, but I could discuss this for hours..
  • Friend 3 Students do seem to enjoy “Of Mice and Men” by Steinbeck. But now our curriculum is filled with a lot of nonfiction that neither the student nor the teacher enjoy. I think we do need to read nonfiction but all the extended text in my curriculum. I feel as if I am teaching history and not English.
    Donna Hoyt Erickson You guys nailed it! So many people get turned off of reading because of the reasons you stated. Sometimes the message is way over heads. In order to enjoy reading it first has to be an enjoyable story and well, vividly written. I LOVE To Kill a Mockingbird. Read it in middle school, my take away was mostly about the consequences of bullying and finding a friend in unexpected places. Re reading it a few years later, my take was a bit more mature – centered around the (till then not obvious) sexual undertones of rape and incest, social injustice, prejudice, social class, and inequality. I think, and correct me if I’m wrong, that we take from any media (medium?) what our developmental stage and maturity level allows us to. We need to train ourselves to interpret written materials and think critically; allow ourselves the gift of exposure to literature we might not quite be ready for. Personally it’s SO MUCH more fun to read for enjoyment and for love of the story than it is when you have to interpret it for a class assignment. The best teachers hopefully key in on the students interests first and help instill a love of reading at the get go. Mine did. Thank you Mrs Chandler! (Son of Mrs Chandler – please give a shout out to your Mom for me – thanks) Then, the dry boring stuff is a little easier to take. I could discuss for hours too, but you guys already knew that. .
    Friend 1: funny you should mention that, my son and I were discussing this and he said “To Kill a Mockingbird” was a favorite of his for required reading — embarassingly, I’ve never read it (hides head in shame). One of the things we discussed was the possibility of broadening the choices available — students certainly must be introduced to a variety of reading materials, just like everything in life — or they will not know what’s “out there”, or be able to extract meaning from writing — but the curricula must take into account the age and personal tastes of the students. There are plenty of well-written and thought provoking books in the sci-fi field, for instance, and since both I and my son are SF aficionados  we naturally read more of that than anything else. and Donna makes a fine point that you take out of a book what you are able to depending on your age and maturity level… Friend 3, do you think the English curriculum contains nonfiction at the expense of fiction?  so difficult to marshal my thoughts coherently when I have so much I want to say!
    Friend 3: Yes I do. I believe students should be exposed to nonfiction but to have an entire curriculum dominated by nonfiction is over the top. Instead of teaching English I end up teaching social studies and science. It would be more beneficial for students to read those texts and discuss them with the social studies and science teacher. We do get to teach a little writing and very little grammar. But as for reading literary books whatever the genre-not happening. I am adding in an independent read right now to open the door to students individual taste in literature. Much more engaging for them.
    Donna Hoyt Erickson Independent Study is a great work around! This discussion has inspired a blog post (forthcoming) Thank you ladies!
        I honestly do feel that in order to learn from reading anything the first step to infection with the virus is to read what is enjoyable to you – so the process of reading is positively reinforcing in and of itself.  You cannot become a bibliophile if this step is skipped. I witnessed this firsthand with my daughter’s former boyfriend.  No interest in reading whatsoever.  He was never encouraged to read about what he enjoyed – only told what he had to read.  He hates to read, unsurprisingly.   That always made me sad.  I prefer reading to watching TV or movies actually.  Love the places my mind can take me.  As an awkward, physically uncoordinated person, books were my sanctuary in my younger years.  They still provide a happy place for me.
        I did find the discussion about the English curriculum disturbing. Nonfiction reading has a place in English classes – but not to the exclusion of other genres of literature.  The human mind is at its best when it IMAGINES.  Dry as dirt rehashing of what-has-been does little to stimulate a love of reading – or dare I say – even a love of learning if the learner has no interest in the material.  I doubt we are doing students any favors by “browbeating” them with nonfiction they have no interest in.  As adults, they will then not likely have much love for literature in any form – having been so adversely conditioned in school. And what of the teachers?  How much enthusiasm can they be expected to generate over material they don’t enjoy?  Students learn best when the teacher is energized and enthusiastic about the material being presented.  An entire generation with no love for the written word, inoculated against the virus.  I’m so saddened.
         I do love non-fiction and find myself reading more and more of it as I get older.  With this caveat:  Only about subjects I have an established interest in.  The Tudor period. The Renaissance. Sea Stories. Mountaineering.  World War 2.  Aviation. Prohibition, The Mafia, and Forensics/True Crime. (to name a few)
         Not to say that we shouldn’t cultivate a well rounded cache of reading material which we can discuss.   We absolutely need to be able to  think critically and communicate effectively. We can’t do either of those things unless we are infected enough with the virus to enjoy reading.  The enjoyment of the process gets us through the dusty musty stuff and forward to the next level.  I admit I approach all of my reading concretely.  What happens in the story is my first concern. And if it ain’t interestin- I ain’t continuin to read it.  My infection leads me next to ask why I find the material interesting. Why does it resonate with me?  Post traumatic stress disorder prevents me from traveling down the theme interpretation path too far; but there are in fact themes that resonate with me. My core values would be a good way to put it, I guess.  Love, Friendship, Family, Overcoming Hardships, Perseverance, Actions of Integrity in Adversity, Honor, Loyalty.  BUT whatever I read has to be well written or it’s gonna get tossed.
         Which brings me to a discussion about authors.  I’ve found that my preferences for writers are not so much about how they write (they wouldn’t be published if they sucked at writing, now would they?) – but rather what they write about.  If you’re not a fan of the horror genre you may not like Stephen King, or Dean Koontz. If you are then you probably like at least one of them.  Frank Herbert may be too cerebral a writer for you even if you are a sci-fi fan. To each his own – and we all develop during the course of the disease in us, an affinity for a particular author’s style within a particular genre. Virus mutations, for lack of a better term. Although it’s perhaps the perfect term to use given the title of this post – Hahaha!
         Sadly but unsurprisingly, the US is not a frontrunner in terms of literacy and education – although it should be. (we have the resources, and the personnel – just not the values)   Why can we not address critical thinking skills by allowing students access to literature that reflects a theme but not curtailing them by only allowing them to read one book. Multiple choices. We need to rethink our teaching curriculums to reflect a new mission statement.   To instill in learners -  at whatever age, – a lifelong love of learning and investigation. To help learners want to learn.This is the true virus that needs to infect us all. Bibliophil-itis. The process starts with gladly opening a book.
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The Head Table

Head Table Place Settings

Head Table Place Settings (Photo credit: VancityAllie)

Remember when you were a kid, and you couldn’t wait to sit at the grown up table on holidays?  No more mismatched chairs, paper plates and plastic cups at the rickety old card table. No sirree bub – you got the formal dining room and the good china at the adults table.  You were where it was happening. Definitely a mini rite-of-passage, at least for this chick.  As the oldest child and oldest grandchild I got to go first. Woo Hoo! Welcome to the Party, Pal!

But I want to talk about a different table.  The Head Table.  I don’t mean where Bride and Groom sit during their reception, or where the Silver and Gold Anniversary Couples get to sit. Those are cool places to be.   The happy place – center of attention and hub of the party wheel.  I want to talk about the table you get move up to – and sit at – when your parents pass away.  Its not an actual table, but its a real thing nonetheless.  And its emotional, and scary.  If all goes as hoped, you’re bound for the cemetery next. Not that anyone hopes to die, but if The Fates are kind, they take you before your children.

When you step up to take your seat at the table (if those Fates have once again smiled upon you) you’re usually middle aged – and usually with children and grandchildren by that point.  Sitting down, you get to take stock of your life to date.  You evaluate your goals, reevaluate them and maybe even change career direction. Or divorce. Or remarry. Have a full blown nuclear mid life crisis. Make a menopausally fueled Hit List. Or none of those things. But -  underlying whatever is going on is the stark reality that there’s no human buffer zone between you and the Great Beyond anymore. No safety net below you as you stand on the platform at the ceiling of the Center Ring.  Tag. You’re it.

I was chatting with my Aunt Jean the other day.  She lives near Chicago, but we try to connect with one another as much as possible. She was 17 when I was born, and she’s my Godmother.  We were discussing careers and work. She mentioned that at my age- I’m at the apex career wise.  If I’ve reached for the brass ring already – great. If not, I’d better do it soon. She didn’t say so, but I thought -  I’m approaching the Head Table, dammit.   I haven’t sat down yet because my Mom is still with us; but  I’m halfway up there as of 2007 when my Dad left us terribly, suddenly. Two of my best friends in the world – Cheryl and Martha – have a seat saved for me. Cheryl’s been sitting up there since 1999.  Martha, since last year.

I’ll be in great company, but I’m really not ready to move up to the Head Table yet. Those Fates though, they don’t deign to ask whether or not you’re ready to sit up there. And if I had to guess, I would say that NO ONE is ever ready for a seat at this particular table.  The view is probably lovely up there – friends, family etc. The love, palpable. But it seems a lonely place, regardless of the company you’re in. And, taking your seat up there acknowledges that you are, in point of fact, now an orphan.

So, as I meander towards my new assigned seating (which I FERVENTLY hope I will not have to sit in for a few years yet) I find myself asking the questions:  Am I happy? What makes me happy? Do I matter? Selfish questions, but at my age I’ve paid enough dues in life to ask such selfish questions. I also ask unselfish ones:  Have I made a difference to someone, helped someone, been a good parent?  (Don’t ask my girls that until I’ve had a chance to bribe them) Hahaha! ;) . And finally: What do I want to do with the next 30+ years of my life?  I’ve certainly discovered a passion for writing and photography in the last year or so. I would like to build on that if I can.

What questions will you be asking yourself as you approach The Head Table? Or, what are you thinking about as you sit there?  Inquiring Minds…. etc.

And the Rain Rain Rain Came Down Down Down

Finally. It’s been ages since Mother Nature’s had a drink around here. Not that the lawns are turning brown already or anything – but the brush fire danger is high. In fact, we had some IDIOT flick a cig out his or her window between exits 4 and 3 westbound on the Pike and voila – brush fire extraordinaire!  The day started off overcast, then cleared up with sunny skies. Late this afternoon it got that dark charcoal look. Downpour imminent.  No thunderboomer though. Just a cataclysmic waterfall from the sky – and right when I was leaving work for the day. I had to crank up the defogger to the max, as well as peg out the windshield wipers.

Didja ever notice that the road gets kind of greasy during the first rain after a long dry spell?  Believe me, I could see miniature rainbows in the runoff on the pavement. Not that it slowed me down any on the Mass Pike;)   Speed Demon – that’s me.  AKA Masshole Driver.  Muahahahaha!  Despite the flood I drove faster than I probably needed to. Strangely I don’t usually listen to music on the way to and from work. I’m too busy inside my head figuring out my day, and on the way back – my evening.

Anyhoo-I decided to be a good wife and pick up The Viking at work. Normally he rides his mountain bike back and forth every day (its a 2 mile trip one way). We’ve downsized to one car for the two of us and so far its working out OK. Those days where its bad weather I always try to make sure I offer to bring him to work or pick him up. 9/10 times he’s already got a ride – but I always offer.  I have the (much) longer commute so kind of got the vehicle privileges by default.  I had texted him as I left work, but he was unable to respond, nor did he pick up when  I called so I just figured to swing by on the way home. Good thing I did. The downpour followed me from Chicopee. And The Viking was glad to see me!   I made sure to park right next to the bike.

He got the bike loaded and we  took off towards home. Traffic wasn’t too bad – considering.  Clay Hill was awash with runoff and there was minor flooding at the bottom at the corner of Notre Dame by Mestek. The rain lasted till about an hour after we got home, and has subsided for the moment. Its still overcast, but” pink and grey” -ly so. The light is ethereal right now, and the grass has a neon green glow to it.  The mockingbird is kicking up a fuss down the street and the air smells of petrichor.  That wonderful, strangely melancholic, fresh after the rain smell that means green; and growing.

I’m thinking Mayhem will have a  date with the lawnmower this weekend, as she wants to earn some spending money for Anime Boston at the end of the month. Chaos’ cat – Guy Walworth aka Sir aka Sir Guy  – is hanging out with me in the porch window. So far, I have no allergic or asthmatic complaints – and I fully own up to the fact that I am a complete SAP and can’t say no when an animal needs rescuing. (Long story – but suffice to say that I do not recommend getting a pet with one’s boyfriend – pets are for long term, live together, stable relationships)  Anyway,  I’m hoping we get some more of the wet stuff tonight. The sound of rain on my roof will be lovely as I drift off to la-la land. But, I hope it clears up in time for the weekend.  I want to get out and about with my camera.

I also strangely feel the need to find our old VHS copy of “Winnie the Pooh and The Blustery Day”  The kids used to love watching that.  Mayhem’s favorite toy when she was very little was “Heppa”.  It was a Puff-a-Lump that she renamed after the song  “Heffalumps and Woozles”  I’m very confu-zzled…. ;) .   Anyway, it still smells awesome outside, and I am so grateful to be able  to smell it. (normally I have no sense of smell due to chronic sinus problems). I’m enjoying my second glass of moscato white wine, and trying to decide what to have for dinner.  Here’s hoping for a pleasantly relaxing evening – listening to the rain on the roof.   Hugs to all.

Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day

Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree

IMG_8193 watermarkedIMG_8169 watermarkedIMG_8225 watermarkedIMG_8195 watermarkedIMG_8217 watermarked

Heres the song reference, a little before my time but good music NEVER goes out of style,  does it?

The air smells divine this evening.  Yes, I can actually smell the apple blossoms this year – albeit faintly.  Its FINALLY May in New England.  Wedding Season.   I should head up to Stanley Park soon as things should be in  full flower up there by now.  But my side yard beckoned this afternoon.  I like the play of light and shadow on the leaves and blossoms.  There was quite a breeze but the blossoms held on strong.  Its sure been a lovely day today.  We could use some rain – which I understand is finally in the forecast this week thankfully.  Not much else to say.  I’m gonna let the pictures do the talking.  I hope you all  like them!  HUGS!

Through the Door: Weekly Writing Challenge

I pull in the driveway just as the shadows are starting to lengthen and the afternoon is at its golden magical moment. Its been a long day and my feet are killing me. As I walk up the deck steps to the back door I don’t hear our two dogs barking – which is strange,  because they usually bark when a leaf blows by the window – never mind when they hear footsteps on the trex decking. But no matter – I’m tired. I open the door and take a step into the dim coolness of my kitchen – shedding my sweater as I walk in.

I’m greeted by Miss Nellie – our old greyhound, who lifts her head off the couch and grins at me, tail thumping. For a millisecond I accept this – then I freeze. Nellie’s been at the Rainbow Bridge for close to two years now.  Then I hear his voice behind me -  “What’s for supper, Donna Jean?”   Dad?  Oh, Daddy…. I spin around and RUN, fast as I can,  hugging him tightly. He’s real, and I’m not hallucinating.   “Take it easy kiddo”, he says, “I’m still recuperating. I just got the OK to drive again today.”  That’s when I know.  It’s June 6, 2007.  Its not the date I woke up to this morning – but when I stepped through my back door this afternoon it’s where I ended up.  And I’ve been given a rare gift.  One more last afternoon with my father.

I frantically try and think of any way to keep him at my house for as long as possible, as we chat about the girls and wait for them and my husband, to get home. Its surreal. My brain is telling me this isn’t possible, but oh, my heart…. my heart.  I don’t know how I manage to keep it together; as this great big lump of emotion in the center of my chest tries to work its way up my throat and explode out of me.  But I do keep it together, barely.  Dad doesn’t seem to notice. There’s so much I want to tell him, but can’t.    The crew gets home just as I think  I can’t stand any more and they prove a distraction.  I’m in for another shock – when I left them this morning they were 20 and 14.  Now, they’re 14 and 8. We decide on pizza for dinner and Grandpa is highly encouraged to stay. As usual, the girls have him wrapped around their fingers,  and so he does.  I content myself watching him with them, remembering how much they mean/t to him and how much he loves/loved being their grandfather.

Time slows, I start to almost feel like this is normal – and then it suddenly accelerates as Dad gets ready to leave – he’s heading for an AA meeting – just like he did before. My heart sinks because I know he’s leaving and this is the last time I’ll see him – again. Don’t go Dad. Stay awhile. But the time arrives. I know it, and I know I can’t stop him.  I tell him unequivocally to take it easy – reminding him (as I follow him out to the car this time) that he has to see the surgeon before he goes back to mowing lawns and landscaping. But I know it won’t make any difference.   There really are no do-overs. What was, was. What is, is. And what will be, will be. The timeline is locked in, and on June 7, 2007 he will have a massive heart attack while unloading his lawn mower at a clients house and he will pass away before I can get to the hospital to say goodbye.   “I know,” he says.  “Love you.  Sayonara, Kemosabe.  Keep the Faith.”  “Bye Dad, I love you too!” And with that, he leaves – just like before.

As I turn and walk back up the driveway the light shifts back to golden for an instant.  I hear the dogs barking inside the house. I go back through the door again, back to my future. I smile through the tears I can now let loose -  because I got my chance to say goodbye, after all.

Everest and The Kentucky Derby: Running for The Roses – and Out of Oxygen.

Ok so I’m now a bit cranky. I had a firmly tongue in cheek post ready to rock and roll, and somehow deleted the damn thing. Sigh…. So. Starting Over. As my daughter’s cat lingers in the porch window and hisses at me while I type…. its an auspicious restart?

Its Everest Season. That slim window of time wherein certifiably crazy people attempt to climb to the world’s highest point and perhaps kill themselves in the process. I find it morbidly fascinating. Oh, I neither need nor want to see corpses. I just can’t understand why anyone would want to do such a thing. If you want to die, there’s much easier and less painful ways to do so, friend. “Certainty of Death, Small chance of success? What are we waiting for?” ~ Gimli LOTR.  Of course,  this is coming from me, safely ensconced at my keyboard. Me, who can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. Me, who has a full blown asthma attack when I laugh too hard. I doubt I could walk  to Base Camp without incident. Speaking of Incidents: apparently there was a doozy of an EPIC ice ax fight between Climbers and Sherpas last week.  YIKES!  And perhaps long, long overdue?  I’ve been rereading my copies of Into Thin Air and Dark Summit and I guess I’m totally #TeamSherpa. Not that I agree with violence – BUT They do most – if not all, of the heavy lifting on the mountain – including schlepping incapacitated climbers to the summit and back (Sandy Hill Pittman, anyone?) for very little international recognition or financial compensation. All guts, no glory – as the climbers end up with the cred. Bound to be frustrating – hence the boilover.  But yeah – alas, you won’t see me up there this year. Unless transporter technology suddenly leapfrogs and I can get there without having to “get there.” I kind of like this breathing thing – which is apparently quite difficult to do 29,035 feet above sea level. And which I just realized is the height at which airplanes fly and now I’m woozy….

Mount Everest (topgold)

Mount Everest (topgold) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Woozy or not I am, however, attending a Kentucky Derby Party this afternoon. Complete with frock, fascinator, and mint julep in hand. Much more up my alley, as it were.  No fatal missteps into a crevasse or off a ledge at 27,000 feet.  Fatal conversational missteps may occur  if I over-imbibe on those mint juleps though. (wink wink – woozy indeed) But breathing should not be a problem unless the pollen count suddenly skyrockets on me.  I further confess I know nothing about “slop”, “exotics” “exacta wheels” or what “boxing” things does.  Here’s how Derby Day works for me:  I pick a horse. It has to have a nice name and be a pretty horse.  I scream and yell for it from the starting gate to the finish line.  I haven’t picked a winner since Seattle Slew and Secretariat – who ran the fastest Kentucky Derby EVER in 1973 – under two minutes!   So, if there’s an “S” name in the bunch this year that’s what I’m going with. Hahaha! Pictures will be posted on Facebook and Twitter later.

English: Kentucky Derby, unknown date Permissi...

Courtesy: Kentuckytourism.com. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Nostalgia and Summer Magic

Reblogged from My Magnificent Mess:

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With apologies to Mr King (I edited the tense and changed the year)

"All the same, the past feels very close just now. Maybe it's just the golden cast of the declining summer light, which has always struck me as slightly supernatural. It's as if 1970 were still right here, only hidden beneath a flimsy film of intervening years". ~ …

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It's not quite again summer yet; but I feel the need to return to a less complicated time and place. Enjoy!