Happy New Year

Life I am the new year.
I am an unspoiled page in your book of time.
I am your next chance at the art of living.
I am your opportunity to practice what you have learned about life during the last twelve months.
All that you sought and didn’t find is hidden in me,
waiting for you to search it out with more determination.
All the good that you tried for and didn’t achieve
is mine to grant when you have fewer conflicting desires.
All that you dreamed but didn’t dare to do, all that you hoped but did not will,
all the faith that you claimed but did not have –
these slumber lightly, waiting to be awakened
by the touch of a strong purpose.
I am your opportunity
to renew your allegiance to Him who said, “behold, I make all things new.”
I am the new year.

–Author unknown

Now here’s an accident waiting to happen

I think it was more than a year ago I mentioned to my husband that they need to come up with Wi-Fi for cars. Usually I end up with driving duty anyhow, but I was thinking for those rare occasions when we are on a motor trip and I get to sit in the passenger seat for a while, it would be great to be online. I’m that addicted, sadly, and the little Blackberry screen just does not cut it.

So today I saw this story about Ford adding Wi-Fi to its cars. I can only say good thing I’m a Japanese car person or I’d probably be trying to find a way to drive, drink coffee and blog. I already get grief from my friends for texting at red lights and talking on the phone while driving. I suppose I shouldn’t make light of this.

Richard Russo ….You Cut-up!

Richard Russo’s “That Old Cape Magic” is next on my reading list. The book was recommended by none other than my new writing hero, Jess Walter, who lists it on his web site as a book he likes.

I’ve read Russo in the past, but I forgot about his little zingers.  I love this description of one of the characters with a receding hairline.  ”Apparently to compensate, he wore what strands remained long on the back and sides, making him look like a Dickensian gravedigger.” Snort, snort. Can’t say I’ve ever seen a Dickensian gravedigger, but I’ve seen plenty of Dickens characters in books and on stage. The metaphor is amusing.

I’m thinking the ability to construct never-before-seen metaphors is one of the hallmarks of an entertaining writer. Be back later. I’m settling in with Richard and a cup of coffee.

“The Financial Lives of the Poets”

One day Matthew Prior is tooling around town in his Nissan Maxima with its heated leather seats and the next he’s pushing drugs so he can afford to keep sending his children to Catholic school.

Oh how far the mighty have fallen. It’s a story that has become familiar in these recessionary times and it is told with great humor and warmth by author Jess Walter, a five-time novelist who has won the Edgar Award and whose other works have received high praise.

Published in 2009, the book feels amazingly contemporary. Prior is a sympathetic – if misguided – narrator, who sees his upper middle class life swirl away. All the things that he has taken for granted – his home, his marriage, his job – are falling apart, while his father progresses through the stages of senility – pining for the Rockford Files and cream chipped beef.

There’s a certain film noir sensibility to this story – a beautiful wife having an online affair with her old boyfriend, ill-conceived business plans that drive them both to the brink of bankruptcy. You wonder if Matthew can’t see the flaws in his thinking because he is going through his days sleep-deprived and stoned, or if his short-sightedness is just a symptom of our crazy times.

I highly recommend this book and will be looking to read others by this extremely gifted writer.

What a cool guy!

Jess Walter: 5-star writer, all-around good guy

I’m walking around my office this morning doing a strut that is halfway between the twist and the “Wild and Crazy Guys” shuffle.

Jess Walter is the coolest.

I’m reading his newest novel: “The Financial Lives of Poets”.

I’m almost done. I’m loving it. He is one of the wittiest writers I’ve read in years and very perceptive. I developed such a little literary crush I had to go check out his web page. There was an e-mail address.  I wrote him a fan letter and he wrote back in less than an hour. This guy has won multiple literary awards and he makes the time to write to an admiring fan.

Turns out he used to be a newspaper reporter, which I sensed based on his very accurate observations about the state of the industry. I’m glad to see another print journalist make the big time. Go Jess!

Rack up another Magic Moment for me!

So who is this Sedaris character?

OK. I know David Sedaris is a very well-known, best-selling author. Probably everybody has heard of  ”Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim”. I haven’t read it, but I did find a little book called “Holidays on Ice” sitting prominently on a display of holiday books at my library. I sometimes enjoy holiday books if they aren’t too homespun and hokey.

“Holidays on Ice” is a book of short stories including “The SantaLand Diaries” after which a stage play was made.

“The SantaLand Diaries” recounts Sedaris’ stint as an elf at a New York City department store.  It was a very funny and somewhat twisted story about the weird things that happen over the holiday season, including the kid who – with his mother’s help, urinated in the fake snow.

The other stories were quite a bit less jolly. I haven’t read much about this author, but his stories provide glimpses into a slightly dysfunctional childhood. Since I grew up in what was basically the Cleaver household, perhaps his family wasn’t dysfunctional at all and it is my own biases creeping in. Some of his stories in this holiday book were quite disturbing. I’m not sure what seeing an autopsy has to do with Christmas, for example. There are childhood tales I can  relate to, but other stories that I’m not sure anybody would relate to. One story seemed very tongue-in-cheek, but then turned shocking in its brutality.

Perhaps this book would have been better shelved on a display called the Anti-Christmas. Then I would have known what I was getting into. I know some of my friends really appreciate this author, so I’m going to give him another shot.

Christmas – Magic Moments 2009

All in all, it wasn’t a bad Christmas. That sounds like a backhanded compliment, but it’s rather high praise from a woman who has had blue Christmases the last decade or so.

As my family tries to adjust our Christmases around the loss of our matriarch, I think we’re starting to get the hang of finding something to be merry about.  I think I’m starting to realize that I can go through life moping through my holidays or be grateful for the family and friends who grace my life. Anything else is an insult to these fine people, who also have their crosses to bear and who try to go through their days with hope and a smile.

Christmas Eve Day was rather sad, as we figured it would be. We went to Erie to visit Mike’s mom, Mildred, who lives in an assisted living home and who is suffering from a multitude of health issues. My sister-in-law Patty told us to expect to see a pretty weak, incapacitated mother and that’s what we saw. We spent almost 4 hours visiting with her and had lunch with her in the pretty sunroom they had decorated for Christmas.  That was probably the high point of the visit. It was an effort for her to get from her suite to the sunroom. She can no longer use her walker and had to be helped from her lift chair into a wheelchair by two aides.  She complained that she didn’t want to go to lunch, but my sister-in-law stood firm, telling her she had to eat, and that it was in her best interest to try to move around a little bit.

Once we got her there, she seemed to enjoy sitting in the cheerful room with us. She managed to choke down some applesauce, chicken and a chocolate chip cookie and smiled while we told our stories, even if she didn’t feel up to talking herself.

After lunch, Patty and my niece Kristin left and Mike and I stayed behind for a longer visit. Mom was in pain from her orthopedic issues and weak from her medical issues and couldn’t really hold a conversation. She dozed off in her recliner while Mike and I looked over at her periodically and watched vapid soap operas, featuring people dressed in satin blouses and snowflake sweaters getting all teary-eyed and kissy  over sentimental keepsakes and moments by the fire. I made puking motions while Mike wondered aloud why so many of the men had 1970s-style hair. From the back one of the guys looked like a Geico caveman, I said. Mike snickered.

We brought our camera but figured, under the circumstances, that picture-taking was inappropriate.

Despite the sadness of this visit, we had some magic moments driving to Erie. The sun was bright, lightening the mood, the snow-covered pines and farmlands stunning. We played tranquil classical music and I conducted my imaginary orchestra. I’ve decided I want to be a conductor when I grow up, but that’s a different story. It’s great being married to somebody for 18 years, you can be yourself and not worry about it.

Out of respect for Mike, we had a silent drive home. I cast furtive glances in his direction and he seemed to be handling the visit OK, but I’ve seen him look a little glassy-eyed these last few days.

When we got home, we turned down all the lights, turned on the Christmas tree, had a candlelit dinner together, and hung out until it was time to go to church. The cats spent 2.5 seconds looking at the 22 new toys that came in their stockings and then retreated to their snuzzle spots. They have a better time knocking over the Wise Men and pouncing on the toy mice they bury under the Christmas tree skirt.

They moved midnight Mass to 10 p.m. at my church. I’m not quite sure why. Our pastor is my age, so it’s not like he has infirmities like our Pope.  We went an hour earlier to listen to the choir and Christmas band. I enjoyed sitting in the darkened church, bowing my head and closing my eyes while they played some of my favorite Christmas songs. About 20 minutes into it, some annoyingly rude Christmas-only people came and sat behind us, but I won’t bore you with the details. I already did that with my Facebook crowd.

We enjoyed sleeping in on Christmas Day and caught up with various friends and relatives by phone and e-mail. We don’t get all elaborate about exchanging gifts anymore. We usually just make it easy on each other by pointing out what we would like – if we can even think of anything. So we did our gift exchange a week or so before Christmas. Mike got his own laptop – finally. I got that cute new leopard-skin coat I admired at Macy’s. It’s faux-fur, PETA people. No cats were hurt in its construction. Are you kidding? I’m the daft cat lady, herself.

Our family gathering this year was over at my brother Bill’s house in Brunswick on Christmas night. There were about 15 of us. It was nice to bond with my family and to meet Bill’s girlfriend’s parents and grandmother. They are quiet people, but so are we – lately. They sent us home with a Tupperware container of baked goods. I asked Mike to take it to work and remove temptation. I’ve been fairly good this Christmas season, but I’m sure I put on a few pounds that I’m going to want to lose again.

Christmas is more than 2 days, though. We had some nice times in the weeks leading up. I especially enjoyed going with my dad and sister to see the Cleveland Orchestra Christmas Concert last weekend. Next year, I’ll plan earlier and spring for the box seats so we can have more legroom. An usher told us that former conductor Lorin Maazel favored sitting in the balcony – because he thought the acoustics were best there.  Chorus conductor Robert Porco was quite the entertaining showman. It seemed odd to watch a conductor who cracked jokes with Santa Claus and with the people from the audience who volunteered to do a solo performance of a line from the Twelve Days of Christmas. I hate to say it, but many of their voices reminded me of Kermit and Miss Piggy.

I enjoyed visits with my closest girlfriends – Joan, Patti, Mary and Laura. We all seem to get together too infrequently – considering how much we enjoy talking and laughing together.

Mike and I are trying this new thing called Sunday date day. Any Sundays he doesn’t have to work we are making sure we go out and do something together, capping each outing with a trip to a restaurant we’ve never been to before, which is quite a few since neither of us are big foodies. I like to go, just for the experience of seeing new places and enjoying a glass of wine together. It’s been particularly festive during this holiday season. He is also going to church with me, which means a lot. Last Sunday, as we stood together while the choir sang and the priest “did the dishes” after Communion – as my irreverent Uncle George used to say – I held Mike’s arm, closed my eyes and felt a nice mingling of our souls. I can get into that. I hope it’s not just going to be a Christmas thing.

Anyhow here are some photos from the family gathering. The dog in the photo is my brother’s girlfriend Mandy’s dog, Ace. He had a thing for me. Mike uploaded these photos to his new laptop after some cursing. Apparently, something he did made it impossible for me to resize these. We’ll try again later.

Donna and Ace having a "moment"

From left: Bill, his kids, Nick and Jessica; Donna (in front); sister Debbie in back; her son, Max, and husband, Joe (hiding in the back); my husband, Mike far right and Dad, standing behind me. Poor brother Jim had to work and couldn't come up with his family.

“The Pink Lady: The Many Lives of Helen Gahagan Douglas”

I had to make a choice.  My stack of books was already too large.

It was between “You’ve Come a Long Way, Maybe”  by Leslie Sanchez, a discourse on the evolution of women in politics, or “The Pink Lady, The Many Lives of Helen Gahagan Douglas.”

I chose the latter. Who wouldn’t be interested in a person who had many lives?

As it turns out the Gahagan Douglas book drives home the same point as the Sanchez book reportedly does – in all the years that women have been in positions of power, they are still being marginalized, enduring comments about their looks, their wardrobes and their ability to react appropriately in a crisis.

There is another unfortunate political fact of life that also hasn’t changed in the last 60 years.  Dirty politics and smear campaigns did not die with “Tricky Dick”, who in a highly charged 1950 senatorial race ruined the reputation of  this intelligent, principled,  progressive Congresswoman by accusing her of being a Communist sympathizer. She was pink down to her underwear, Nixon claimed, when he tagged her with the unflattering nickname the Pink Lady.

Author Sally Denton, a Guggenheim fellow,  describes Gahagan Douglas as a woman who bucked authority and marched to her own drum, ever since defying her fiery Irish father when he forbade her from becoming an actress.

First a successful actress and then a not-so-successful singer, Gahagan Douglas became involved in politics in the 1930s,  encouraged by her liberal, politically active husband, Melvyn Douglas, and spurred into action by her compassion for the Dust Bowl migrants. She idolized Franklin Roosevelt and gained entry into the political sphere through a close relationship with Eleanor Roosevelt.

This book is an interesting portrait of a composed, independent woman who stayed married to Douglas despite decades of separation following his extramarital affair. Her husband – who outlived her by one year – recalled that his wife could never have enough windows. She loved the light and she WAS the light.

Denton weaves in a lot of other historical information in this book.  After I finished it, I knew a little more about the character of Pat Nixon, Harry Truman, Dwight Eisenhower, Lyndon Johnson.  If there was something lacking, I would say that Denton didn’t go into enough detail about the political contributions Gahagan Douglas made during her many years in Congress, other than to say that she was an ardent supporter of New Deal policies.  I would have stayed with this story for another 50 pages or so to learn more about her voting record, which would have helped me form my own opinion about her mark on American history.

As it is, she is described as an honorable naive victim of a corrupt political machine, a person so offended by the stench that she turned her back on seeking elective office ever again.

Soufflé

Suffering from WMS today. No relation to PMS, though I’m probably suffering from that too. WMS stands for Wandering Mind Syndrome.

I decided to look up a recipe for Figgy Pudding. (Because I was thinking about Christmas music). Found out that Figgy Pudding is actually a type of soufflé made with figs and walnuts that tastes like a spice cake, which begs the question. Why not just make a spice cake?

Soufflé comes from the French verb souffler, which means to puff up.  So soufflés  are made of a base of egg yolks and egg whites that are whipped up. You have to have a special dish to make soufflés. They are usually sitting on the end of an aisle at William Sonoma as part of a special display. I think they are trying to foist them on some unsuspecting person who thinks they might like to try to make a soufflé some day. My advice. Go read a book instead.

I never tried to make a soufflé. But they strike me as the type of concoction that you have to baby. No slamming doors, no walking around too heavily, no talking in a very loud voice, while this silly creation bakes.

I always thought it was the kind of dish bored housewives made in the 1950s. I think I might have eaten one once during a business meeting. It’s kind of like being served a plate of Jiffy Pop.

I’ve never made a terrine, either, nor do I have the special earthenware container (also called a terrine) that one uses to make a terrine. I think they sell perfectly good terrine stuff at Heinen’s and I probably could not add any value to the dish by making it myself.

WMS. WMS. I saw a book at the library called “Why Italians Like to Talk About Food.” I’m only part Italian and – lately – a discredit to that part of my bloodline, if talking about food is a prerequisite.

Crud. The thing about WMS is that it’s hard to find a stopping point.

There. That should do it.

Solitudes

If I can’t be home reading books, at least I can listen to music while I’m working.

I recently found this CD sitting loose in the trunk of my car — probably thrown in there during a manic car-cleaning moment. Not a very great place for a CD that I enjoy so much.

I can’t remember where I picked this up, probably some nature store, because it is classical music set to nature sounds (birds, gentle waves). Truthfully, the nature sounds get a bit tiring after a while. But there are several very nice compositions on this CD. One of my personal favorites is Mozart’s “Adagio From Piano Concerto #23 A Major”. It evokes images of sitting in a parlor with a teacup in front of an elegant fireplace — but you can almost say that about most of Mozart’s works. If I hear a song and I think either parlor/teacup or Heinen’s — I’m pretty sure I’m hearing Mozart. I bet he would roll over in his grave (wait that’s Beethoven) if he knew he was being categorized as such.

Another favorite is Elgar’s “Nimrod Adagio From Enigma Variations”. I think that’s a pretty funny name because “nimrod” was a derogatory term we used quite often in my formative years. But the piece is very stirring. I listened to it in the car on the way here and I thought it had an eternal quality. I felt like I had stepped out of Earth and into a higher plane and it actually made me cry for a while. Anyhow, if you can stomach the nature sounds, this is a wonderful CD and is fantastic to listen to during the holidays.