A Tree Grows in DC

National Book Festival

2008-09-28T13:35:00.001-04:00

I found my self frustrated and antsy. All this talking about great books and great ideas made me long more for my bed and the pile of books beside it.

Sunday Mornings

2008-08-24T07:39:00.002-04:00

I lie awake, covers tossed to the side, the soft, summer morning coolness refreshing my sleep stuffy skin. Gazing out the window, my minds drifts to the now - no to do lists, no memories, no daydreams. Just now. I examine the sunrise, waking up the brick buildings across the courtyard, creating dramatic shadows under ledges. One bird's song becomes the soundtrack to my early morning revelry.

This summer is effing melting my brain.

2008-07-16T14:08:00.002-04:00

I typed the last paragraph of the previous post out of order. I am not sure how I did that and I promise I re-read my posts a gazillion times because I am a terrible speller.

I also cannot stop: cursing, using non-culturally appropriate slang, cheking my twitter, and wearing the same blue polo like everyday. Whatever on the blue polo because it has a cute little scooped neck and capped sleeves. I also have it in brown but only wear that on special days.

Cavaties of the Brain

2008-07-15T14:04:00.005-04:00

I read so much trash at the beach that I cannot seem to focus on anything of real value. This is not just reflected on my book reading, but also my newspaper, magazine, and blog reading. I could not even read the first two paragraphs on a Post article about the new baseball stadium. I should be all about this article. I should be speed reading it, running to the computer, reading what every blogger says about my new slice of heaven, and then, naturally, reading recently written blogs and articles about my baseball boyfriend.

Instead, I read my favorite comic, scanned the headlines, and ran to the computer to re-read my favorite posts on dfa. I have about the self control of a small child who just discovered m&ms. And the attention span as I cannot seem to concentrate on this post because of the pull of the Internet. Maybe dfa posted again? Have I read all the gawker comments? When was the last time I checked gofugyourself?

Proof that this cotton candy reading diet is zapping me: I am loving my new David Sedaris(normal) but am mentally referring it as my intellectual reading of the week (almost normal), and justifying reading of a Sedaris passage to "research" the Silverman-Kimmel split (totally crazy).

First Love

2008-07-08T12:17:00.002-04:00

When we came to her favorite page, she took the open book and squeezed it tight against her body. The pages of the book were the arms of a good friend.

The many blues of a thunderstorm.

2008-06-28T11:02:00.007-04:00

I love the sound of weather, the patter of sleet, the drive of rain, the quiet whooshes of wind bursts. Body curling among blankets and books, face pressing against cold glass, legs stepping from the dry bubble of an umbrella, listening, I immerse myself in the simple rhythms and harmonies of its patterns. I let it flow through me, around me, circling my body as if I am a rock in its a stream. Submerging me - wet and cold; hot then warm; forceful but soft.

8 More Days

2008-06-11T20:23:00.002-04:00

Sigh loudly, look longingly. The piles of to-reads long ago over ran my night stand. Their stacks line my floor in neat rows, like cars in a parking lot, waiting to be picked up by their loving owner. And this loving owner is not at the opera, or a 4 course - 4 star meal, but feasting upon the dry bones of grad school articles and final projects.

One more week, I whisper to them. Then we will joy ride again.

Avoiding my bookclub book, as usual

2008-04-07T18:40:00.002-04:00

I really hate the main character. The title was a heads up that I ignored. However, the chapters were short and the cover was of a cheap, pliable material. Perfect for subway reading and purse stuffing.

This happened many months ago, and yesterday.

2008-04-02T13:22:00.005-04:00

I left either too early or too late. Either way, I was tense. My cotton shirt was soaked through by the first stop light. At 15 minutes till, my shirt still moist but my face radiating from a sweat facial, I thought I could make it. I bopped to my music and coasted along. All was ok for 2 minutes.

At 13 minutes till, my confidence melted as I willed my phone to dial itself, speak, and inform all parties that I would be 25 minutes late. I held back, as 1 minute later, at 12 till, I was going to be early. Fear of awkward standing around, waiting, setting off another round of nervous sweating.

By 10 minutes till, fear and crazy thoughts completely took over. I oscillated from fear of being late to fear of being early so quickly that I considered driving myself to the closest psych ward. I would not pass go, I would wear only white, I would never be late or early again.

All forgotten at 8 minutes. A pretty bend in the road, a shimmering of early spring leaves, I forgot my paranoia as the charm of a low key Saturday morning took over.

5 minutes till, stuck at a light, my anxiety rose in my throat. I was so close, and so far. My fingers fiddled with my phone. I reached to turn off the radio, to warn all that I will be embarrassingly late, but this song needed to be heard.

The light turns green. I arrive. I am late; I am early. I am ok.

Best use of the colon in a drunk email ever.

2008-04-02T00:09:00.002-04:00

"Guys: confession."

Genius of this email is also known to conduct very lengthy and well thought out debates about deep and important topics, all while pounding car bombs.

Shoes

2008-03-25T09:32:00.002-04:00

The walk turned into a carry. But who could blame her, she has brand new walking shoes - smart looking mary janes. She couldn't both walk and admire her fashionable toesies. It is just too much to ask from a fashion conscious one year old.

**picture to come.

Pigs and Babies

2008-03-05T16:11:00.003-05:00

Squirm makes me instantly think of a pig or a baby. Not fat oinkers or wrinkled prunes passing as pigs and babies, but soft, fuzzy, piggies and babies. They must be scrunching their noses, squealing, and wiggling their rears in order to escape from your grasp. Woman! They shout in piggie-baby talk, I want to make a mess and I want to make a mess now!

Model Library Patron Movie Scene

2008-03-02T10:34:00.003-05:00

Scene: Local Regional Library.

Players: Angry looking middle aged librarian, puckered lips a must; and serious, but pleasant, library patron.

Model Patron, handing Annie Dillards' An American Childhood to librarian: I would also like to renew a copy of Graham Greene short stories I have checked out.

Librarian, anger seemingly melting away as takes books: I would be delighted to!

MP: Oh dear! I think I forgot to return a vhs of "Brideshead Revisited." Will you please check that for me?

L: Certainly. (pause) No, the Graham Greene is the only item not returned. I have renewed it for you. Have a pleasant day. (Handing books to LP.)

MP: You do the same. Thank you.

L: No. Thank you.

2008-02-24T10:11:00.005-05:00

"you know my theory about that store."

"no."

"i think the designers were drunk, in their grandma's attic, with a glue gun. "

"true."

"but i still love it."

"true."

We are also singing.

2008-02-13T17:05:00.007-05:00

I must not be turning the pages fast enough. I do like to overly savor a book's language; she must be reading for plot, only.

Utterly Wretched

2008-02-13T16:42:00.002-05:00

I am freezing yet covered in sweat. Sweat has soaked through my pajamas, my sweatshirt, and dampened my sheets. Which, in my finicky mind, Must Be Washed before I fall asleep. My aching joints are not sure if it is necessary. In agreement, my lungs shudder in a series of cough spasms that bring tears to my eyes as well as fluid from my nose and ears. My stomach feels a little left out, so it heaves a bit. And I run to the bathroom. Not to lose my cracker and soup lunch, but to spit out the piece of my lung that is choking me.

I pass out in my bathroom and wonder when this misery will end.

2008-02-07T21:19:00.000-05:00

The front passenger side door of my car has OCD. Specifically, the lock will only work after an elaborate and ritualistic turning of the key. Left, Left, Right, Left. A process repeated every cold morning, in every abandoned parking lot, on every dark evening.

I am not sure if this is a mechanical problem or a character trait reserved just for me. No car psychologist has been called. My father - the car nurse - has his own diagnosis. He has yet to examine the lock but he knows: it is not the car that is crazy, but the driver. The driver, he informs me, may need mechanical as well as emotional support. He has anecdotal evidence of the symptoms: driver calling crying because lost coming home from sister's; driver calling crying because of a flat tire; driver calling crying because she was hungry. He went on, but driver stopped listening. She was crying.

Crying because her car has OCD and there is no car Zoloft available in the states.

Busted

2008-02-04T20:01:00.000-05:00

"Watching your hair in the mirror is not exercise."

"I am stretching! It is very important to have correct form when you are stretching. The mirror helps with that."

"Right."

Now my library is complete.

2008-02-01T21:18:00.000-05:00

Because I am not alone.

Contentment

2008-02-01T19:50:00.000-05:00

A nap of 20 minutes lasted 120. I woke up squinty eyed, confused, and with my skirt on backwards. Drool matted my hair to my face. I was a set of wrinkles: face wrinkles, shirt wrinkles, and worry wrinkles. I had articles to read! Literary letters to write! Bathrooms to clean! However, I don't move from my encasement of sheet, blanket, and down comforter. I turn over and watch the fading light from my window.

I could be there now,
snuggled with content,
if not for the smell of bacon. *

*so aware of the extra syllable. it is killing me.

Confidential

2008-01-18T12:50:00.000-05:00

The package was tucked in my box, sealed in a manila envelope, labeled as important. As I slide it out, hidden among the packets of Tuesday folder flyers and attendance cards, my fingers tingle with the contraband. Who knew reading could feel so devious?

2008-01-14T22:21:00.000-05:00

I lent out one of my prized possessions today. I don't often share possessions of such a degree of emotional magnitude and I am a bit nervous. Not on the return - my personal library has no due dates.

And it is not that it is an All Time Favorite. I hand those out for free. Haven't read Emma? I might have three copies under my bed. You can keep one and then judge me accordingly. You might not agree with my literary biography, but you might enjoy the read.

No, this is a book that defined me as a reader, that changed me as a writer. Not only do I know the season/ month/ day I read this book, I know which room I was in when I read certain lines. I still think about this book on a weekly, if not daily bases. I know this is not saying much from the girl who reads Jane Eyre on a monthly bases. I obviously think about melodrama on a weekly, if not daily bases, too.

But this is a book that touched something - in my heart, in my thoughts, in my soul. I am not sure how and I am not sure why. I don't want you just to like the book. To appreciate the author's prose. To lose yourself in the character's life story. I want you to feel and breathe the book. To capture it, to take away some unspeakable understanding.

This book did not define me, did not identify who I am. It made me consider alternative versions of me. Versions that I could be, that I may be, that I will be.

I shared this book not because I want you to enjoy it, but because I want you to experience a revolutionary moment. Our friendship doesn't depend on it; we always have Emma.

Supers

2008-01-06T09:09:00.001-05:00

My New Year's resolution is to temper my solitary and taciturn ways by putting myself out there and giving people a chance. Which is way hard and way annoying. I wish I resolved against swearing.

Case in point: yesterday.

I had a date with the super nice, but super boring. Making me the super mean because I was in super amounts of pain. He emailed later that he had a super time. There were no less then 3 smiley faces in that super email. I took it as a super sign.

That evening, at a bar: I assumed I was having a conversation with the snbsb. And for the most part I was; I know because he was wearing an argyle sweater and khakis. But then, he zapped me: "I am really enjoying this Tom Robbins book I started." What?!? Unsuspecting depth. "Then you must really like Vonnegut, too." "Yes, they have similar writing styles." Hmm, maybe I should have given him a chance. But he wasn't as excited about the Philly food trucks as I thought everyone should be.

Learning from my mistakes, I gave the super ass a chance, even when I should have run from his super shifty eyed ways. He was an aeronautical engineer working in the Netherlands for NATO. I know! Super cool. But he was super snarky and super aggressive. Dude, calling Ender's Game a fantasy was not a personal insult, just super laziness. The evening clincher: "I bet I can name more African nations than you can." I bet so too, super freak.

I hate Thursday nights during the strike even more then I hate Wednesday nights.

2008-01-03T19:09:00.000-05:00

SO, I was ready to quit life, move to Brooklyn, and become a waitress this afternoon because I was tired, hungry, and there was no good tv on tonight. And damn it, I need fluffy, dromcoms to balance reading anything with value. Which means, not only do I have nothing to watch, I have nothing to read as I have already exhausted my stock pile of fluffy fiction that I am not embarrassed to rent/buy used and therefore, I am stuck with Gilead.

And Gilead should be right up my alley - a book that goes no where and is really for the word lover who is like, f* the story, tell me more about the sun set. I am all about a novel that has no complication, and ends when the author comes to a deeper point like, "The seashell glistened as the tide tussled it through the sand. I knew then, that I was the sea shell, and I was happy." What does the author mean by this? I don't know, but I like the word tussled.

With no near end to the writer's strike, I am stuck with only books like this where I must actually think because they have no obvious complication - never mind having a resolution - and are teaching me some Great Life Lesson.

But then I found this: http://mindyephron.blogspot.com/

I am saved from a deep, thought provoking life!! Because all I really want in life are predictable plots that involve scruffy, but smart and adorable, boys who happen to shop at the same grocery store as the cute modern day girl with the sassy hair; champagne brunches; and, of course, shoes with giant bows.

Quite Possibly My Favorite Adjective, if not, My Favorite Word, in the Whole Entire World

2008-01-02T19:40:00.001-05:00

Wee. As in, the wee little hat looked jaunty on her sassy locks.

And I feel no need to explain myself.

A last hurrah

2007-12-30T10:04:00.000-05:00

I have such a heavenly day planned:

- Read on metro. Watch speeding scenery changes. Play million dollars and a passport.

- Wander around Capitol Hill Books. Peruse all mysteries, hold on to something that is more madcap then thriller. Hunt for Cold Comfort Farm. Justify its purchase as I cannot find my own copy. If possible, buy two copies, just in case. Success means I found some wonderful Elizabeth Gaskell that I have not read; super success means I have also found my Monday night book club book.

- Make transfer on metro. Miss train to people watch.

- Walk up and down fancy stairs at the Portrait Gallery. Maybe imagine that it is 1865 and am wearing a regal creation with a long train. Visit all my friends. Pay respects to Katherine. Ran sack book store.

- Caress finds on the metro.

While I knew my day was perfect, the heavens above sought to make it even better: Hot Jane Eyre, tonight.

My Life as a Ten Year Old: How on the first day of vacation, I avoided all adult responsibilities and read a book all day, from start to finish.

2007-12-23T10:43:00.001-05:00

When I started Hiroko Sherwin's Eight Million Gods and Demons, I thought I was reading about the strength of a tender wife whose philandering husband causes great devastation in her home life. I did not know her strength was just the introduction, that her story laid the foundation for the narrative's theme.

I was reading about the strength of family. How strength and courage changes overtime; what was once confrontational, maybe now courage to speak one's mind. As the characters moved out of their caricatures, I found myself in their words and actions. And I wondered. In the same shadow of destruction, would I have the same strength of words and actions. Or is my courage only strong when the sun is shinning.

Excuses*

2007-12-07T21:19:00.000-05:00

The calm,
Cozy feel of my pajamas
Asked me for a cuddle.

*With apologies to Langston Hughes's "Suicide Note."

Play it Again

2007-11-18T16:06:00.000-05:00

Re-reading: Slowly
sinking in sentence structure
words wrap like water

Not yet Nine

2007-11-07T08:42:00.001-05:00

I had ten perfect half moons this morning. No longer then a centimeter. Cloud white tips to rosie pink ovals.

Vanity, thy name is Tree. And she has been painfully humbled as now she has only 8 perfect half moons.

Life with an Intern

2007-10-31T08:53:00.000-04:00

I peek inside, what
was mine, became ours, is yours.
Unneeded, but loved.

Small Steps for Lazykind

2007-10-29T19:49:00.000-04:00

I was so noble in the car. I had a plan. I made a list. I had a goal. I would be productive. I would accomplish Things. Many Things. I would not put on my super soft sweat pants, read a lost forever but really under my bed Jane Austen, and then watch two hours of tv. (Sounds excessive, but one of those hours is "Antiques Roadshow." And the other is "Heroes." Both teach very important life long lessons: "Save your crap and don't try to fix anything." and "Don't let people know you are special; they will try to kill you.")

But I am in my super soft sweat pants. I have changed to my fuzzy socks. And I have accomplished one thing on my list. But I have life lessons to learn.

Over reading, or subtle details missed

2007-10-23T18:08:00.000-04:00

Things I did not notice, or think about, when I read The Giver in middle school, in high school, and then again in college:

- The pilot in training was released. Which means he was killed.

- I began most mornings as a student, and most mornings as a teacher, chanting the morning anthem and singing a patriotic hymn.

- "Hair like Fiona's must drive them (genetic scientists) crazy." Is Lois Lowry commenting on genetic engineering, or giving a scientific reason for the color blind society? And if it is the former, is The Messenger a comment on immigration?

- Jonas-bonus and Lily-billy. Coincidental nicknames? Or letter dictated by family?

- Was Rosemary the Giver's genetic daughter or community daughter?

- Does the baby Roberto and the released elder Roberto (or the baby Caleb and the lost four year old Caleb) share the same genes? Are they genetically the same person?

- Is my Grandfather's assisted living facility really a House of the Old?

Me as a Sharer

2007-10-11T10:04:00.000-04:00

I brought in chocolate brownies to share at lunch. Fudgey, chocolaty brownies that are the stuff of school day fantasies: a slightly crunchy crust, gooey insides, perfect for dunking. My big plan was to celebrate with my fellow teachers that Today Is Thursday which meant Tomorrow Is Friday. Brownies seemed to be the perfect lunch time party treat.

However, in the first 10 minutes of my 20 minute break, I polished off 3 of the 4 brownies. I only have my good intentions and smiles to share.

Me As a Writer

2007-09-26T21:36:00.001-04:00

I am not an immediate writer. I am a painfully slow writer. It is after all a process. A long and deliberate process. A process whose key ingredient is time. For example, I cheated on my leg waxer last Friday, not yesterday. In that multi-day span, I:

- Had a lunch of fried vegetables followed by apple fritters.
- Saw a very be-dazzled musical version of The Wedding Singer.
- Found an Irish pub that serves the much sought after half pints of beer.
- Made oatmeal lace cookies, drizzled with chocolate of course.
- Gave tours at my historical spot of choice.
- Had dinner with two of my best friends.
- Learned the dance moves to Feist's 1 2 3 4.

Give me a week, and I may have the words to describe how to read in traffic. But don't hold your breath; I do have grades to bubble, a book festival to attend, newspapers to read, hot dogs to eat, and a niece to cuddle.

Pumpkin Eater

2007-09-21T18:26:00.000-04:00

I cheated on my leg waxer. This is not surprising, I have never been steady with a hair dresser, a face wash, or even an ice cream flavor. I am not sure if it is the suppressed guilt or the synthetic pink wax, but my legs are going through hell.

You Know Who, Brave and True. Part 1.

2007-09-11T19:34:00.000-04:00

The biggest spider known to pocket change crawled past my basement couch on Friday*. I screamed and ran up the stairs. Cold sweat trickled down my back as I realized the spider had backed me into a corner. My parents were out of town. My brother was out of town. My sister was out of town. My brother in law was 30 minutes away, home alone with the niece. My only other option, my best friend, was at her parents'. And she is a big, fat chicken. This is why we are best friends. We chickens flock together.

In the corner, my choices were cold, wet blankets: deal with the spider myself, or lose face by asking one of the neighbors to help me. The spider quickly grew from the size of a quarter, to the size of a dinner plate. With legs covered in poisonous hairs. And the ability to rip off a big toe with one bite.

Something had to be done. Something had to be done now. Because standing on a toilet seat until my dad answered the cell phone gave the spider the super spider ability to fly and spit venom. I can only imagine what camping in the three season room (protected from outside animals AND inside creepers) would have done for the spider.

Draped in spider protective gear - old running shoes and rubber gloves - I took the biggest, baddest, clearest glass bowl and tip-toed back to the spider's lair. Pelting ping pong balls, I lured the spider from his cave inside the wall and carpet crack. Inner instinct took over. I must have been a ninja in my past life. I am not sure how I moved from the face of fear to the face of the spider. It might have involved back hand springs and cartwheels. Or nervous walking.

Crouched on a chair, I centered the spider trap above it's victim. After a few deep, ninja needed breathes, I lowered the trap until my finger tips were mere inches from the blood sucking, mind reading spider. My fingers released. My eyes closed. A soft plop the only interruption to the cricket chorus.

Cool perspiration covered my face. I had done it. I had trapped the spider.

*Originally written as Saturday. But it was Friday, I think. The weekend nights all blend.

Lazy Sunday

2007-09-09T11:14:00.000-04:00

I woke up early enough that I could go for a run before my sister came over for brunch. And here I am, T-45 minutes until eggs and bacon, and I am still wearing my pjs. I have read the fun parts of the paper. I have checked my email. I have finished last night's pizza. I have found my running socks.

I have not gone running.

And I thought it was just brown

2007-08-23T20:22:00.000-04:00

Over fashionably 10 year old: "You have beautiful hair. I want hair that color."

Favorite student of the year: "It is golden."

Chorus of brown nosers: "Yeah."

Over fashionably 10 year old: "It is just so silky."

Judge me all you want for letting the hair conversation infringe into a multiplication lesson. I am too busy swishing my beautifully golden, silky tresses to care.

Reformed Library User

2007-08-22T18:04:00.000-04:00

Not only did I return my books in the month they were due, I payed my fines in the year they were levied. I am rising above my delinquent library status.

A sad fact in my past library life is that I USED TO only pay enough of my overwhelming fines to keep me under the $25 maximum limit. But not now; now, I pay the whole fine. I do not wait for the dollars to slowly pile up, and then dole out quarters and dimes to keep my library account afloat. I pay the whole dollar. Slightly because of sheer guilt and terror - the older librarians know stern like they were schooled in it. But slightly more because I am a good library user.

Confirmation of my selfish ways.

2007-07-25T22:14:00.000-04:00

"Would you rather have a personal penguin or a house elf?"

"Personal penguin. House elves come with too much guilt."

"oh." (pause) "I want a house elf."

It hurts to admit that he is right.

2007-07-24T20:48:00.000-04:00

Dad on Sunday night: "Why did you finish your book so fast? It is like going to the beach and reading your book on the first day. What do you have left?"

Me on Sunday night: "Don't be silly. I can re-read."

Dad: "Not the same."

Squeals of the Little Girl Variety

2007-07-22T20:17:00.000-04:00

I am torn between taking the shower that I skipped this morning to re-reading all my favorite scenes. I do have many things to ponder as I re-read, starting with Potter as King Arthur (He did jump in freezing water for a sword, too bad Ron was his lady of the lake.) or Jesus (Dieing to save others? Dieing to destroy evil?). Maybe, however, my Lord of the Flies loving self might be coming out as it tends to do sometimes. Proof being that my gut reaction when Harry talks about his glasses is "sucks to your asthma."

Chapter 8

2007-07-22T13:43:00.000-04:00

Favorite HP line to date: "You there! Give me your chair, I'm a hundred and seven." Which I will use from now on everytime one of my students is sitting in my chair.

You can poop on me and I will still love you.

2007-07-22T11:23:00.000-04:00

Niecey,

Do you know how I know we will be best friends forever? We already have the essentials in common: 1. Enjoyment of dancing in front of mirrors. 2. Importance of regularly scheduled meal times. and 3. Love of splashing. Plus, you have discerning, yet open minded, literature taste as exemplified by your love for both This is Not My Truck and Where the Wild Things Are. We will be reading Pride and Prejudice before you know it.

Tips for those inclined to abuse library privileges

2007-06-25T16:57:00.000-04:00

- Create category options for selection. For example, if I were/ did categorize my check out selections, I would have the following categories: art books, picture books, grown-up chapter books, young adult chapter books, classic chapter books, short stories, books on tape, cd lectures, Masterpiece movies, learning movies, travel books, poetry books, children chapter books, Victorian novels, and newly released books I have never heard of.

- Narrow selection categories down to five. You can also create generalizations that encompass more then one category, such as "non-fiction," "novels," "multi-media," "audio," and "children's."

- Only check out one thing per category. Examples of things that might be on your library receipt are: The Plot Against America, Parts 1 and 2 of Horatio Hornblower, "Life and Works of Joseph Hayden," and Zeke Pippin. You cannot substitute that trashy looking novel with the pink cover as "non-fiction." That would be slipping down a dangerous slope that only leads to a tape recording of Charlotte's Web lost in your backseat.

Wanted Woman No More

2007-06-05T21:36:00.000-04:00

I found a tape recording of Ella Enchanted under the passenger's side seat last week. This particular tape recording was mine, but not mine; I "bought" it from the library about two years ago. It had been missing for about 6 month prior to the purchase.

However, I could not, in good conscious, keep the tainted goods. I had to rid my bad library karma of this symbol of my failure to adhere to due dates. My last library rendezvous was Purchase Day and I missed my long standing dates with the stacks.

Courage in one hand, library card in the other, I returned Ella, distracted myself with the library book sale, watched Ella scan through the system, and requested a librarian to confirm that I was Fine Free. I was free to roam the stacks. Free to read through the children's books. Free to skim through the massive art books. And free to check out 50 books.

I limited myself to one - one book, one movie, and one book on tape. Some of which maybe under the driver's side seat.

Me As a Loafer: words and maybe colors

2007-05-29T22:08:00.000-04:00

melting into the couch
glassy eyed -
my mind turns

vibrant pinks,
yellows,
greens,

and then

just grey.

“I don’t think we’ll survive if we’re static.”

2007-05-17T18:50:00.000-04:00

My new hero and role model, public librarian by profession, world changer by default: Dionne Mack-Harvin.

I love this line the most: "She views the library as a vibrant community center, not a book vault..."

Dearest Jane

2007-05-17T18:34:00.000-04:00

Dear Jane,
You are a better woman then I for going back to your broken, moody, and tempermental love. Unless, of course, you enjoy teasing and tormenting the emotional tacitun type. Then, more power to you sister! Nothing gives me more pleasure then joshing with brooding fellows who see little humor in their stick in the mud ways.

Forced Feed

2007-05-08T18:04:00.000-04:00

I really want to read it. It sounds funny. It is about food. It takes place in my favorite places - New York City and Italy. It is non fiction (an admitted turn off) BUT written in the lyrical casualness of fiction. I really, honestly want to read it.

But I haven't. I have tried. I read a bit before bed, a bit before I read the paper instead, a bit while I brush my teeth. My bits add up to 40 pages.

Maybe it is not just right? Maybe it is just flat? Maybe I am not in the right place to appreciate it's flashback style? No, it is just a book club book. I really, honestly, and truly want to read them. It is just that my inability to meet deadlines is infecting my literary social life.

Meeting Mr. Right

2007-04-13T16:44:00.000-04:00

Places I will not meet my Mr. Darcy:

My refrigerator.
My kitchen.
The library.
The sticky feet, cheap seat movie theatre.

Places I might meet my Mr. Darcy:

A party saturated in social awkwardness.
A wedding - I will be one of 10 in the purple, puffed sleeved disaster.
A crowded bar heavy on the citron and music from the 80's.

Out of Order: The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

2007-04-02T10:53:00.000-04:00

The narrative reads more like a serious of occasions that create a life, less like a series of events that create a complication.

Maybe as children we do not see the complications that impact our life. The drunk father, the lack of money, the fights with neighborhood ruffians - that is Just the Way Life Is. Even as adults reflecting back, do we, should we, break apart and dissect our childhood? The why did this happen? And how did it come to this point? Or should we just accept our childhood experiences at face value - this is what happened, this is who was there, this is what she did, he did, I did.

Jeannette Walls presents her childhood at face value - this is what happened, this is who was there. She does not reflect on the why, the cause and effect, the ramifications of her childhood. Just on What Was.

Her memoir reads as a series of vignettes. While the vignettes flow chronologically, they stand alone, enjoyable on their own merits. I can skip from her childhood in Arizona to her life in New York, and still enjoy the lyrical flow of her words and the comfortable rhythm of her storytelling. Read out of order, her story is not lost. It reads like a new friend, telling me about their life in piece mail. Recounting childhood memories as she remembers them. I do not need to know that this event lead to that event. I already know the finished product - I am reading the resolution.

Is that Character Me?

2007-03-30T11:06:00.000-04:00

List of ways I am like Hannah Gavener, main character of the man of my dreams:

Older perfect sisters
Not trying on the first couple of dates and then being surprised when the gentleman calls for more dates
Pretending to be interested in sports by asking what the score is
Thinking snide comments but keeping them to myself

List of ways I might be like Hannah Gavener, but I hope to almighty I am not:

Copping out of a fun night last minute in order to wear soft pajamas and then fall asleep in front of bad tv
Jumping from small talk to making out (in my head only) when making small talk with a random guy

List of things Hannah Gavener and I would talk about, if we worked in the same office:

The weather
The weird funky smell coming from the refrigerator
The color choice of the kitchen
The lightening in the bathroom

Ode to the Friday Paper: 12 words and 2 colors

2007-03-30T11:01:00.000-04:00

Such power in black and white -
Yesterday,
I cried
for the "missing"
movie review

Me as An Aunt

2007-03-30T10:59:00.000-04:00

Niecey,

When you smile, I cannot look away. I selfishly think that my words, my singing, my story telling created that smile. You humor me, laughing at your self centered aunt, because you know that once you can eat solid foods, I will buy you the ice cream cone you crave. Even though it is before dinner.

Much love.

Me as a Reader

2007-03-20T18:37:00.001-04:00

I am an addict.

I have an addiction, a compulsion, a desire, a need. I’m just one block from a street corner and a cardboard sign, begging others to fuel my fire. I wake with a soft numb, a white noise reminding me that the need is there, driving my actions to find more, to bring me closer, to keep the buzz. My mind rushes to my need – in libraries, in book stores, in street signs. I am an addict and I will read ingredient labels to feel the comforting rhythm of the written language.

Classroom in Perspective

2007-03-18T12:44:00.000-04:00

Teacher:
Blank face, vacant eyes.
Frustration boiling. I
reached my breaking point.

Students:
Is she still talking?
Does she want us to answer?
Why is her face red?

Ode to Friday Remembered: 6 words and a color

2007-02-25T11:48:00.000-05:00

reddening checks
devour
smooth grape leaves

2007-02-19T13:44:00.000-05:00

Nothing says "must read!" like good, old fashioned censorship.

New Your Times Article, "With One Word, Children's Book Sets Off Uproar."

Thanks Superstar Reading Goddess Amy.

Book Review: Busybody Advice to a Character

2007-02-17T09:57:00.000-05:00

to Goat from That's What Friends Are For
Written and illustrated by Valeri Gorbachev

Goat, if you were so concerned about Pig, you should have gone over early. However, since you prepared for the worst and did not burden Pig with your paranoia, I forgive you.

Ode to Friday: 6 words and a color

2007-02-17T09:55:00.000-05:00

Peach:
the soft baby smell
lingers
lightly

Watching with Wonder, take 2

2007-02-13T09:12:00.000-05:00

White, frosted, wetness
Scary roller coaster roads,
Thank you, Jack, thank you.

Watching with Wonder

2007-02-13T08:46:00.000-05:00

White wetness outside,
Slowly freezing the road ways,
Why, Jack, am I here?

Haikus in Perspective

2007-02-12T14:17:00.000-05:00

Happy Teacher:

Daydreaming, I am
background to heavy questions.
A Philosopher

Disgruntled, irritated teacher:

Children think too much,
creating complications,
Snot nosed know it all.

Ode to Friday: 6* words and a color

2007-02-09T18:43:00.000-05:00

such a tiny cut
causes
such searing
red
pain

*give or take

2007-02-08T08:56:00.000-05:00

I miss the Writer's Almanac. At 6:50, I miss it - I am at a meeting, at the xerox machine, at the library. I am anywhere but at my radio. My mind is all business, no room for poetry.

At 6:30, I was in my car, stopped at a red light, watching the sky turn from navy, to dark purple, to pink. I was in the perfect spot, at the perfect time. My mind was all poetry.

Paris on the Way to the Office

2007-02-07T13:16:00.000-05:00

Two students on their way to the office. One wearing her pink Parisian pashmina, the other wearing Lisa Loeb's glasses:

Me: "Off to Paris ladies?"
LL: "Yes."

Later, during dismissal:

"How was Paris?"
Random student: "You went to Paris?'
LL: "Yes, on my way to the office. I had great Italian food there."

Interpretive Ribbon Dancing Galore

2007-01-11T14:03:00.000-05:00

I haven't been to work in three weeks and it is beginning to show. My productivity level went from "20 minutes is just enough time to save the free world" to "let me just hide in my blanket cocoon." I have not: re-organized any files, read anything that was not fiction, found my journal, or created model thinking lessons for the next semester. I have, however: found my lost red-hoodie, learned all the words to High School Musical, and mastered the art of biscuit making.

Symbolically

2006-12-28T08:16:00.000-05:00

I think it maybe a sign. A symbol of my faltering love. My ipod erased, damaged, no, killed my Writer's Block podcast of Daniel Handler's Adverbs. The podcast I have listened to everyday for the last 90 days. The podcast that I might have listened to twice a day during Report Card Crunch. Ok, maybe three times. But the soothing voice of my literary crooner made senseless bubbling all the better.

Maybe it is for the best. The podcast was a crutch, a mask I used to prove my love for my new boyfriend. I have yet to actually read Adverbs – combination of too many library fines and a disdain of hardback books. I glanced over the Snicket books, only to re-read The Blue Sword instead. You could say my love was more of a flirtation. That I loved passionately for the 40 minute podcast, and then forgetfully for the rest of the day.

However, I still have The Basic Eight on my bed stand.

Skeptically

2006-12-27T13:14:00.000-05:00

Daniel Handler is my new literary boyfriend. It came as a surprise to me too. I will not deny, he is not my usual literary lover of the now: too dark, too foreboding, too not the garden party and floral dresses that is my literary life. Plus, I was never a fan of Lemony Snicket.

Then, with one night, one wheel, and one chapter, I was a changed girl.

It began, as all great romances do, at a book store. My defenses slowly crumbled when he skimmed over his crowded surroundings. His fingers danced between clenching and fiddling as he seemed to build an exit strategy. I love a nervous author as much as I love a good exit strategy. An author who truly wants others to enjoy his words. He just wants to share! Give him a chance! My inner nice self whined. My inner mean self decided that I would wait 10 minutes before embarking on my own exit strategy - the children's books display.

I never checked my watch. So nice! So personable! So witty! He was the poster child of all that I want from my authors. So down to earth! So just one of the gang! I was in the middle of my love affair before I knew that it had begun. Maybe it was the wheel of choice that bewitched me? Maybe it was his clever use of repetition that hypnotized me? Maybe it was my need for a new good book that got me. I was in love. I was in love with a man and his book.

Another One Bites the Dust

2006-11-10T08:07:00.000-05:00

Well, this week was not meant to be the start of something new. Maybe "Book of the Week" next week? Other blogs that will not happen this week:

Inspiration from Carl Anderson, or There is Much Missing from my Writer's Workshop.
Crazy warm weather.
Road trips with the pregnant.
A Very Special Desperate Housewives.
An ode to black tights.

Book of the Week

2006-11-07T10:29:00.000-05:00

Inspired by Mr. Fred Bowen, I am here by creating blog deadlines for myself. My new day goal includes blogging one book review like entry each week. Best case scenario, I will blog Duck for President by the time election results are finalized. Worst case scenario, this goal will never come to fruition.

Happy Voting.

Private Matters

2006-11-04T17:25:00.000-05:00

In the comforts of my own home, behind closed doors, I laugh while reading. I laugh, rather I snort, sometimes gasping for air. I hoot over crazy family scenes that play like a slideshow of my childhood - bad road trips, ruined family dinners, neurotic parents. I laugh partly out of relief - my father is not alone in his quest for the greenest grass in the subdivision - partly out of an author's clever word play. I am a sucker for language. Speak in puns and clever analogies, and I am yours.

However, in the mini dramedy that is public transportation, I confine my side aching laughter to a smile and maybe a quick in take of air. Yes, I do find myself shaking to hold in the giggles. But few would notice a passenger shaking, while all would notice the girl shrieking in hysterics. They might even call for help.

With strangers, I am naturally a shy wall flower; making this blog an odd outlet for my desire to write. I do not like to be noticed, I do not like to stand out, I do not like to be remembered, especially on the metro. Skepticism and apprehension were one of the many gifts my parent's bestowed on their children. Coupled with my active, and colorful, imagination, my apprehension easily turned into complete paranoia. How many middle school students choose metro stations based on good hiding places from gun welding maniacs? Luckily, my mind movies alone do not guide my decisions. I know I have a higher chance of witnessing a road rage car crash then a random act of violence in the Smithsonian metro stop.

Nevertheless, laughing on the metro is still frowned upon by the Emily Post in my head. Laughing would not only prevent the anonymity that I crave, but would, heaven forbid, open the door for conversation. Say the friendly stranger to my left is also a reader? Or the book cover caught the eye of my fellow pole hanger? My laughter might just be the invitation that normal, friendly people need to start up a conversation.

And as much as I wish it, reading does not allow me a one way ticket to invisibility. So, "Good book?" leads to a polite smile and chit-chat about favorite books, favorite authors, and of course, the awkward pause when the small talk runs dry. I wish I was a girl who craved, encouraged, did not run and hide from these casual conversations of life. What fascinating people I might meet, fellow books lovers, before bed authors, and home librarians. Instead, I hide in the comfortable world of social security and confine my laughter to my bedroom.

Reasons I love fall

2006-11-02T09:43:00.000-05:00

Because it means pumpkin bread which is really moist cake with chocolate chips. But saying "I had pumpkin bread for breakfast" sounds much healthier then "I had moist cake with chocolate chips for breakfast."

Wearing black tights.

Layers upon layers of scarves, sweaters, and jackets.

The wind makes for perfect bed cuddling, book reading, sunshiny days.

Swirling leaves.

2006-10-29T11:36:00.000-05:00

Oh how I love the Sunday paper. The only paper that can rip me from my shelter of soft blankets and soothing denial. I spring out of bed with purpose, with urgency. My paper, my day, can wait no longer. It takes me through breakfast, morning nap, lunch, afternoon nap, couch comfy time, pre-dinner snack, post dinner snack, the shower, and bedtime. The read pages lay strewn around my room like autumn leaves, while the to be continued pages stack on my rocking chair. Waiting for an early morning read.

If only saving Sunday pages for later made everyday as peaceful as Sunday.

Terrible Teacher

2006-10-26T13:11:00.000-04:00

While my students buzz share their daily reading expereinces, I am passing notes to the world. It is hard to teach reading when you would rather be reading yourself.

Someone left the paper out in the rain

2006-10-19T12:19:00.000-04:00

I miss Wednesday's paper. It's advice, it's recipes, it's descriptions of food that I think I might like. Thursday's can never compare. I sullenly flip through it's sections. Skim the comics, the obits, the letters to the editor. Daydream of the comfort of Wednesday's paper and the excitement that will be Friday's paper.

Gratification

2006-10-18T13:25:00.000-04:00

I purchased Kelly Link's Magic For Beginners as bait on Monday and bribed myself that once the paper was written, revised, and edited, I could reward myself with a deliciously strange story of choice. Needless to say, the reward was delayed as the paper was printed while I brushed my teeth for school.

Post teaching, post class, post CW Tuesday night, post watching the Met's lose, I finally immersed myself in the now late night, short story pick me up. What I love about Kelly Link's stories is that she often takes something fairly ordinary, and paints it as something truly strange and remarkable, but living in a fairly ordinary world. After reading "The Faery Handbag," I will never look at my purses the same again. Maybe my consignment shop treasures are also the portal to a missing country? One could dream.

I Should Be Writing A Paper

2006-10-16T19:26:00.000-04:00

But I am not. I am hiding in a corner in the computer room reading Founding Mothers. I do not even like non fiction, but, I barricaded all of my fiction into my room. Plus, I hid the paper in various corners of the house. I am not sure where the Style section is; I would read any section over writing this paper.

So here I am writing about how I would rather be reading in order to avoid writing.