Things missing from my house

1. That nice lady. You know, the one who comes and brings you clean towels and empties the trash and changes the sheets. You know, the one who does, basically, all the things you don't want to do.
2. Loads and loads of people. Most of whom you don't know.
3. Lots of books. I have a lot of books, but they would fit in like, 10 boxes. They would not, for example, fill up those many rooms in the basement or maybe not the basement of the Marriott.
4. That sweater. That I lost one night and found the next day, right where I lost it. And then I lost it again. And didn't find it. (Maybe it's with Nicole's hat? In the AWP museum of lost things? Because it was in DC and apparently, there? There's a museum for everything.)
5. Hightouchmegastore. And that's sad, because she's a good roommate. But she's a little sick and she probably missed The Historian and also her child/ren. But if she wanted to, I would let her live in my cold basement. 
6. Any sense that tomorrow is Monday and therefore a work day, that is, a day on work must be done. Because, basically I sat around all day feeling tired, doing laundry, and letting the interwebs eat what is left of my brain. 
7. Terrance Hayes. He, also, could live in my basement. Or wherever.
8. Sleep. But it will not elude me for long.
9. Tapas. I ate at the most excellent tapas bar in DC. I want the tapas people to be my live-in personal chefs. 
10. Absurdistan. I heard Gary Shteyngart read on Saturday night and he's like, totally fucking hilarious and I thought, oh, Middlebrow read that book and loved it, I'll read it when I get home. But he gave it to his BFF because, apparently, if MB likes a book and you don't jump on it immediately slathering like a hungry daschund, then he sulks and is all like, you don't like what I like, and then he gives the thing he likes away so that, eventually, when you decide you do like it, he can be all like, oh, I said you would like it, but no, you didn't take my word for it, you had to talk to Shteyngart himself and then you're all, oh, he's funny, give me the book. So, in other words, I'm going to have to get my own copy. 

Review: Forgetting English by Midge Raymond

The eight stories in this slim collection revolve around the theme of displacement. The sense of alienation underlying all these stories is literal; all the main characters are away from home, usually in a foreign country. But the sense of alienation becomes metaphorical because the women in these stories are emotionally wounded, alienated from their former lives and from themselves. Each has experienced an unsettling emotional situation that causes her to flee from home. Most of the stories begin well after a heartbreak of one kind or another, a husband’s affair, a lost job, the end of a romance.

Forgetting English refers to the characters presence in non-English speaking countries, namely Tonga, Africa, China. The title is interesting also because most of the protagonists seem unable to forget their troubled pasts, they are unable to “get on with their lives,” as a self-help book consulted by the narrator of “Rest of World” instructs.

The endings of the stories do not provide easy epiphanies or even the hard won insights of suffering. Many of the stories end with a single image that reflects the protagonist’s emotional state; The image of a female penguin mourning the loss of her chick in “The Ecstatic Cry,” or the memory of touching the cold face of a stone figure in “Translation Memory.” Only “Never Turn Your Back on the Ocean” ends on a positive note, the narrator following the sound of a man’s voice in the dark.

Together these stories express a deep longing for connection among characters who have somehow become estranged from themselves and others. The overall tone is one of melancholy and reflection. I prefer short collections of short stories, because, like the stories themselves, they can be read in a shorter space of time, the effects of each story accumulating into one complex experience. This collection is emotionally and stylistically consistent, and the events of these stories accrued to create the sense of a weary traveler who wants to return home, only she doesn’t know where that is.
You can purchase the novel here.

Currently Reading

1. Correction of Drift by Pamela Ryder (FC2)
2. The Possessed (Actually, Jason is reading this, but I picked it up and it's good)
3. Bleak House, Bleak House, Forever Bleak House (loving it!)
4. The Private Patient (not really. I need to go pick it up from the library. Then I will be reading it.)

We Need to Talk About Kevin Review

I just finished We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver and my timing couldn't be more canny. Or is it uncanny? In any case, as I surfed the internet this weekend for news and updates about the shootings in Arizona, my fictional mind was entrenched in this story about a high school shooting and the fallout for the family. Narrated by the mother of the school shooter, Kevin, the novel is a series of letters to her husband, Franklin. The letters allow her to investigate her own role in Kevin’s crime. The novel is, from the outset, an interrogation of our culture’s tendency to blame the mother, but the novel doesn't let her off easy. She is telling the story from her own limited perspective and so she is, by definition, unreliable. But she also doesn't let herself off easy, continually questioning how she might have mothered differently.

The novel is incredibly well-written and compelling. The style is neither overwhelming nor flat. The narrator has a tendency to be strident, but her tone and language are consistent with her position in the novel. Overall, I found the novel interesting. 

Did I like it? As a writer, I admire it. Shriver embraces the ambiguity and she doesn’t let her narrator, or her readers, off the hook. Every mother will find at least one small thing to identify with in this novel, and that identification will be horrifying. As a mother, I couldn’t help but study myself and my child’s behavior a little more closely as I read this novel.

As a reader, I’m not sure I would recommend it to another reader. It is not enjoyable or pleasurable or entertaining. Reading this book was like living in the world since the shootings on Saturday. While reading this book, you can’t pretend that bad things don’t happen; in fact, you have to confront that reality. And, what’s more, you have to live the reality of bad things, without any of the good things to offer needed relief.

I can, however, recommend two other Lionel Shriver novels: The Post-Birthday World and The Female of the Species. The Post-Birthday World is the more lighthearted of the two. The novel begins on a significant birthday and takes as its departure a kiss. Two narrative paths take off from this moment: one in which the main character goes home to her boyfriend, who never knows; and a second narrative, in which she leaves her boyfriend and begins a new life with the man she kissed on her birthday.

The Female of the Species focuses on the later life of a famous anthropologist. Narrated by her longtime assistant, it follows her as she returns to the site of her first big discovery, and then as she falls in love with a much younger man.

All of Shriver’s novels are well-written. I never found her style overdone or distracting, though she is given to Britishisms, even when her characters are American. She tends to gravitate to the darker side of life, and ambiguity. The stories she creates are compelling. I plan on reading her latest novel, So Much for That, soon. But right now I need a break. Time to go watch some TV. 

Short Story Collections by Women

In 2011, I want to read more books by women actually published in 2011. I'm forever trying to catch up and, like many things in my life, it just ain't going to happen. So, instead of trying to catch up (which I'm still going to try to do anyway, knowing I will fail), I'm going to try to read a lot of books published in 2011.
Dear readers, will you help me? Please recommend books that were published in 2010 or are about to be published in 2011. By women. I am going to begin by focusing on short story collections, but I will expand that.
I love to read, and I have strong opinions, so I decided I'm going to post reviews here regularly, along with continued commentary about my life in general.
Watch this space for a Lionel Shriver recap, coming soon.

Why I Cry or Get Weepy: One Mother's Explanation

There are many reasons why one (i.e. Me), might become weepy or cry, sob even, for no apparent reasons. But, lo, there are reasons. Let me walk you through them.

1. Bad things have happened. 
2. Bad things have happened that involve children. 
3. Bad things have happened and the reasons for these things are so complex that I feel overwhelmed, because I don't even know which one to feel bad about first.
4. Bad things have happened and the people who suffer as a result are so widespread and the reasons for their suffering are so complex that I don't know who to sympathize with and so I sympathize with all of them. 
5. I become afraid the bad things that have happened elsewhere might also happen here. 
6. I become afraid that the Reasons Given for the happening of bad things might overlap with things I have done or thought, and thus that I, inadvertently, might cause bad things to happen.
7. I sympathize with the people who also may have contributed to or have failed to stop the bad things from happening. 
8. I sympathize with the people who do bad things.
9. I look around me & I despair.
10. I look around me & feel grateful. 

What's It All About?

At the end of the year, several things happen to me.

1. I feel bad about all the writing projects I didn't finish, start or work on in the year that is coming rapidly to a close, like a slamming door. 
2. I vow to scale back on my ambitions for the coming year.
3. I think about what really has stuck with me from the past year. 
4. I do some crazy, unplanned cleaning projects that make me feel like I've accomplished something, however small.
5. I do some last minute writing, as if writing 500 words can make a difference in the unfinished novel/article/nonfiction book that I haven't been working on.
6. I make some crazy plans to do stuff on New Year's Eve/New Year's Day that I think will set a good precedent for the coming year. To whit:

• not drink too much
• go to bed early, in order to get a good night's sleep
• get up early and write
• spend the day doing something that is indicative of the coming year. In this case, I'll be attending and judging at a Crossfit competition

Unlike many of my friends, I resolve to eschew resolutions. I will not be giving up my much needed morning coffee with half-and-half. But here are some things I'm going to think about, because they seem like things I can do:

1. Swear more
2. Eat a lot of meat
3. Drink a lot of coffee
4. Write, just a little bit?
5. Do a lot of Crossfit
6. Help at least one person become more fit in 2011

Oh yes, that title. What's it all about, people? It's about people. It's about quality of life. It's about community. That's why, each year when I regard my writing accomplishments with dismay, I like to remind myself that I worked out a lot, that I hung out with my peeps and drank coffee, that I hugged some people, that I had some awesome wine with my Wine Club, that I had some great tea & conversation with my Book Club, that I played a lot of games with my Family, and that, if I died tomorrow, I wouldn't die feeling like the people I love don't know how much I love them. And that, my friends, is what it's all about.

Here's to more wine, tea, coffee and conversation in 2011!

Some Favorites of the Year

• Cocktail: The Old Fashioned. Between my lovely, lovely trip to Appleton, Wisconsin & MB's new cocktail book (and let's not forget expensive cherries), this has got to be the best discovery of 2010
• Wine: sparkling. Love all things sparkly & bubbly. Yeah! 
• Thing to eat: Sea Salt chocolate
• Trilogy: The Hunger Games. Gave me some small faith in YA fiction and female protagonists.
• Mystery: Hypothermia. I may never get over my love affair with Arnaldur Indridason. 
• Novel: The Anthologist. This was a tough choice. I think I had to choose this one because it was such a nice, quiet book. Not over written, not announcing its greatness, but great nonetheless. 
• Non-fiction book: Heft on Wheels. Inspiring book about how a man gets obsessive about biking and loses a lot of weight. 
• Newly Discovered TV Show: Bored to Death. Jason Schwartzman and Zach Galafianakis. Need I say more?
• Most disappointing new season of show I loved: Californication, Season 3. I mean, I still love DD, but they weren't sure what to do with the story line this season....sad. 
• Movie watched on Netflix: I've Loved You So Long. I loved this movie, mostly because it was so beautiful and slow and it conveyed so much by letting silence just stand, which most American movies don't do. Plus I think I have a long-standing crush on Kristin Scott Thomas (dating back to "The English Patient"). 
• 2010 Movie: The Kids are Alright. It's the duo of Mark Ruffalo &  Julianne Moore that put this movie over the top for me. Everyone is good in this. 
• Best Documentary: Man on Wire
• Favorite TV Show (that I actually watch on TV): tie between "Glee" and "Modern Family"
• Favorite new activity: teaching the body-weight exercise class at Studio Azul. I make them suffer & they like me. What else does a woman need?

What We Drank

• Christmas Caipirinhas (lime, ginger, rum, ginger ale)
• Spanish Red 
• Gruet Sparkling Wine
• Claret
• Ridge Zinfandel
• Cote du Rhone
• Old Fashioned: blood orange, lemon, expensive maraschino cherries, Maker's Mark
• Shot in the Dark: lemon juice, simple syrup, rum (shake!), ginger ale, dark rum floated on top, raw sugar around the rim of the glass (soooooooooooooooooo delicious)

Obviously this was not all in one night, but over the last few days. Last night we did have quite a few cocktails (Old Fashioneds & Shots in the Dark, multiples).

Also, the best thing ever is projecting movies on to the white wall of our living room. We've watched "The Sting" and "Paper Moon." I'm hoping we can watch something else tonight. It's like an in-house movie theater and it rocks. The only drawback is that we have to move our couch to enjoy it. 

Weekend Consumption Log

Friday:

• Sushi at Yellowfin, with a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale
• Fancy vodka drink & a glass of red wine, pommes frite & some chicken pot pie at The Metropolitan
• Ice cream at the Jazz game
• Tea with whiskey at home

Saturday:

• Butternut Squash Soup with Cinnamon Crema (oh! my! god!) and Spicy Beef Salad at Chow Truck
• Cava at the Monaco wine tasting, Prosseco in E & K's room after
• Tapas & Sangria at Martine: trout with lentils, duck!, Spanish tortilla, something with chorizo, lamb; then a glass of Rioja; chocolate decadence & grilled gringerbread & porto
• A drink in The Vault at Bambara: Old Fashioned & some calamari & shrimp
• The rest of the Prosseco in E & K's room

Sunday:

• Free coffee in the lobby of the Monaco
• Brunch at Bambara: tomato & roasted pepper omelette, fresh orange juice, complimentary fruit plate
• Curry Chicken Soup (I made): chicken, coconut milk, ginger, sweet potatoes, carrots, rice noodles
• Pear-Apple-Berry Crisp (I made): delicious! Turns out pears are a delicious addition to any crisp!

It's always gratifying to return home after a long stint of good eating out and to remind oneself that one can, when pressed, make a good soup based loosely on a recipe and top it off with a crisp made from the over ripe fruit at hand. All in all, a successful culinary weekend. 

The Beauty of Getting Older

...is that you appreciate things so much more.
Such as:

• my amazing husband (who else would have married me?)
• friends you have known for a long time
• friends with whom you have many things in common
• the laughter of Son (and his sense of humor in general)
• delicious drinks, like Jack Frost, The Metropolitan, and White Sangria
• the amazing shoulders of Dwight Howard, seriously, check this dude out
• friends who will take your crazy son for the night so you can, briefly, pretend to be an Adult
• being so much stronger this year than last
• being able to afford to go out for fancy drinks & a fancy dinner (at least a few times a year)
• wine
• mountains
• my very expensive Victoria's Secret bra (I saw a dude checking me out at the game last night. It's so the bra!)

She Will Discuss Bacon with No Man

Back when I was young, in my twenties, I had a mild flirtation going on with my best friend from junior high's brother. At the time, I was involved in a relationship with a guy who was way more into me than I was into him and I wasn't super attracted to him, so BF Brother represented a younger, hipper, sexier alternative. He was In A Band and he lived kind of Day to Day, whereas the other guy was Responsible and Had a Career.
Anyway, I wrote the BF Brother these mildly suggestive letters, which were about how I wasn't into relationships (this was a great part of my attraction to older men & younger men during this time of my life), and how everyone else was a version of The Man.
One letter described in detail my trip to a grocery store and how I was so very disdainful of a conversation I overheard. A couple earnestly fought over what kind of bacon to buy as they stood in front of the meat counter. Her hair was perfectly coiffed and I'm quite sure that he was wearing loafers. This, to me, represented the very depth of the Ridiculous Domestic, that which I aspired never to be. I told this boy that I would never do this. No! I would discuss bacon with no man. What was the point? Choose a bacon and move on!
Well, friends, I can testify that now, nearly 42, I am all that and more.
But today, after Middlebrow & I raked & shoveled leaves from our driveway and lawn (yes, chores which normal home owners did in October), I walked to the store. I was all aglow with the domestic my friends. Yes, reveling in the fact that I, the woman who once proclaimed she would discuss bacon with no man, felt gratified by the morning's domestic chores and was, in fact, looking forward to even more domestic chores: making homemade mac and cheese for a friend's kids, making turkey curry, cleaning the living room, doing laundry (okay, I really didn't look forward to that!), totally ensconcing myself in the domestic tableau. Me! Once foe to The Domestic.
Oh how the mighty have fallen!

More Disgusting Trials I Will Not Mention

If one were to make a brochure or a pamphlet or even, God forbid!, a short book called, perhaps, The Truth about Parenting, no one, I submit, NO ONE would actually ever become a parent. Because, by God, one is called upon to do disgusting things that no amount of money could induce you to do but you do it now, for FREE!, because and for no other reason: you are a Parent.
I will not trouble you with the gag inducing details of said activity, but suffice it to say I need a very, very large drink, preferably made by someone else.
Okay, yes, I will admit here that small children are cute, but they can also be vicious (they have sharp teeth! ouch!), and yes, their little hands are adorable when they pat you on the back or when they grasp yours. Cute! Cute!
But really.
I will say no more, for fear of betraying the disgusting which I promised not to divulge.
Except I will remind you that one time I had to put my hands out to catch the vomit (vomit!) of my son. And this, THIS, was even more disgusting than that.
Where is my drink?

Proud to Be An American

Now, before you go singing that song, which is basically the musical equivalent of the phrase "Freedom isn't Free" and a bumper sticker that reads "Ask me how I feel about America!" and also something slightly more red-necky, let me just say that what made me feel proud this week has nothing to do with traditional patriotism.
Sometimes I have serious qualms about this project we call America, not because of our politics which are, let's face it, in a state of near patheticism, but culturally. I think we are best known for things like "American Idol" and "Jersey Shore" and Taylor Swift. Where is the art, my people, wherefore the Big Ideas?
Well, this week I was made proud on two counts by the same work of art; proud as a mother, and proud as a member of the culture that produced said work of art. And what, my friends, was this little gem?
It was this week's episode of "Glee." Yes, hokey songs and choreography, yes emotionally manipulative. But, the message was timely and oh so important: those of us who are not gay or bullied have to stand up for those who are. Yes, we need to love our (metaphorical and literal) brothers.
I am proud to be part of the culture that produced this art, knowing full well that there are still people out there who will speak out against it.
This episode brought me to tears. And it brought Son to tears. Sometimes I think he is too much boy, not feeling enough, not given to bouts of sympathy. But it made him cry, even if he didn't quite understand the implications of it. And that made me proud.

What's My Motto?

Over round there at Hightouch, she is thinking about mottos and whatnot.
Seeing as how I am now a Level 1 Crossfit Certified Trainer (TM), I feel I need a motto that reflects the various facets of my personality, my English PhD-ness, my Crossfitty self, my bad mothering. You know, all of me.

• Fixing your grammar and your air squat

How's that? It seems a little literal and perhaps too long. Also, not catchy.

• Dr. Crossfit, Bitches

Seeing as how I am not really a doctor, this might not work.

• I'm not your mother, I'm a writer with a stopwatch.

Again, not catchy. And really wouldn't make sense to anyone but me. And maybe one other person.

• Often confuses Crossfit with Mothering

Yeah, that would go over well at the gym...and at home.

• Ridding the world of bad form across broad time and modal domains

Oh yeah, that's it. Again, only a few people will get it.

I used the slogan generator that Hightouch linked to. Here's my favorite:

• Something happens after a pull up

Enough said.

What "hate" Means to a 9 Year Old

This morning, when I took my son's book away because he needed to eat breakfast instead of read, he threw a Royal Fit which consisted of him screaming and stomping and throwing a basketball at MB. Then, of course, he shouted at me, red in the face, "I hate you!"
Of course it made me angry, but what does the word "hate" really mean to a 9 year-old?
Let's consider some of its uses:

• "I hate ______!" (insert name of vegetable): This means: I don't like it, I won't try it. You can't make me!
• "I hate ______!" (insert school subject): This means: It's difficult, or they try to tell me what to do.
• "I hate Justin Beiber!": This means, I hate Justin Beiber, and really, who can blame him?
• "I hate cleaning my room!" : This is just an acknowledgement of a universal truth. Everyone hates cleaning. 
• "I hate you!" : This means, as my mother, you are supposed to love me, even when I scream like this at you. You still love me, right? Wait, I'm going to throw something! Now do you still love me? Wait! I can scream louder! Louder still! I'm still screaming. I can do whatever I want and you still have to feed me breakfast! You can't deny me breakfast! It's illegal! Where's my breakfast? What do you mean I still have to go to school? I'm screaming! 

So, in this short post I have proven when a 9 year old yells, "I hate you!" at his mother, what he really means is "I need a hug." 

To Be Read in a Robot Voice

Things I did today:

• Took the dog to the Avenues dog park where he lost the ball, chewed the ball, refused to surrender the ball
• Called my mom on the (dreaded) cell phone
• Had coffee at Starbucks with my Crossfit homies
• Shopped at Costco for veggies, nuts & cheese (and spent less than $100 thus undoing the "Hundred Dollar Store" curse)
• Ate
• Went to my office where I tried to help a student understand sentence boundaries; success unknown
• Observed presentations in my novel writing class
• Watched TV
• Scrubbed the refrigerator (almost forgot this one!)

My life is not exciting but may somehow be made exciting through the vigorous application of a robot voice & a liberal dose of whiskey. 

I will pause now so that you may reflect. 

In Which My Son Becomes Hypergraphic

If I ever doubt my efficacy as a mother and a writer (and if you have found your way here, you know I do), my doubts have been assuaged, nay, slaughtered, by my son's recent foray into the form of the epistolary novel. The name of it, which I have coined from the names of his characters, is Letters from Parsel, Beestower, Night Jade and Kwen. 
Let it be hereby known that:

1. My son is a geek
2. Those names make me feel like I'm trapped in a bad fantasy novel
3. My son has written more today than I have in the last month, AND
4. The above make me feel like a wild success as a writer/mother

So rather than wallowing, let me just say Huzzah! And as long as Son doesn't stow the letters beneath his bed in the style he is wont to do (i.e. like a homeless person acquiring fuel for a long winter's night), I will remain, ever,

Proud Mother

The Toilets of Appleton, Wisconsin

I have been in Appleton, Wisconsin for about 36 hours. On Wednesday night, not long after my arrival, my friend Alison took me to a sushi restaurant. Yes, it was delicious. And I drank sake. But that's not what I want to discuss here. What I want to discuss here is the apparent preference of Appletonians for odd Japanese/European toilets.
Let me explain. After eating sushi and drinking sake and about five glasses of water, I had to pee (it happens to the best of us). So I went into the bathroom at the sushi restaurant. The toilet had a heated seat which, in a public place, is a bit unnerving. Also, it had all these tubes and hoses affixed to the toilet, for various purposes (you can imagine), which made me afraid to sit on it, lest my nether regions were suddenly bathed in warm water. This did not happen.
Well, that was strange, but then last night we went to a fancy non-Japanese restaurant and they too had a crazy/fancy toilet, with a warmed seat and a control panel on the wall for how you wanted the water to spray out and whether you wanted it on your rear or forward parts.
Holy cow, Appleton! What's the deal? Even though I am not a fan of said toilet I can somewhat understand how there could be a Japanese toilet in a Japanese restaurant. I do not, however, understand the presence of a strange, perhaps European, toilet in a regular old fancy restaurant. The only plausible explanation is that Appletonians love their heated toilet seats and fancy bidet style cleansing mechanisms and somehow the restaurantuers of the Fox City region somehow discovered this information (how? diner comment cards?) and have implemented these toilets because, for some reason, the toilets affect how much the diners like their food.
Discuss.

Live from Appleton...

Here are a few of my thoughts from yesterday, gathered in retrospect as I sit here sipping coffee and thinking about how I should probably be drinking water...

• There is a lot of farmland in the Midwest. This as I flew into Minneapolis-St. Paul. Big squares of brown, and dark brown and corn colored fields and fields of wheat. Also silos and big red barns. Also, sploches of intense red trees and rivers that looked like pieces of yarn that had been flung down. I wish I had an abstract painting of this view. Someone would say, "Oh look. Squares of brown and black and green," but I would know that it was a painting of farmland.
• Hello! Water! Many, many, many lakes. Little circles and some shaped like tiny fish. Also, rivers. Also, water coming from the sky,  known as rain.
• Holy Old Fashioned, Batman! These midwesterners know how to drink. And by that I mean, a Gulp sized drink made of brandy and god knows what else. For $3.50. And the whole bar was lit up like Christmas. And some guy in a button-down shirt was dancing next to the bar. To Simon & Garfunkel. 
• Did you know that there is a drink size at 7-11 called The Gulp? This is the small. Then there is The Big Gulp, which is apparently a medium. This is apropos of the above "Gulp sized drink." I only know this because on Tuesday, when I felt a little high from my massage, I had to stop for a Cherry Coke and I got a Gulp, not Big Gulp, size. 
• Sushi. Apparently you can get good sushi in Wisconsin. Also, I had sake.
• Talking with my friend last night, I got several good ideas. Which reminded me that when visual artists and writers get together = KABOOM! So I need to be thinking these collaborative thoughts more often.
• In room coffee = gack! Even if the label says "Wolfgang Puck."
• The Wisconsin Fish Fry: ubiquitous. Apparently I am in for a treat. I can't wait to get to the VFW on Friday night, even though I am not Catholic and I think Friday is a fine time for rare steak. Also, I guess I have to drink beer from a can with it. 
• More later.