She's Kidding, Right?

In one week, this

and this

and this

and these are just crimes that have to do with schools.

There is also this and this.

I could go on.

And today I read this?  Seriously, Kay Hagan? You're on the fence because you might lose your seat in Congress?

We have a chance to influence our Congresswoman. Your voice (and eventually your vote) will matter. This has got to stop.  It's insanity.

Finally, please watch this.

Watching

The year my oldest daughter turned thirteen, these were the top five movies:

Forrest Gump
The Lion King
True Lies
The Santa Clause
The Flintstones

Included in the list of PG-13 movies that year was one about a young boy witnessing a murder involving the Mafia, Sin and Redemption, Ace Ventura, The Shadow.  For the most part, I could tell whether a movie was appropriate for her, and there weren't that many inappropriate movies for a thirteen-year old.

In 2012, the top five movies were:

The Avengers  (Trailer)
The Dark Knight Rises (Trailer)
Hunger Games
Skyfall
One of the Twilight movies

All of the above movies were rated PG-13. I wouldn't have wanted my daughter to see any of them, with the possible exception of Hunger Games.

Parents have a much harder job these days keeping an eye on their children's habits.  The child can be watching a suitable television show, but the commercials are full of violent trailers for movies or later shows.  They can access pornography and violence on the internet; they buy first person shooter video games with their allowances, bypassing any parental oversight.

And the electronic babysitter is easy.  In a home where there is a single parent or two working parents, it is understandable that after fixing dinner, overseeing homework, carpooling to school and sporting events, after a long day at the office, that the parent might want to read or watch television and be alone.  And a quiet occupied kid is a good kid, right?

This is one extreme, the tired parent who just wants to rest at the end of the day and lets their child self-occupy.  What about the parent whose kid stockpiled ammunition and guns in the basement? What the heck is up with that?

We still owe it to our children to parent them as long as they're at home.  We can't let them have all the choices because there are way more bad choices--even in what they watch on TV and do for recreation--than there were when my kids were teenagers.

A friend with two teenage boys said to my husband, "It's not like it was when your kids were young." And she's as right as can be.  It's not. The job of parenting is harder than ever, but it's the job we take when we decide to be parents.

If you are the parent, please weigh in on how you deal with the issue of overseeing your child's movie, computer, and gaming time.  How does your child react to any restrictions you place on him or her? Have you ever taken action in the form of letters of protest to television stations or movie theaters? What affect do you see violence having on your children?

And let us know what kind of support you need from those of us who aren't in that battlefield.  Are there ways we can get behind these issues with you?

Remember: This is a conversation.

A Long Foggy Road

The promise of my last post of 2012 has left me feeling like this road: foggy.

Since that post:

- I've read articles about violence in the media and I've paid a lot of attention to the fact that even as commentators like Jon Stewart ridicule the gun fanatics, the commercials on his show are 75% guns and explosions.

- I've watched as the gun proponents blame the mental health people who blame the media.

- I've read articles and listened to stories about Obama's gun proposals, heard the contentious nature of the debate, felt the iron stances of both sides.

- I've watched the Newtown families as they banded together to make change. I saw this family with NC connections talk about the loss of their beautiful daughter, Catherine.

- I've talked to friends and family about my frustration with finding a simple solution and with my inability to write one word here about my thoughts.  A friend said, "You can't change the world; you can only work within your sphere of influence." One daughter said that if my promise felt like a burden then I shouldn't do it.

And now I'm trying to get my mind around what is possible.  Is it realistic to think that I'm going to change Richard Burr's mind about gun control?  Is the motion picture industry going to listen to my pleas to stop rating for money and begin thinking about who should be seeing the violence they're selling? (See this article that ran in our local paper.) Are video game manufacturers going to stop and think about the desensitization of young people toward violence and change their ways?  Would improving mental health services help? Is it possible to form a lobby that would counter the NRA? Picket? Boycott? Write letters? Donate money? Raise money?

It all seems overwhelming.  I'm going to do two things for now.

First I'm going to take a few minutes every day to just sit and put my attention on the fact that one of the overarching feelings in this country right now is fear.  I'd like to ask you to do the same.  If you pray, pray.  If you meditate, meditate mindfully on it.  If you don't do either, just take a quiet moment or two to consider. What are we afraid of and how can we instill a sense of safety in our homes, communities, schools, and country?

Second, I'm going to keep looking for opportunities to make a difference. I'm still going to ask for some guest bloggers, and if you want to volunteer please do. I'm going to work on that town council.

In the meantime I am going move on to other subjects in this blog until I gain some clarity on what direction to take.  I welcome your conversation; I want it to be a dialogue.

I'm pondering the post

I'm thinking about what to say and will post before the week's end.  Thanks for your patience.

Casting About, Eyes Open

When I looked through my camera lens and took the picture above, I failed to see what looks like an elf's face on the far right of the wood.  I had to open my eyes to the details of the print before it came alive.

This is what has happened to me since my last post of 2012.  Well, that and the flu, which gave me a lot of television/newspaper/magazine time.  I've opened my eyes to anything that will shed light on the reason that we are having more crimes like the one in Newtown.

Today I'm going to briefly list some of the things that I saw, without comment; detailed conversations (please talk back) will come in later posts.

First there was this comic in my Google Reader:

There were articles in the newspaper.

1. One event from Columbus, Ohio, has made quite a splash in the press and on Facebook, about two high school football players who are charged with raping a 16-year-old girl. Last week, an unverified video was released showing one young man laughing about the accuser.

2. In an article discussing the biggest problems our new governor faces, mental illness was #6. "North Carolina's decadelong mental health reform effort has, by most assessments, failed with mentally ill people crowded into adult care centers, local hospitals, and county jails, or put on the streets because there are not enough community facilities." - Rob Christensen,  The News and Observer, January 6, 2013.

3. In the entertainment section, there was a note that "Texas Chainsaw 3-D had overtaken "The Hobbit" (see my earlier comments about The Hobbit here).

There was a conversation I had with a friend about how he and his children went to the movies over the holidays.  The violence in the movie was offensive to him, but not to his children.

There was the mother sitting across the table from her young son at Whole Foods.  He chatted animatedly to her while she checked her phone.

There was a conversation I had with an African-American woman about the culture of the angry white male.  She pointed out something I hadn't thought about: White males are now a minority in this country.

There was talk and more talk about guns.  Our guns, the guns or lack thereof in other countries, the hoarding of guns and ammunition, our right to bear arms and what it means.  There was the idea of building a strong anti-gun coalition to face down the gun lobby, the idea of barring politicians from taking gun money, the discovery of gun legislation buried in the Obamacare bill.

On Sunday morning, I happened on Oprah's Sunday morning show.  Marianne Williamson was her guest, and she said three things that struck me. I want to end with them (I paraphrase):

1.  We must have a shift from ordering things along economic principles to humanitarian principles.

2.  We can't wait for the majority; a small group with a radical idea can make change.

And most important in my mind:

3.  When an adult female feels threatened, or when "her children" are threatened, she will not stop until she has remedied the situation.

Can WE Do It?

Final thoughts as the year ends:

Last night I went to see The Hobbit.  It was not The Hobbit of my teenage imagination. It was violent and gory and to the young children in the next row, I imagined, the stuff of nightmares.

"How did you like the movie?" my husband asked as we exited the theater.

"I couldn't stop thinking about those small kids behind us," I said.  It was totally distracting.  Every fang, every scream, everything flying from the screen in 3D seemed too much for them. And if it wasn't too much for them, if they weren't sensitive to the horror, that was even more distressing.

I talked for a few minutes about the way the motion picture association and movie makers manipulate movies and ratings to gain the most profit from them.  How parents don't preview movies, ignorantly send their children to see things they shouldn't see. I would have probably sent mine to The Hobbit with a babysitter or gone with them from reading it years ago.

I don't do war movies, but I love war novels.  When I read, I am limited by my imagination whether innately or deliberately.  In movies it isn't like that.

I came back to those children in Newtown and the boy that killed them.  What can I do? I keep asking myself, feeling small and helpless in the face of the media and their lust for money, the gun people with their powerful lobbies and big money, the decreasing funding for mental healthcare.  What can I do? I asked my husband.

"You have a blog," he said.

Yes, I do have a blog.  I've posted every week in 2012 and fifteen hundred people have read my posts.  Not a huge amount - I know bloggers who have that many visitors in a day - but that's fifteen hundred people I think are thoughtful and concerned.

I go back to the title of this blog: Can I Do It?

In 2013, I'm going to ask CAN WE DO IT?  I'm going to do research about the big issues that surround tragedies like Newtown and find ways to make small changes that will have a big impact. I'm going to put together town meetings at my local bookstore. I may ask people to guest write; my daughter who was a schoolteacher has strong opinions.  I'll post at least twice a month about what I've learned.

In the theater, I found myself thinking, "In my day...." and it made me feel old.  But the truth is, in my day, nobody came into the schools and shot classrooms of young children.  The worst you faced in the theater was people spitting on you from the balcony.  There weren't any malls, but I could ride the bus downtown and spend the day window shopping with my friend and come home with nothing worse than clothing lust. I want some of that back.

I hope you'll be an active participant in this undertaking. There's real power in the WE of CAN WE DO IT?

A sense of safety for everyone.  Prosperous in the ways that count. Working to change what's not working. Lucky in '13.  My wishes for us in the coming year.

Christmas 2012

I've spent a lot of time with friends and family over the past few days and hope all of you have done the same.  I continue to think of the families of Newtown and others who have lost loved ones during the past year.

I plan one more post before the end of the 2012.  Talk to you then.

Love and peace.

RSVP

Next week I want to get back to my last post about the doctor and the soldier, but not tonight.

I've thought all day about what to write here.  It seemed ridiculous that I would post about anything except what happened in Newtown last Friday.  And yet I couldn't think of a single pithy thing to say.  I've looked in the faces of those children and adults who were murdered that day, I've cried like all the rest of us. I've felt helpless, blamed guns and video games and lack of funding for mental health just like everyone else.

I decided to turn to you. I wonder if you would comment here about how you feel changed by what happened and if you feel called to take any action on a personal, local, or national level.

I'll go first: I'm going to see if our local bookstore will help me put together a town meeting to discuss how we can work on the local level to make some changes.  I'm going to educate myself about the issues.  I'm going to keep looking at the faces of the brave people who died trying to prevent deaths and the children who could not be saved.

And now you....RSVP.

From the WTF Department

I was in the car when I first heard of the rescue of Dr. Dilip Joseph and the death of Petty Officer 1st Class Nicolas Checque. My immediate reaction was, "We lost one to gain one. WTF good was that?"

The facts are that Dr. Joseph has worked for Morning Star Development for three years. During that three years he has made numerous trips to Afghanistan. He is not a volunteer; this is his job. He was captured with two others who were subsequently released. He is sixty-seven years old..

The facts are that Petty Officer Checque, 28, was a highly decorated Navy Seal who enlisted right out of high school. He had served for ten years, some of them in Iraq and Afghanistan. He was the third Seal to lose his life in the past few weeks, all of them under thirty years old.

Dr. Joseph was a man of intelligence, I assume. He chose to go into a situation fraught with peril. Over and over he made the decision to go into Afghanistan. 

Petty Officer Checque chose his job too. But I believe that we sacrificed this young man for something that was not his job. We had no right to risk the lives of him and his company of elite forces to bring a man out who was voluntarily putting himself in harm's way.

I appreciate the fact that Dr. Joseph, and others like him, do our dirty work. These international workers are to be commended. But I believe that they--and their organizations--must assume the responsibility for the safety and risk of their employees.

Of Checque's death, President Obama said, "He gave his life for his fellow Americans, and he and his teammates remind us once more of the selfless service that allows our nation to stay strong, safe, and free."

Bullshit. 

He gave his life for one American, and I am no safer, stronger, or freer because we sent this young man to meet his end to rescue Dr. Joseph.  

It is a perfect example of the way we have justified for the past several years--since the Vietnam War--the sacrificial deaths of our young servicemen and women under the auspices of making the world safer, stronger, and freer.

Rest in peace, Nicolas Checque. You went above and beyond the call of duty in every way.  

Good Gifts

Here is my list of gift suggestions for 2012.

1.  Book store gift certificates or books (suggestions here)

2.  Handmade and local things

3,  A card with a note saying that a donation has been made in one's honor or in memory of a loved one lost during the year, for instance to Stop Hunger Now

4.  Calling cards, return address labels, or just about anything from Felix Doolittle

5.  Materials to make personalized cards.  One of my favorite places to shop for those is Paper Source or French Paper

6.  A subscription to Lumosity to keep your brain from freezing

7.  A load of firewood (this is what my sister-in-law gives us and we love it).

Feel free to add your suggestions (or requests!) in the comment section.

I leaped first

Some of you might remember back in August when I posted about this little project I dreamed up.  I've been working steadily on it, organizing a workshop with author and UNC-CH professor Randall Kenan, getting writers to write, scanning old photographs, and doing all the million little things that need to be done for the January 4, 2013 exhibit.

One of my more ambitious undertakings has been to put together a catalog of the photographs and stories to sell at the reception.  I know there's no way people will have time to read twenty-two stories during the three-hour event. Add to that the fact that each of these amazing pieces is a tight package of literary art, meant to be read and re-read.

I'm not trying to make any money on the catalogs, just give people an opportunity to experience the fullness of the writing, re-coup some of the materials expenses, and maybe have a little left over to donate to a charity like Books for Kids out of Raleigh.

But remember when I've said I was put on earth this go-round to learn patience?

"Measure twice; cut once."
"Look before you leap."
"How many times are you going to...?"
"Haste makes waste."
"Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue...."

Yep, all of the above statements have been running through my mind the past eighteen hours.  In my haste to save a few dollars in printing so I could keep the cost down, I sent the file off to be printed before it was really finished (to take advantage of Cyber Monday which was extended to Tuesday).  And now I'm stuck with fifty copies of the catalog, complete with errors.  I didn't save a dime.  I would have been better off waiting and ordering at the full price.

All of this has been a learning experience for me.  I've learned about the need for deadlines and expecting people to meet them.  I've learned a little more about self-publishing (including cancellation policies). I've learned that a one-page story from a found photograph can be the most powerful story I've read in a week.  I've learned about mounting the stories and photos for the gallery in a way that is aesthetically pleasing.  And I've used a lot of knowledge that I've acquired in other workshops, cooperative projects, and gallery events.

And guess what? I've had another lesson in patience.  One day, I'm absolutely sure, it's going to stick for good. If I can just wait....

Holidays Loom Large

I'm thankful, you're thankful, we're all thankful.  This week we especially think about giving thanks for our loved ones, our groaning tables, our ease of life compared to everybody else in the world.  Yep, we sure know how to be thankful at Thanksgiving, don't we?

So after you've been thankful for a while, give some real thought to people you know who have lost someone they loved this year.  The holidays, birthdays, the Hallmark moments are really tough.

Do those friends a favor: Send an email, or better yet, sit for a moment and really think about what it means to be them right now.  Then write them a note.  Say, "I'm thinking about you," and mean it. Call them up and tell them you're available if they'd like to talk about their loved one and holidays past.  Give them a tidbit of memory about their loved one from your stash.  Make them laugh. Do it again next year because even if most people have moved on, they are still hurting.

They'll be thankful.

The Tang of Emotions

Yesterday I was driving to work and looking at the incredible beauty of the trees.  For a while I thought fall was going to bomb out - the leaves were dull and lying brown on the ground.  But suddenly it was as though every tree I saw was brilliant red, coral, orange, and yellow.  I kept slowing down to look; I wanted to enjoy each and every one. I felt high on the amazingness of it all.

A few blocks from work, I saw an older man by the side of the road.  He was holding a gas can; his car had obviously run out of gas. I felt teary, thinking about older people and their vulnerability, how so many of them are living hand to mouth, how some are sick with no one to take care of them or help them maneuver the intricacies of doctors and insurance and Medicare.

I went from happy to sad.  Just like that.

Toward the end of his life, my father cried quite a bit.  He would be talking on the phone about something in the news, maybe a child being hurt, and the phone would go silent.  I would hear a sharp intake of breath and then he would start talking hesitantly about what had happened.  Many things could reduce him to tears.

I've been thinking a lot about that this week. When we lose someone we love, two things happen.  One, the sadness around the loss is added to the sadness of all other losses we've suffered.  It's exponential.  Secondly, every loss we suffer makes us more empathetic to the losses of others, so we feel theirs more keenly.

At eighty-eight years old, my father had lost his mother and father, his wife, two sisters, and all but about three or four of his good friends.  Grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins.  The amount of sadness he had felt in his life is hard to imagine.  It must have weighed a ton.

My father knew how to laugh too.  He laughed heartily at a good joke or grandchild's antic.  He loved a clever cartoon.  His laugh was loud and tears ran down his cheeks sometimes when he couldn't stop the hilarity from roiling up.

What I decided after all this thinking is that as we get older, some things do become duller.  Maybe our eyes get cloudy, we say "Huh?" more because we don't hear as well, our knees and shoulders creak when we move.  But what gets sharper is our ability to feel deep emotion, to empathize from a place of our own cumulative sadness and happiness.

Someone behind me on the road to work may have thought, "I wish that old woman would just go on."  But the glory of those trees and the poignancy of that elderly man by the side of the road stopped me yesterday and I needed to feel the tang of emotions that welled up.

What It's All About. Yeah.

You're not going to believe this, but that election we just finished?  That ain't what it's all about, folks.  In fact it wasn't even a little bit important to some people in this world.

While the rest of us have been posting vitriol on Facebook and wishing a pox on our enemies, bemoaning the overkill of campaign ads and doorknockers, some people have been suffering.  Suffering loss of home and life, loss of dignity and the means to support themselves, sitting at the bedsides of loved ones and saying the ultimate goodbye.  Asking what the heck happened and what did they do to deserve it. And maybe worst of all, there are people who have despaired of finding hope and the strength to face it all.  I know a few of them myself, and the past few months have been pure hell for those people.  Real hell, not just campaign hell.

To them, I send my love and support and share this beautiful song by Whitney Houston. Listen if you can take the time; read the lyrics too.  Then go let somebody know you've been thinking about them. Write a note, email, or make a phone call.  Go visit your parent in the nursing home.  Take a meal to a friend who hasn't been feeling well.  Look the person talking to you in the eye and listen. Hug your husband or your kids or your cat. Write a check to a charity or take some food to the Food Bank. Send your compassion out in as many ways as you can think of.  Because maudlin as it may seem, that's what it's all about.

The people to whom these lyrics speak need you. Badly.

As I lay me down

Heaven hear me now

I'm lost without a cause

After giving it my all
Winter storms have come

And darkened my sun

After all that I've been through

Who on earth can I turn to?
I look to you  I look to you  After all my strength is gone  In you I can be strong
I look to you  I look to you  And when melodies are gone  In you I hear a song, I look to you

About to lose my breath

There's no more fighting left

Sinking to rise no more

Searching for that open door
And every road that I've taken

Led to my regret

And I don't know if I'm gonna make it

Nothing to do but lift my head
I look to you  I look to you  And when all my strength is gone  In you I can be strong
I look to you  I look to you  And when melodies are gone  In you I hear a song, I look to you

My levees have broken, my walls have come

Crumbling down on me

The rain is falling, defeat is calling

I need you to set me free
Take me far away from the battle

I need you, shine on me
I look to you  I look to you  After all my strength has gone  In you I can be strong
I look to you  I look to you  And when melodies are gone  In you I hear a song, I look to you
I look to you  I look to you

(Song by Whitney Houston)

No Regrets

Some of my newer readers may not have read posts about our boat.  Times are tough, and it seems extravagant to have it, but we bought it when times were good.  It has been a gem of a boat.

One of the wonderful things about owning a boat is that it's always waterfront.  For the price of a slip, you can live anywhere in the world.  We've kept ours in North Carolina.  A couple of weekends ago we decided to move it from Southport to a new marina.

It takes much longer to float than drive so the first night we stayed at the original marina where we kept the boat.  A lot has changed at Wrightsville Marina since we bought the boat in 2001. Many of our boating friends have sold their boats, and most of the beautiful Carolina fishing boats don't go out much any more.  Normally this time of year the transient dock would be full of large yachts being moved south for the winter, but that weekend there were only a couple of boats from Holden Beach.

My husband took the boat and I took the car. I had time to visit with my aunt and uncle who live on Wrightsville Beach.  They have been boaters all their lives, living for a period of time on one, and it is the two of them who inspired us to try the boating life.  As we ate breakfast, I told them that I felt bad that we had been extravagant during the boom years instead of saving money for these lean times.  I expected my uncle to agree and was prepared to be contrite, but he surprised me by saying, "Aren't you glad you did it?"  I've thought about his question since that morning, and I have to say that I am glad we did it. That boat has given me a place to go where I can completely disconnect from my worries and obligations, and has taken me places I would never have seen had we not had it.

We are once again docked in Oriental NC, a place that I love.  I've said before that it has the feel of the 50's at the beach and there is so much water to explore in the area.

In an earlier post, right after 9/11, I told of going to the boat for a few days to get away from the television.  I was in shock - we all were - and one afternoon we went on a cruise down the waterway at Wrightsville Beach. I said, "God, give me a sign that it's all going to be all right," and when I looked up, there was a cross way over on the land. It was a tiny bit of hope in the great waters of the tragedy.

Soon, it may be time to sell the boat.  I'm going to enjoy every minute that I can on it, filled with gratitude that I have been able to use it all these years. That it has brought me comfort, that it has taken me to places so devoid of people that they felt primordial.That I have met people I might never have met, that I was able to share the adventure with friends and family. That I've danced with my husband on the back of the boat. That it has seen me through one crisis and another and another. That I've been rocked to sleep by rain and waves and that the sun has shone down on the Coatimundi and me.

A Very Long Time

This past Saturday marked forty years since I went out on a blind date with my husband.  Like this year, it was a Saturday night.  I had had a blind date the night before, and when my sister and her friend called to ask if I would go out with him, at first I said no.  They pushed, told me I'd really like him, and I gave in.

He called me at the dorm, and after saying hello said something that I now know is very uncharacteristic for him:  "Let's boogie!"  Ooooo-kay, I thought.  He was a half-hour late.  But he was the cutest thing in the lobby that night so I put my anger aside.

We had a few dates over the fall semester but I was dating someone else too.  My husband's hometown was twenty minutes away from mine while the other guy's was four hours away.  That short distance proved to be an advantage for my husband over the Christmas holiday and when I got back, I broke up with the other guy.

He gave me Fleetwood Mac's "Bare Trees" album for Christmas.

We dated and then lived together for the next seven years.  When he took a job in my hometown, I said that we would need to get married to stay together.  So that's what we did.  And now it's forty years and three beautiful daughters later.  BAM!

We are almost complete opposites, but it all comes together in a very complementary way.  When I panic, he's cool as a cucumber.  When he looks on the dark side, I shine a light.  He's suave in a crowd while I'm self-conscious.  He's quick to see someone as shy and leave them alone while I see a shy person as a book to be opened.  With our daughters, he helped me loosen the reins when I wanted to pull in.  I like to get all the news from them while he just lets them know he's thinking about them and loves them.  He sings and plays instruments, I'm a great groupie.

In some ways we're more alike than we used to be.  He used to be the daring one, but once I realized that there are more ways than one to have courage, I realized that I am daring too.  I majored in history and political science and now he's a nut about how the past and politics form the present.  We both love being on the water and riding bikes.  We work together.  We love to travel, even just for the day.

I'll say this now:  It hasn't been easy.  There have been times when one or the other drove or walked away "for good" or said words that the other thought they would never forget.  There have been lean times and family crises and grief and all the things that people experience in this life.

For exactly two-thirds of my life, we have stayed together.  And though I'm not sure exactly what he meant when he said, "Let's boogie" that night, I do know that the past forty years have been a dance.  Thank you, Amanda and Vicki, for insisting I go on that blind date. You were right on the money:  I like him alot.

Remember

Today I remember a friend who should have turned 60 today.  We lost a lot. 

He left a lot too.  An incredible legacy of music and art and an example of how to face adversity.

You can honor him and carry a little piece of the beauty he left by ordering this amazing recording of his original music.

My Best Ones (Books that is!)

It's getting to be that time.  You know, that time when we start thinking about Christmas, when the ornaments and tree lights sit right next to the costumes and fall leaf wreaths in the stores.

I'm all about giving books for presents.  And I'm all about trying to foist my choices for best books of the year on others!  So here are my recommendations for the best book presents of the year:

1. 2012 Pen/O'Henry Prize Stories:  I read this collection every year and I have to say that this is one of the finest of them all.  One of the stories, "The Hare's Mask," by Mark Slouka, will haunt me for years.

2.  Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on love and life from Dear Sugar by Cheryl Strayed:  More than a collection of advice columns, Strayed's book is essays on life.  Every person on your list will see themselves in these columns.

3.  The Orphan Master's Son by Adam Johnson:  Adam Johnson went to North Korea to research this novel about an anti-hero named Pak Jun Do.  This is a look into this country that will chill you, but Johnson also brings humor to the story.

4.  The Age of Miracles by Karen Thompson Walker:  In this dystopian novel, the earth begins spinning more slowly on its axis.  Days and nights lengthen and life changes in ways that no one could imagine.  

5.  The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka:  A fictionalized account of the journey of "picture brides" - women who were brought from Japan to San Francisco early in the last century.

6.  Birds of a Lesser Paradise by Meghan Mayhew Bergman:  Humans and nature are woven together to create these beautiful short stories. Bergman is a writer to watch.

7.  The Long Goodbye by Meghan O'Roarke:  As compassionate a book on terminal illness and death and grief as you'll find these days.  I've given this book to more people than I can count, and they all are grateful.

8.  Telegraph Avenue by Michael Chabon:  One of my favorite writers, (his novel The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay is still high on my list too) Chabon has done it again!  Using a used record store called Brokeland Records and a quirky cast of characters, Chabon brings us into the world of Archy and Nat and their midwife wives.

9.  Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War by Karl Marlantes:  Based on a true story, this novel reads like non-fiction.  One veteran of the war told me it was the most chilling and realistic novel he had read about Vietnam.

10.  And my #1 best book read this year is...TA DA...In Sunlight and In Shadow by Mark Helprin. Helprin wrote another of my all-time favorite books and war novels, A Soldier of the Great War.  This new one is set in New York City after World War II.  I fell in love with every one of the characters and the setting of old New York was a fabulous backdrop for the story.

So, shop on and shop local, my reading friends, and if you decide to buy a book or two for yourself, just say yes when the salesperson asks if you want it gift-wrapped.  You can always use the paper for something else.

PS Mark Helprin, Karl Marlantes, Michael Chabon, Meghan Mayhew Bergman, Adam Johnson, Cheryl Strayed and some of the Pen/O'Henry editors have all read at my most wonderful local bookstore, Quail Ridge Books and Music in Raleigh.  I am so fortunate to have them in my city!

Show and Tell

Anyone who has ever written a story has heard the admonishment, "Show; don't tell."  Don't say the person ran to the mailbox, show how she ran, what expression she had on her face; have her think about what she expects to find there.

The other day, another way of looking at "Show; don't tell" occurred to me.

I was sitting in a restaurant with a friend who had recently suffered a loss.  I asked her how she was doing and she told me.  I listened, but in the back of my mind and then out loud I shared an experience similar to hers.  My intention was to let her know that I knew how she felt.

After we went our separate ways, I realized that she probably didn't want to hear me talk about my loss.  She wanted to talk about hers.  And there were ways to show her that I empathized without butting in on her story.

One way is through body language.  I could look her in the eye, nod my head, touch her in a comforting way if I thought she would be comfortable with that.  I could ask questions from my deep knowledge of the type of sorrow she was experiencing that would show her that it was safe to talk because she was with someone who had been there.  Questions like, "That was hard, wasn't it?" and "It's different when you lose a parent/sibling/spouse when you're old/young, isn't it?"

I could find out what she needs from me and other friends, drawing on what I needed.  "Can we bring food, go out to dinner or a movie?" It wouldn't be too much "telling" if I said, "I loved getting cards/calls; do you find that comforting?"

The bottom line is this: who can really understand another's sorrow or illness?  If you were to ask the five children in my family to talk about my father's death and what it meant to them, you would get five different stories. You might even wonder if we're all talking about the same person!

Mostly I think that when people are having troubles--and they seem to be more common as I get older--they just want someone to listen. They want to talk about their loved ones months, years even, after they're gone. They want to enjoy the care and attention they felt during an illness when they're feeling better.  They want to think that what they feel is important.

I'll end with a wonderful quote on listening that I have on my refrigerator:

"Listening is a magnetic and strange thing, a creative force.  The friends who listen to us are the ones we move toward.  When we are listened to, it creates us, makes us unfold and expand."
                                                              -- Dr. Karl Augustus Menninger

Anticipation, Part II

Two weeks ago I wrote this post that included a bit about the high of anticipation.  But there are other facets of anticipation.

We've all done a fair amount of waiting in our lives. The photograph in this post is from my father's hospital room; in another hospital room on another day we waited for him to breathe his last breath.  Anticipation then was dark and sad and filled with tension, and the outcome seemed impossible. It was anticipation of something we knew was inevitable. We were powerless in the face of it.

And then there was the earlier nebulous anticipation of the time my dad would die.  Even before he fell, I would spend time thinking about what it would be like, preparing myself for the loss. It seemed that I might think that he had lived a good life, be thankful for the time we were together, grieve and move on.  The first two things happened.  I was grateful for his life and our time together.  But I haven't really moved completely on from it.  Grief is bearable now, but not finished by any means.  So this was anticipation not based in reality.  

When I found out I had breast cancer and the doctor started talking about surgery and radiation treatment (I wasn't a candidate for chemo, which is good and bad), I freaked.  I won't even let my dentist take x-rays of my teeth unless I'm in pain; the thought of exposing my heart and lungs to killer rays scared the hell out of me.  Plus I was going to have to go every day except Saturday and Sunday for six weeks. And that doesn't even address the surgery (which ended up being two surgeries).  The anticipation was agonizing, but in the end it wasn't all that bad.  I got into a routine for the six weeks, the treatment was (seemingly) innocuous and took only minutes once I got settled on the body mold, the staff was pleasant, and the surgeries went well with a minimum of scarring. So this was anticipation in the form of fear of the unknown.  Fear makes you high, but it isn't healthy.

Sometimes when I had done something that I wasn't very proud of, like hiding my smoking from my family, anticipation was my constant companion. It was the anticipation of getting caught, of hurting my family, of being ashamed of myself.  I replay this getting caught scenario often in my dreams; did last night as a matter of fact.  This kind of anticipation is a high too, but not a good one.

When I was getting ready to quit smoking, I tried to anticipate what I would do when I couldn't go outside and blow off steam and smoke, relax and smoke, play cards and smoke.  I began slowly to substitute what I wanted my new behavior to be and in that way eased myself into better habits.  In this case, anticipation was of a preparatory nature like that around losing my father; I was able to make a significant change in my life by looking forward to a time when I didn't smoke.

Anticipation can be useful or detrimental. It can set you up for disappointment and it can cause undue worry.  It can make you high or it can make you physically ill. It can enhance an experience by prolonging the joy it will bring. Whatever role it plays, I believe it elongates time.  Waiting.

I know we're supposed to live in the moment.  A devotion to that way of living would do away with all my anticipation, but I'm just not there yet. In the meantime, I can remind myself of the times my anticipation proved to be nothing, or that anticipation was useful, and cling to my habit of anticipating good things.

What forms has anticipation taken in your life?