Fans will appreciate a near 9 minute interview between Granta and Auster in Brooklyn, not terribly new but new enough from a man who’d probably just as soon be left alone.
]]>Before I turn in at night, I go between their bedrooms, shutting windows, turning off fans, covering them up. They’re mostly used to it, and whatever commotion I make rarely wakes them.
But when they do “wake”, Savannah moves a bit, tries to sit up, and speaks in a loud, gibberish dream speak. Although her volume works properly, her tongue and throat don’t; always funny. Once, I did make out, “Stop, Seth!”
When Seth rouses a bit, he never says anything but opens his eyes into slits and tries to move his hands and head. He has no control over them so they’re very spastic; also funny.
When Arwen gets woken, she looks at me and says very clearly, “I love you, Mama.” She either raises her arms for a hug or blows a kiss.
]]>I passed Ayn Rand today in Barnes and Noble, well, what’s left of her. There’s one who never grabbed me but only because I once tried reading her philosophy. Obviously a good thinker, her sentence structure and vocabulary was reaching too far above my head. It irked me. What’s the good in that great vocabulary and intellect when a person is obviously only reaching a handful of people? Perhaps we all just write the only way we know how.
Auster’s Man in the Dark was good. Surprisingly uplifting, for a girl who has a soft spot for the elderly (the protagonist). I’d said the mother in me wanted to paint for this author a happier room, but he’s done it himself.
]]>I’m not one to run to the doctor whenever a bug hits, unless there’s a symptom obviously inconsistent with bugs they’ve had in the past. (Savannah’s strep test was negative on Wednesday.) So when the preschool said Arwen needs 2 days symptom free, instead of the typical 24 hours, and the elementary school said Savannah may need a doctor’s note to come back to school, that know-it-all parent reared her head in the back of mine.
Something about telling a grown woman what to do with her children really steps on our parenting toes. (Daddies too, I’m sure!) I’ve not seen any reason why swine flu is worse than the regular flu. Thousands die in the U.S. every year of the flu, mostly old victims, I understand, who actually fall prey to pneumonia.
But in talking to others, I realized the caution I should heed in taking care of my children. Like every now and then, when one of them gets a bloody wound, I realize how parents must’ve worried before medicines became more available in this country, about a small wound turning gangrenous. We are diligent about vitamin C, not too crazy on the sugar which lowers the immune system, washing hands when we get home…. but come 11 o’clock, I skulked around their bedrooms, listening for the dreaded rattling of pneumonia in their little lungs.
I heard a story of a woman who’s 3 year old girl had been sick. The hospitals were full, and the girl seemed to be getting better. They laid down on the couch together while the girl’s lungs eventually filled with water, and she died beside her mother.
So I’m skulking, listening, asking questions about chest pain… thank you mayoclinic.com…. and they are playing right now, getting pretty loud actually. Savannah finally found yogurt and honey slid down very nicely, and she immediately perked up!
You know what makes this flu different? People I’ve spoken to are realizing that, at this point, no American’s have died, but 150 Mexican’s have. Now why is that? Are so many living on corn wraps and beans? living in poverty? without medicine? or proper education? I’d like to hear why. I’d like to hear someone in the media spell that out for me.
]]>After seeing Etheline, and the movie ends, I wanna go put down my deposit for Savannah’s ice skating, give a lesson on the piano, rearrange the puzzles and board games, replace dead batteries, and frame their art work. Good Mama.
Ethel: “Well, I don’t think it’s very intelligent to keep an electrical gadget on the edge of the tub.”
Margot: [in tub] “I tie it to the radiator.”
The movie is about much more than Etheline, and I recommend it if you enjoy dark comedies.
]]>Over the last month, I can tell that even without caffeine, there’s a point in the morning when my mind becomes much more clear. I brighten up and ideas begin flowing, but instead of just sitting on them like I do when I’m distracted, the ideas need to come out. This happens at about 9:30 or 10 o’clock. I can’t help but think that the caffeine disguised this feeling and postponed the discovery. Knowing this, other distractions can be, hmmm, controlled? at least diverted (meaning 10 a.m. is puzzle or movie time for the kiddies, the little darlings) and my time used more wisely. Likewise, I can use caffeine before a group activity because it makes me more sociable.
When are you at your best? When are you most creative?
I recently started a helpful book, Training Your Brain in the Teach Yourself series:
For creative and imaginative thinking, force every last bit of breath out of your body, especially by squeezing the muscles of the stomach and buttocks. Hold this state as long as you can and then allow the breath to rush in and appear to fill all the cavities of your body, from your abdomen up to the upper regions of your chest. Raise your shoulders to suck in the last breath. Hold as long as you comfortably can. Repeat three times.
It goes on to combine physical prep with writing exercises, almost comically. I look forward to really putting these to the test. Someone looking through the window would be really curious to see it all.
The book toggles between details in research and practical applications, explaining in understandable terms why the brain acts as it does and how to get the most out of it. My favorite application so far is how I can arm my children for learning. Because emotion is linked to learning, believing in a positive outcome greatly influences a child’s (or adult’s) chances of first success, influencing future success. Imagine a first failure and the difficulty one has in getting ahead on the next try. This means building them up in confidence. Also, when I drop them off at school, I no longer say, “Have fun.” I know they’ll have fun. Fun is what children are all about. I deliberately say, “Listen to your teacher.” or some other nugget of wisdom they’ll appreciate some day.
Train Your Brain also supports wonderful things I already knew, such as eating good chocolate, the darkest you can. If it’s not your favorite, gradually move up in cocoa percentage. I’ve gotten used to it and find that I’m quickly satiated with just a bit of dark chocolate. Eat meat for breakfast. I love getting breakfast from the fried pork tenderloin I made the night before, cold from the fridge. More to come.
]]>It’s certainly crowded, but I’m there to take my time. Weekends at TJ’s are when you’re most likely to see a variety of people. The Bohemian couples with no children are there for their organic bread and curry sauce. I almost ran into an unpleasant hippie today. I think he was younger then I am, which is 34. (I don’t know why he was grumpy. Everyone knows there’s a bottle neck at the sample bar.)
Today I went back for my 2nd sample of coffee. Talked a little more to Angelina, who often works the sample bar. She seems older than just 22. Most unmarried, childless 22 year old women don’t make friends with a mother of 3. But she invited me to dinner last month, along with two other customers. (More to come on that later.) Some mornings, we’re all back there, distracting her from her work. But she’s really good at selling us stuff. So it all works out.
Sunday is also the best day to hear all kinds of accents, surely some that I’ve never heard before. I’m getting better at distinguishing between German, Russian, and Czech, although not that great. It’s fun to try. I am oddly self conscious of my skirt length and tight pants around the more conservative Arabic immigrants. I don’t wear my yoga pants to the grocery store.
]]>The 1,152 pages of The Cornish Trilogy are not so impressive knowing it’s actually three books in one. I won’t do that again. Should’ve read other authors between. I’m a slow reader. It took about 3 months to get through, with several magazines peppered throughout. By the end, I just wanted to get it over with, much like my college degree. But glad I finished both!
With this trilogy I made one amazing achievement though. In college I thought I was lacking the intelligence to remember uncommonly used words. It insulted the word nerd in me. I thought I must be dumber than some. About 2 years ago I realized that I don’t remember uncommon words because they are not useful when communicating in everyday situations, in the grocery store or up at the elementary school. We get made fun of as children for trying more than 3 syllables or proper French pronunciations. Kids know how to put a 4-eyes in her proper place.
After about 200 pages, and looking up definitions and pronunciations for 30 or so words on my laptop, I could tell that I was retaining the definitions better than usual. (I looked up sublime five times in college before I could remember the meaning - because I couldn’t imagine a situation when I’d use it, not that I’d want to anyway.) I realized that I no longer really care what others think if I use a good vocabulary. Literally, my need to comfort and connect on the same level with others has kept me from committing definitions to memory. But the decision not to care so much has opened up a mental block and is allowing me to remember the definitions!
By the way, I most enjoyed the second of the 3 stories which could be read exclusively of the other two, What’s Bred in the Bone. I enjoy fake biographies, but I’ll bet there’s a proper word for that.
]]>But some appointments I don’t even write down. I have stood someone up before, twice (Jackie in college and Dyan a year ago.) That’s all it takes for me to know it’s likely to happen again. I also forgot this Sunday and Monday nights to run an errand that involved someone else. I don’t plan my week like I should, checking the calendar each night. This month I let my license expire by a week. Not a terrible mistake, but as a cleared driver in our Girl Scout troop, I had to drive 5 girls to the Girl Scout event of the year last Saturday. Thankfully no one was maimed or sued me. But that one nagged at me.
Sometimes, when I do something stupid, often a small driving mistake that could’ve ended in tragedy or just something clumsy or forgetful, I form the words in my head, sometimes out loud to Brad, “I’m never gonna let that happen again.”
Starting now, I’m adding every little commitment or task or deadline on my ical. I’m on the right track about checking it. It’s my little artificially intelligent friend who can keep me looking smart. My kids already know I’m forgetful, which makes me sad, like when Savannah reminds me of something important. It seems she should have more confidence in her mother!
I thought yesterday, I need a job. The thought was related more to isolation and the notion that with a job, I’ll use my time with children as well as quiet time a lot more wisely. A job outside the home is probably 1 1/2 years away, and it may be in going back to college or a full-time, unpaid writing job from home. I should get my act together now.
]]>The stroller - and the only thing that allowed me and a walking/running toddler to get through an hour at the mall.
The Bjorn - that criss-cross contraption that keeps a tiny one close. I remember walking through New York City and Boston; Brad and I switched Seth back and forth and could last several hours doing that. I loved that thing.
The crib mattress - although Arwen is almost 5 years old, we’ve gotten 9 years of constant use out of that little crib/toddler bed. (It could still be converted into a double bed, but the space is too small.) Arwen asked in December 2008, “Can I have a bed like Seth’s? A soft bed?” Poor thing. Those baby mattresses are solid, good for bone growth though. Her new twin bed arrived on Monday. It is a white metal frame, and she’s telling everyone from the grocery cart at Trader Joe’s that we’re going to paint it ballet pink, really just a fancy peach.
All the crib bedding
Lots of girl clothes
More important than all the details, giving away useful, often costly, baby items seals the deal to the rest of the world, that without divine intervention, Mama and Daddy are done making new babies.
]]>I realized several years ago when talking to my friend Marianne that we both consume chocolate on a daily basis. A memorable conversation, I hadn’t realized that on my own. Amy M. says it’s the magnesium, or manganese; I get them mixed up.
The Russians and Germans leave it for Santa Clause instead of plain milk. Now no one can say they’re not thoughtful. In Australia, it’s custom to drink chocolate milk after 8:00 because they used to believe that evil spirits would come and eat all their food. What a sad superstition. Yet so nice that they thought to save the chocolate milk above all else!
Of course, what else could induce slavery but something in such high demand? Although I was disappointed to read that, I should’ve known. I would not’ve guessed that a physician in a white British wig would’ve first put chocolate in his milk. Yet I’m compelled to link you to him. I had a romantic picture in my mind of a Honduran woman, 20 years old but looking 40, working with her farm’s cacao beans two hundred years before the Briton was born. Tired of the same bitter drink, she added a bit to the goat’s milk leftover from her little one’s desayuno. “Mmmm,” she thought. “This needs a bit of raisin water to sweeten it!” I’ll leave you with that picture.
]]>I hadn’t noticed what music added to a scene until it went missing. I think I was only noticing music in movies and television when it was used badly, that is, when it left me feeling manipulated. Surely the sign of a good technique is when the observer doesn’t know it’s there. Smallville has used some sweet songs in its run since 2001. I’m still listening to the Talon and Metropolis mixes. But the last two seasons have had few lyrical songs, few that were memorable. When the technique was finally used again, it’s prior absence was glaringly obvious. Vast’s Don’t Take Your Love Away from Me was beautiful at the end of last week’s Bride, snow falling in the black, Brainiac infested Fortress, with Doomsday carrying his bride to her altar.
I’ve surprised myself how much I enjoy superhero mythology. Although I should’ve seen it coming. My first short story was about time travel. I was 9, and I completely ripped off a book called The Wishing People. Funny that I haven’t felt interest in reading the comic books themselves. Maybe some day.
I find cliffhangers exciting. In the same way that I like waiting for a surprise gift, I don’t mind waiting through the holidays to see what happens next. There can only be so many episodes in a season. Why not spread out the fun? Multiply by however many shows I look forward to each week (about 3), and it comes with a sigh of relief to know that the expectancy leading from one episode to another will just stop. I’ll even forget about it. I’ll write. I’ll bake. The kids and I will plant some bulbs. Tomorrow we share chicken and dressing with giblet gravy and layered banana pudding with friends.
]]>On our last trip to Arkansas and Mississippi in December 2007, Mississippi had been declared the fattest state in the Union for its second year, now in its third. Arkansas is tied for Oklahoma in 8th place. (Some states have actually lost weight. Finding out why will be research for Obesity: Part 2.) I remember seeing an older couple get out of their car at a convenience store in Arkansas. The woman was a normal weight. The man with her, who’d gotten out slowly and lumbered through the door, was morbidly obese. I imagine it was his only activity for the day. Have you ever tried to exercise with excess weight? A woman who’s ever tried to run without a bra knows what that feels like. Since most of his weight gain was in his abdomen, it was hanging down onto his thighs. Every step brought uncomfortable, probably painful movement. Carrying extra weight means his knees were bad, and his back was doing a lot of work to carry it all through the door. And he could feel his fat moving with every step. My sympathy was mixed with repulsion, hence the word morbid.
With that on my mind I came back to California more aware than ever about obesity. I’ve only written in my private journal so far because I’m afraid to handle a sensitive subject in a public place. But obesity is a life changing force that is affecting an incredible amount of people in the U.S. alone. There are a plethora of books and websites on how to lose a bit of weight, but morbid obesity? Too few. For the morbidly obese, you’ll find plenty of medications to ease the symptoms and health crises brought on by all that weight. And with the medication? More weight gain and more depression; the problem is compounded beyond what any normal person can bare alone. Then there’s surgery, which is not that easy to jump into. Doctors often ask patients to lose a good amount of weight before the surgery, and then of course the weight loss is slow. A lot of people are desperate for something. Most of us are expert at hiding it, but not the obese. Their desperation is obvious.
Technically, I would be considered obese at 132 lbs. Take my ideal weight (110) and add 20% of that (22) to it (=132). Formulas don’t take into account how a person is built, how their bones will carry the weight. Certainly, 132 would make me overweight, but I’d no idea I’d be obese.
That explains why we hear parents are surprised to learn their children are obese. Perhaps they see it as baby fat, or they have a weight problem of their own to deal with first. When I don’t say no to myself, it’s very hard to say no to my children. But when I’m saving dessert as my reward, no becomes much easier to say to the kiddies. But how much of the nation is confused about obesity? Who we thought were overweight are actually obese. So who we thought were obese are morbidly obese. I think I’ve been conservative because it just sounds so condemning, and I haven’t wanted to label people I care about with the word “obese”.
But telling people to just say no to themselves is not enough. Have you ever found yourself assuming that someone obese is also poor? This article is short but gets to the point. Go here for more in depth reading. Did you hear yet that they’ve found the obesity gene? Blaming genetics won’t do of course, and even though telling people to “get up an move” is obvious to most of us, some people need to be told.
More to come: Obesity: Part 2
]]>His stories’ locales are minimal, quiet and stark, a hard place for the hero to return to. Surely, they were once very real rooms for the writer himself. And the mother in me wishes to paint him a happier room. And there may be the reason I keep reading him.
When I first picked up Auster’s work, Mr. Vertigo, I’d just finished a spate of Gabriel Garcia Marquez novels. And after the 8th Marquez book, or any other author for that matter, the stories ran together and I wondered if there was a reason to read the ninth. Auster seemed bizarre but not so supernaturally as Marquez. In that way he was a break from Marquez’s eccentric Catholics and ascensions to heaven.
Auster’s books had lead me around the interconnected libraries of Austin, Texas. And whatever drew me from the closing of one book to the opening of another, I may only learn on the 2nd readings. Also, I had finally left my hometown where I felt suffocated and had trouble reading anything due to a stress-induced bout of obsessive-compulsion. Brad suggested these eerie authors weren’t helping, so I took a break from fiction altogether.
I’ve just realized that I’ve never spent any money on Paul Auster’s work, and now that I’ve decided to like him, I’m feeling a little guilty about that. At 61, he just released his newest book called Man in the Dark. Vulture interview found here thanks to http://sippey.typepad.com/. The only reason I haven’t been motivated to read it is because it’s been constantly gone from the Pleasanton library, so I’ve enjoyed reaching back to the older books. Currently I’m enjoying The Invention of Solitude, c. 1982. I always knew I would because in it, he’s written about his just deceased father in a way that I’d like to write about certain people who have to be buried first.
When I’m done with this one, and possibly Brooklyn Follies, I may have to pay real money for Man in the Dark. Does Auster get paid the same if I wait for the 15% Barnes & Noble coupon?
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