Being retired for three weeks

While the hotel was closed for three weeks, I pretended I was retired.  (Without a pesky pension, I must admit.)  There was nothing I needed to do, no job do, no alarm clock to jolt me into wakefulness at 6:10 in the morning.  Time was on my side, as the song says, and I made the most of it.  Drove to Los Angeles, flew to Oregon, drove to Sacramento, spent the weekend in Guerneville and did not once set an alarm clock.

Two of my brothers and my ex husband John are all retired. I am jealous, I must admit and I want that kind of life. It would take a very long time for me to get bored, and the things I like to do take very little money as long as purchasing airline tickets is not on the agenda.  Reading, walking, sleeping, following someone else's lead, visiting friends, sleeping some more; all of these are activities that are pretty much free. But realistically, retirement is not going to be on my horizon for many years unless I either win the lottery or Ed McMahon shows up at my door with the winnings from the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes.  (The odds of either one of those things happening are about even, especially since Ed is dead.) 

So I have decided to really put the brakes on my frivolous spending this year and save money to take more days off.  But wait!  What frivolous spending?  Unless I stop buying alcohol (the odds of that happening are about the same as winning the above mentioned lottery) and never get my hair cut again, there isn't much spending I can cut out since I simply don't spend much.  Alas. However, I am still going to find a way to take more time off from work. There's a lot going on in the world and I am hating missing so much of it.  I wanted to get to Europe this year but that didn't happen. (It's been more than 7 years since I last visited the Old Country.)  So I will go to Europe in 2016.  Even if it's just for a week, I am going there.  Mark those words!

Hope your holidays have been enjoyable and without stress or too much family drama. Mine have been lovely.  Excellent Christmas Eve with the kids, nice quiet Christmas day.  The hotel is now re-opened so I am back at work but I feel a lot more relaxed now than I did at the beginning of the month.  That's what retirement does for you: it makes you slow down a little and enjoy each day and get to do small things that have a big impact on your psyche. At least, that's what it did for me.

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Holiday stuff, so short

I should print this in red and green. Let's see how that looks. Well, not so bad.

Last night I had dinner with Stacey and Henry.  Henry is four years old, going on 14 in some ways.  We met at a very small trattoria in Petaluma and Henry ordered a salad. Not very many four year old kids order a salad.  First he ate all the bread that was given to the table, with salt and olive oil.  He loved it. When his salad arrived he did not want the chopped tomatoes or the pine nuts. Stacey pulled them off.  I ate the pine nuts.  (Hey, at $30 per pound, they were either going into my pocket or into my mouth. Mouth won. Yum.)  Henry then balked at eating the salad until Stacey bribed him. Then he ate almost all of it in three minutes.

Meanwhile, unknown to Stacey, he was totally making faces at a couple behind him, totally flirting (in the way that only a four year old kid can) with the woman at that table.  She was beguiled. Henry, after 5 minutes, lost interest, obviously because she was too easy to beguile.  (This is not a slight on women, just an example of how a four year old kid can entice and then be done with that.)

Stacey and I had a lovely dinner and a lovely dessert and it was so nice to be there with Stacey and Henry. 

Today I drove to Sacramento to see my Mom.  Without too much discussion of that, it was difficult.  But Mom asked about Sam!  I precipitated the conversation by telling her about the above dinner (always trying to find something to talk about, of course) and she remembered that I watched Sam for two days a week for about six months when he was small.  She remembered that and so we had a little conversation about Sam, how he is soon to be six years old and wise in the ways of six year old boys and I told her a bit about what six year old boys are into now.  Mom was happy to hear all of it, but then sad and she said "I miss all that. All that running around and their faces when they are small."

Ah, well. 

Happy Holidays to everyone who reads this. Enjoy.  Be kind, have some joy.  Families are often difficult but you don't want to miss much of it. Christmas is short. Smile. Nod. Say "yes" a lot and have some more of that wine. Or eggnog. It's once a year, and thus easy to do.

I love you more.

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Oregon, here and happy

While some people get it, many do not: how I can be friends with an ex and even come and stay in his house with his wife and have a GREAT time.  To those who don't get it, I say:  Too Bad.

This is what I needed: a place where there is no drama, no expectations, no obligations (except to be a nice guest) and little responsibility.  This is where I found it:  at John and Diane's home in Eugene.  Three days of sleeping in, not getting up to walk a dog, having someone make excellent coffee and huge bowls of fruit and yogurty goodness every morning. Three days of reading, watching TV (which I rarely do), making some dinner, running a few errands and laughing a lot.  John and Diane do not require me to do much and they know they do not have to entertain me or change their routine for me and that relieves the "house guest" burden of feeling guilty for ruining someone's daily plan. It's wonderful.

Yesterday we watched some TV and then read and then had those fruit bowls and then drove over to the huge warehouse of a lumber shop that belongs to Seth, the amazing woodworker lumberjack who is Diane and John's son-in-law.  He owns Urban Lumber, here in Eugene and a retail shop in Healdsburg.  Really beautiful furniture, exquisite craftsmanship. That was our field trip for the day.  Today we are going to St. Vincent de Paul to see their used books.  This morning I took a long hike through the woods from their house.  Could it be better?  Not much.

Later today Diane and I are making a new recipe, we will sip wine, cook and chat and laugh.  It's the most relaxing three days I have had in quite some time. YAY!

Back to you in a couple of days.  

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Out of Town!

For the few people who read this, don't think I have vanished.  The hotel is closed for three weeks and instead of hanging around the house with my roommate hovering in the background, I decided to get out of town.  I drove to Los Angeles area, saw two of my brothers for a couple of days, drove back to Daly City to house and dog sit for the weekend, am flying to Eugene, Oregon tomorrow (Monday) to visit with John and Diane for three days, back on Thursday in time for my French class.  Then Friday and Saturday I will be in Guerneville, house and dog sitting for Jennifer and her girlfriend Dar.  Home on Sunday night, perhaps.  Gone Monday night for dinner with friends.  Then home for Tues and Wed and then it's Christmas Eve!!!!  My favorite evening in the year.

And then back to work the day after Christmas.  It goes too fast, of course.  And there are stories to tell you, and I will try to get to some of those in the next day or two.  I hope your holiday season is treating you kindly.  Be peaceful!  Buy gifts!  Eat cookies!

XO

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That Muscle Car is Mine!

As you know, my small Honda car was assaulted and physically maimed (not psychologically hurt, so that part is fine) and thus has had to go to car hospital to get new parts sewn back on. Like when your favorite doll needed a new eye. Well, actually, nothing like that, that doll never needed two new doors or sanding or remolding or anything but you get the drift.  So I was forced to get a new, temporary doll rental car. I picked Enterprise because they were the cheapest and I could walk to their office. 

The car I was promised was something little like a Kia or a Toyota.  The car I got was a friggin huge and dark and impressive Dodge Charger!  I have always wanted a Dodge Charger, seriously. It's not a wimpy car. It is a CAR. It defines "Muscle Car."  Lots of noise, lots of power, no finesse, little class.  Who cares.  It goes really fast.

Some cars are peppy, they move when you put your foot down.  Some cars are even peppier, they just move out there like a rocket. The Dodge Charger is not like that.  When you put your food on the accelerator, first it growls.  Loudly. Then it shoots away from you like a high school kid on crack.  As quickly as possible, it is gone. But wait, not really gone because you are still there, sort of in control.

It has been a very, very long time since I have played with a car like this.  On the freeway today (out to Sacramento to take Mom to the doctor's, a story for tomorrow) it put every other car to shame.  I heeded my friend Tom's advice and used cruise control when I could but there were times when that was not possible. There were times when that car had to be played.  And I played it. Hard. It loved it and so did I.

Seriously, new cars are always peppy.  This Dodge Charger had 35,000 miles on it and it could hit 60 in about two seconds.  Muscle car, yes!  Flex it and bring it on and I loved it. I wanted to drive this car to Los Angeles but that ain't happening. But I will take it out to the coast this weekend and I hope I can make it work for me. As I said, it growls. And that's a good thing.

Just say "Thank You" and this is not about Thanksgiving

Every five or six months my friend Jani and I meet for breakfast.  It lasts long enough to be lunch because we have so much to talk about.  When the bill comes, I always reach, she always gets it and I always protest.  Jani always says "Just say Thank You."  I do.  And I insist on leaving the tip, which she allows.  It always humbles me a little but lifts me up at the same time. 

"Just say Thank You" is a good thing to remember. For me, it's right up there with "Just be kind."  If you mush them together, as is so easy to do, those two phrases can cover about 75% of life.  The other 25% can be covered with "I'm sorry" (if you really are) and the best, "I love you more."

I think of this because it is the time of saying thanks and it is the time to be kind. Everyone loves Thanksgiving but not everyone loves December. Some people hate the commercialization of ..... what?  The birth of Jesus?  Really?  How many people really believe that story, so why get all cranky because that imaginary birth has morphed into lights and gifts and cards and spending money?   But the commercialization of the holiday is simply commerce and the evolution of tradition. You can hate the spending but you gotta love the lights and the twinkly stuff and candy and kids and sleighs and dogs with reindeer hats. And Christmas trees, who can resist a lovely pine-smelling, light-covered tree with cool ornaments, some of which were made 40 years ago by one's own kids?  Who doesn't love hot cider with spices and brandy?  Who doesn't want to see small children (and big ones) on the morning of December 25 stare in awe at what the imaginary Fat Man left under the tree? 

So, let's all be nice, be kind and thank our fellow persons that we are here, we can act dismayed at the crassness of  buying too much stuff (and yes, it is crass, and yet I know no one who does that anymore) and smile, nod and let it go.

This should be called the Season of Letting It Go. Sigh deeply and find something nice to look at (like that cup of hot cider with brandy) and be joyful.

I know, I am being so simplistic about it all.  But why not?  Let's not over complicate anything anymore. There are a myriad of sites where you can discover organizations who need your donations and you can give a little card to your loved ones telling them what you gave in their name.  (Awkward sentence!)  You can buy a flock of chickens or ducks as a gift!  Or a small heifer.  Or some yarn. Some water bottles, some wooden shelves, a simple wood-fired oven, money for a roof, for fabric.  Closer to home you can give money to your local food bank so others can eat.  On and on it goes. 

But you can also spend a little money and buy presents!  Things for your family and friends to unwrap!  That urban myth that says "Christmas is for kids" is a lie.  Everyone likes a gift, some socks, a bag of almonds, some photos, a jar of salsa, pencils, a second-hand book, wine, a recipe, a DVD that you loved but want to pass on. Wrap it up! It doesn't matter that it cost $2.99 from Trader Joe's, it just matters that someone smiles as they rip the paper off and say "Oh, wow, how cool is this!"

Disclaimer:  Tomorrow is the last day at the hotel for three weeks. They are closing up until December 26.  The reasons are not important but I know the reason behind this blog is this:  I am SO, SO happy that for the next three plus weeks I don't have to go to work!!!!  No pay, but I am not caring.  I could go on, but I will finish that thought tomorrow......

Thank you.  Be Kind.  I love you more.

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Bad car karma, but no one is shooting at me

Friday, November 13, driving home and listening to the terror that is happening in Paris. Half a block from my street and a car comes out of a school parking lot, against the flow of traffic and straight at me.  I try to scoot over but there is another lane of traffic to my left, but I definitely do not want this car to hit me head on, air bags and all that.  So I move as far as I can to the left without hitting the car on my left. There is a yellow school bus on my right side. This random wildcat car drives at me, swerves a bit and runs between me and the yellow school bus, sideswiping me as it goes, to the blaring of all the horns in the vicinity.  The car bounces off me and somehow, since everyone in both westbound lanes of traffic can see what's happening and thus can give it space, the car maneuvers around and finally gets in the eastbound lanes and speeds away.

This, as is common, happens in about 3 seconds. I pull to the curb, get out of my car and yell, at the top of my voice "FUCK" a couple of times, which sort of relieves some of the adrenaline that was plowing through my body. I mean, I really yelled it, not like some lady-like yell but a huge, mean, angry yell.  Thankfully, the guy in back of me pulled over as well, (he was not daunted by my unlady-like cursing) and he had what he thought was the license plate number, and gave me his name and phone number, and helped me wrench off a piece of the car that was hanging.  I drove home, about a hundred yards away.

Sigh. Insurance pays for most of it, but not all.  Then, just 5 days later, the car is running rough, really rough, gets worse and worse so I had to take it in to the tune of more than $700!!!!  

But I am fine with it all.  No one is shooting at me, my life is not in peril, my family is not in danger, my life is simple.  I still have water when I turn on the tap, my poop still goes away when I flush the toilet, I don't have head lice and I can pay my bills, sort of. Healthy and reasonably happy, well-fed (my large spare tire can attest to that) and well-lubricated with self-medicating ounces of alcohol, I am so fine it's pitiful to even mention the car.  But hey, it's what we do, share our down moments with friends and then share the up ones as well.  And to watch the threat of terror around the world makes anyone with a brain just shut up about the small fuck-ups of everyday life.

This week is Thanksgiving, of course, and if you have a computer and can read this, you have tons to be thankful for. Electricity, for one.  A computer for another. A roof. A toilet. (Thank that water system every time you flush.)  Some pasta or rice and a pot to cook it in. Friends. Some warm clothes, someone to hug or at least talk to, maybe a small grateful dog or cat or goldfish, maybe a simple mug to hold a cup of tea. There is always something. Bread. Apples. And what about those trees outside, the ones that are blazing with color! If a person can't be in awe about seeing that, a person has some explaining to do.

Cars, costly but necessary.  Life, so much more in every way. And so much better as well. 

LTBT

"The Bean Trees" revisited

Twenty seven years ago (1988) I read "The Bean Trees" by Barbara Kingsolver and I loved it.  It was her first novel and since then I have read almost everything she has written. But I couldn't remember much about this book (27 years of accumulating dead brain cells does cause memory lapses) and when I saw it on CD at the library, I knew I had to listen to it.

What a great story!  It's difficult to summarize the plot because it is such a simple tale but one with so many human touch-points.  Loss, redemption, kindness, civil rights, love, and so much more.  The main character, Taylor Greer, wins you over from the very beginning with her skewed view of the world and she develops from an innocent kid to an articulate, generous woman. (In 1988 my best friend at that time actually named her first child Taylor, after the character in this book.)  I don't remember being so moved when I read it in 1988, but this time I had tears in my eyes many times while listening to it.

If you haven't read it, get it out of the library and read it. It's short, you can finish it in two days and it will be well worth it.  And if you haven't read any other Kingsolver books, do yourself a favor and check out a few of her other books.  

I drive home in tears, 11/13/15

I drive home in tears for many reasons but only one resonates right now. I drive home in tears because of the slaughter in Paris, the lives ruined for no reason. There is nothing I can say about the shootings because there is no logic there.  We all ask ourselves the "Why" questions but these terrorists do not operate on a logical plane. All the questions we ask cannot be answered because of that. Our world cannot and will not and should not ever understand a place that can massacre strangers. If that situation doesn't make you cry, nothing will. 

This not walking is killing my knees.

The Small Dog Cooper has had some sort of muscle strain in one of his back legs which has limited his ability to go for walks.  Since I retrieved him from Gabe and Annie's after my short trip to Hawaii, he has been limping around on three legs.  Giving him pain meds (for dogs) has helped a bit, at least he can pee and poop without falling over on his bad leg.  (Which was a bit amusing, I must say.)  But it has made our walking in the morning a non-issue.

And as much as it pisses Cooper off that he can't go out, it is friggin killing me!  My knees hurt way more now than they have in a long time and I know it's because I am not walking the two miles plus every day. How lame is that?!  (Pun intended.)  

Just today, after more than a week, Coop is limping less so it means we can take short walks now.  He walked around the block mostly on four legs, some on three legs.  But when we got to the park, I let him off the leash and he joyfully ran around like a little dog!  I hope his recovery continues or else I am going to need a walker to get around.  I had not realized how much the 45 minutes of walking in the morning benefited me as well as the Small Cooper Dog. Now I know. 

Old movie: "In Bruges"

I may have blogged about this movie in the past, but I just watched it again tonight.  Seriously, if you haven't seen it, watch it.  It's free on Netflix streaming.  Funny, sad, poignant, irreverent, sarcastic, politically incorrect, and somehow, with all the snarky dialogue, it's moving and emotional even with the threat of bullets and death waiting in the wings.

One of the best performances by Colin Farrell, not to mention Brendan Gleeson and Ralph Fiennes. If you have seen it before, watch it again. It's simply 100 minutes of a very good movie. 

"Fucking Bruges.  This place is a shit hole."

To Hawaii and back

Having never been to Hawaii (yes, hard to believe), I jumped at the chance to go for three nights, even if it was just to Honolulu.  You know me, give me a nice room in a good hotel that has a bar, and I am a happy camper.  Annie had a business trip, the room was paid for, the airline ticket was reasonable, so off I went.

Honolulu is not like the Hawaii of people's dreams, of course. It was more like staying in a high-rise Santa Monica. Near the water (we could see the harbor and ocean from our room) but surrounded by high rise hotels and condos and lots of traffic.  Did I care?  Nope.  The hotel was lovely, the drinks at the bar were good, Annie is fun to travel with and I was AWAY!  Away from work, away from my house and roommate, away from everything.  That alone was worth the price of admission.

One of my oldest friends lives in Honolulu so we hung out a bit and he took me on a helicopter tour of the island. It was a "doors off" four person helicopter, small and very maneuverable, able to tuck into small canyons and make U-turns in a small arc.  Despite a few moments of trepidation, once we were up in the air and I was convinced I wasn't going to fall out, it was a great ride. The island (Oahu) is beautiful, of course, as all the islands are.  (It's just the Honolulu part that isn't so attractive.)  Lush, green, wet, with oceans that varied from light turquoise to deep navy.  

Good food as well. We (Annie, myself and my friend Flip) had a great meal at a very old-fashioned traditional high-end dining restaurant that was excellent.  Annie and I ate at a very new, very cutting edge place another night and then at a very local, very Hawaiian cafe for breakfast one morning.  In between were lunches (very Hawaiian) and snacks at the pool (good fish tacos) and small bar bites.

Yes, it was hot and humid, too humid for me, but since I was on vacation, it didn't matter.  And they are not in the middle of a drought, so taking a long, cold shower after walking a couple of miles in hot, humid heat was a great treat.

Would I go back?  Of course, I will go anywhere if someone asks nicely.  I would prefer a cooler and dryer time of year and it would be nice to not be in Honolulu all the time but it was fun, it was great to see Flip, great to travel with Annie and it was more than great to be out of town for three days.  I read a couple of books, slept well, stared out the window of our 16th floor room for a while and looked at hot hunky men at the pool.  Not a thing wrong with any of that!

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A very intriguing novel: "Did You Ever Have a Family?"

A first novel by Bill Clegg, "Did You Ever Have a Family?" is definitely worth finding and reading. Not a happy story,  one of surviving loss and heartbreak, learning to let go and learning to accept kindness. Each chapter is told from the viewpoint of one of about ten characters, some in first person, some in third.  The focal point of the story is a horrific accident that occurs hours before the book begins. Not every narrator knows about the event but each is drawn into it in some way, even unknowingly.

The book starts slowly and at times seems too meandering but that's because we are dealing with many personalities and not all of them are to the point. But as you read and as you learn bits about each narrator and as their pasts come into focus, you sense connections that are strong but not obvious between many of the people.  They might not even know each other but some thread is woven through and around them that ties them to the others.

It's very moving, very absorbing. As soon as I finished it, I went back and read some of the chapters again, still piecing together small clues and little facts about what really happened and who these people really were.  It isn't a long book, you can read it in two days, but take your time and savor it. It says a lot about the fragile connections that hold lives together, and because of that fragility, the book needs to be read gently and with respect.

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A day off and a movie and some other stuff

For the past many, many Fridays I have been driving to Carmichael to see/deal with my Mom. Today I did not drive there.  Today I had a day off. Slept in until 7:45, walked the dog for 45 minutes, made a wicked cup of coffee and read a book for a little while.  Ran some errands, saw a friend, went to a movie and just finished a nice dinner with my BFF, little Cooper.  (To be clear, I finished the dinner, Cooper watched longingly, but did not partake.  He had kibble.)

The movie I saw today was the new Spielberg/Tom Hanks collaboration, "Bridge of Spies."  Now, we can all agree that it's stupid title for a movie of such depth. So we will all agree to leave that argument alone and move on.

Very good movie, I would recommend seeing it. Spielberg wastes no money on the visuals (and why should he, it's his signature after all) and thus it is flawlessly set.  The late 1950's are pictured perfectly, the somber tone of the Cold War is rendered so well.  The classroom scenes of "Duck and Cover" and the kids saying the "Pledge of Allegiance" are very clear and yet done with the right blend of irony and loyalty that can only be realized years later.  

The movie is  based on true events from 1957 to 1961, during the frightening days of the Cold War, when spies and counter-spies were a serious and real thing. You can read a synopsis of the movie online, so I won't go into that detail. The best historical scenes of the movie take place in Berlin, just at the moment the Communists are building the Berlin Wall.  We see it as it happens and I am fairly certain what we see in the movie is what they saw in Berlin.  Having seen the remnants of the Wall myself, and being versed in it's history, I would say that this movie is worth seeing just for those scenes. We all know about it, but to see it as it unfolds is bone chilling and terrifying. 

I have a few negative things to say about this movie but they are quibbles so I will leave those behind.  It is a pleasure to watch Tom Hanks, once again, show us, once again, a character from history made real.  Hanks, from his first 30 seconds on screen, becomes the lawyer Donovan, he embraces the character so clearly that by the end of the movie you believe he is Donovan.  Hanks never leaves that persona. He is the guy.

It's worth seeing this movie for several reasons, and each can be merit alone.  Tom Hanks.  The sets of Brooklyn in 1957.  Berlin in 1961. The history of the Gary Powers issue, what that meant for America and for the Soviet Union. 

But the bottom line is that this is a story of one man's conviction of what was right and what was flawed.  The Standing Man's belief was that every person counts.  As Donovan says "it doesn't matter what people think about you. It matters that you know what you did."

See it.

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It's time for food: ravioli and cannoli

Sometimes the only thing you want is someone to make you dinner. But at that same time, you don't want to go anywhere or be in anyone's house except maybe your son's or your daughter's house, but no where else. And at that same time, on that particular day, that isn't a possibility.

So you find someplace to buy that dinner, or something close to it. In my little neighborhood we have a very small Italian deli that makes food to pick up and heat up and eat.  (Or food to eat there.)  Right now, on the fence next to the deli, there is a very large sign that reads PUMPKIN RAVIOLI.  Who could resist that?  I stopped there on my way home and got the facts.  48 ravioli to a tray, fresh frozen.  Ten bucks. For me that's at least 3 meals. The guys tell me that the filling is pumpkin, sauteed swiss chard, onions, a bit of Parmesan and I am sold. They also said "hey, they're small, really small, so it's enough for two people if you have a side salad."  Well, I cooked about 15 for me tonight and it was plenty.  I did a little brown butter sauce, some salt and pepper and a tiny bit of parm and they were delicious. 

Plus this place makes their own cannoli.  They have the shells pre-baked, of course, but they fill them when you order.  I just ate mine.....  crispy fried outside, soft and luscious inside with ricotta and lemon zest and mini-chocolate chips.  The perfect cannoli. 

That's all you need, now and then:  a dinner from an almost-home kitchen, a tiny bit of prep and a lot of tasty goodness. It's almost like eating in someone's kitchen. 

xo

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What? My ears have failed me? A chicken farm?

I started watching the continuation of "Longmire", season 4, a series I really like.  Modern day cowboy played by the discreetly sexy Robert Taylor, not just a cowboy but a cop as well in the Big Sky territory of what could be Montana or Wyoming but really, who the fuck cares where it is, just in a sort of still-cowboy territory. Episode 1 of season 4 begins...  some stuff happens, and then there's that part where they sort of roll some credits but it's just the intro music, etc.  And here is what I hear: the whole world's sitting on a chicken farm, the whole world's sitting on a chicken farm (and while I hear this, I am thinking it's a little odd) so keep your calm, carry on, the whole world's sitting on a chicken farm.  The sun may never rise again. The sea will roll, the sky will fall (which sort of goes with the chicken farm theme, I vaguely think, like Chicken Little and the sky is falling but still, sort of a strange theme song) the sun may never rise again.  The cyborg has begun (and I think where the hell did that come from, cyborgs in Montana?) and some more.....  and then the chorus again, the whole world's sitting on a chicken farm.  But then it hits me, much clearer:  the whole world's sitting on a TICKING BOMB!  Not a chicken farm!  Oh what relief!  No chicken farms....  just a stupid ticking bomb!  And all this time I have missed the sexy Robert Taylor, aka Longmire, walking sexily across the plain waving a gun. Thank goodness for rewind, or on Netflix it's not really a rewind, it's just the back arrow.

It just goes to show what you hear is not always what you hear.

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Two movies, neither current: "Chinatown" and "Moonrise Kingdom"

Sometimes you just need to watch something you already know you like. "Chinatown" is a movie I have seen at least ten times.  It took me about six times to get it, to get the duplicitous intrigue of the water scandal, who was betraying whom and how all the pieces and characters fit together.  For a movie that came out more than 40 years ago, it is still 100% worth watching.  Credit for that goes to the writer Robert Towne, the director Roman Polanski and the great cast of Jack Nicholson, Faye Dunaway and John Huston. Some movies do not stand the test of time. This one does.  Yes, there are cliche moments and some that are hokey, but 90% of the movie holds up and makes you watch until the very end.  If you haven't seen it in a while, check it out. On Netflix, of course, streaming.

And for simple escape, few are better than Wes Anderson at getting you out of your head and thus out of your pissy mood. "Moonrise Kingdom" has such a great cast that even if it wasn't a charmer, you would love just watching the actors.  Bill Murray, Bruce Willis, Edward Norton, Frances McDormand, Harvey Keitel..... and so many others. Goofy and poignant and silly and serious.  If you don't like Wes Anderson, too bad for you.  Learn to. He's a master at the subversive almost-comedy. 

What a week, and it's only Wednesday.  As I have said before, by this time of the year I am so, so tired of talking to guests and now I am so, so tired of talking to almost everyone.  Everything seems incredibly trite and pedantic and redundant and all those other words that mean the same thing.  I could write paragraphs of what I never want to hear again ("how does the chef make that crispy poached egg can I have the recipe for that mango limeade what's in the polenta cake who made the biscuits can I visit this winery what kind of trees are those how does this coffee machine work is there more chai tea where should we eat dinner what's your favorite winery can I have oatmeal instead of an egg can I buy that lotion where can we go for a hike are you the owner how long have you worked here?")

Far too long.

xo

"Friday Night Lights" from so long ago.

Sometimes you just need to watch something on TV (aka on Netflix.)  Sometimes you just need to watch something that is more than one episode, so you can get into it and ride it along.  This show had great reviews and was on for at least 6 or 7 seasons, but I never got into it.  Why I picked it today, I am not sure. But it was a good pick.

Solidly built around a small town in Texas whose only claim to fame is their football team, it gives us a look at that kind of maniacal dedication that almost defines Texas. Businesses close down on Friday night game nights. Everyone in the town is obsessed with the team winning. And not simply "obsessed" with the team winning but almost willing to put their lives on the line to make the team win. Yes, there was a small town in Texas (Odessa) with a winning team on which this series is based.  But as the book of the same name discovers, football isn't the only thing happening in the town. Lives are being lived, lies are being told and little happens that isn't changed by this football team.

Well, who am I to say this, I am only on episode 5!  But I understand the need to come out on top, to win, to prove something.  Everyone understands that. The players in the series are well drawn, it is well acted, well written and well made.  I only wish it was stormy and cloudy and cold outside, so I could put on my flannel pajamas and watch it throughout the day and into the night. It is that good. And it's free!  

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The long slide downhill

Now that we have moved Mom into a small board-and-care place, it seems she has left that last plateau for good and is on the long (or hopefully short) slide downhill.  She can't remember anything, doesn't want to try to remember anything.  She doesn't want to try and move around, walk outside, even walk to the next room.  She complains about being bored and having no one to talk to and yet she refuses to talk to anyone at the house. 

It's frustrating for her, of course, and depressing and frightening.  For us kids, it's mostly sad and frustrating.  We bought her a cell phone, one designed specifically for old people (called Jitterbug) and it is incredibly easy to use. No matter how many times we show her how to use it, no matter that she has to push two buttons to make a call, she is incapable of even doing that 50% of the time.

What will happen, we have no idea.  I drive to Sacramento on Fridays, usually, because it's my day off.  Two hours of driving there, two back and Mom is only good for about an hour visit.  After that she spaces out or says she is too tired.  It's exhausting for everyone.

Hope I die before I get that old.  That's all I have to say on that.

A book review: "Fates and Furies" by Lauren Groff

By this time of the year, in the fall, after dealing with hotel guests for ten months straight, answering their inane intelligent questions, printing out maps that they won't look at because they have GPS and GPS is ALWAYS correct, after spouting the same litany of words and instructions for the ten thousandth time about the hot tub and the air conditioning controls and the hours for breakfast and on and on and on, I have very little energy for anything mentally taxing.  I read a lot of Robert Parker books because they keep me entertained but need little brain power.  

"Fates and Furies" is no Spencer novel.  It is a very well-written novel, one that is aggressively intelligent, intriguing, well paced and makes the reader work a bit.  The language is dense at times, lyrical at other times.  The characters are clearly drawn and true to their created ways but a little shadowy at the same time.  The story is basically of a relationship between Lotto and Mathilde, a relationship that is strong but flawed, passionate but realistically tempered.  The book is in two parts, the "Fates" and the "Furies" and each part looks at their relationship from a different slant.  Things that are revealed in part two change the reader's perception of things that happened in part one.

It would almost be worth buying this book, and you know I say that very rarely.  I can see reading it again in a year or two.  Listen to this:  But there were tiny miracles to rouse her.  A rosewater macaroon in the brass mailbox, in a waxed paper envelope. One blue hydrangea like a head of cabbage on the doorstep.  Cold, wrinkled hands pressed to her cheeks, passing on the stairs.  Bright lights in the dark.

Or this:  Of course, there was also the worse reason, a darker one that he turned from quickly every time he brushed up against it, a tarry fury that he ignored so long that, by now, it had become too enormous to contemplate. 

Once this book grabbed me, I didn't want to put it down.  It's that kind of a novel.  Check it out.

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The book might need to be written.....

Quick post, more to follow:  people my age are writing books about dealing with their aging parents. But I have yet to read a book that actually presents the truth, the down and dirty details about dealing with our really old parents. Most of the current books are all touch-feely about the entire situation, sugar-coating the nasty bits, glossing over the poop and the pee and the bruises and the crying and the resistance.

It's not that I want to write the Really True Book about putting one's parent in a "place" but maybe that book needs to be written.

More to follow, it's been a long day and another one looms tomorrow.

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The night sky of tonight, driving home

Driving home tonight from Petaluma, it was just at that moment when the sun had set and the clouds were still pinkish. And off to the left of the freeway those clouds were amazingly structural. In one way, you could see them as large teeth, complete with roots. Wide at the top, narrowing down to the root structure. But as a former English teacher, with all those grammar rules embedded in my psyche, I saw those clouds as punctuation symbols.

Those clouds formed huge exclamation symbols and huge semicolons. Those clouds formed gigantic parenthesis and they formed amazing commas and apostrophes.  Those clouds were pinkish when I first found them, and so seemed cherubic almost.  But after driving just a mile or two that pinkish glow faded away and gave way to a dark, gloomy gray color.  Those punctuation marks, those huge colons and apostrophes, now in dark gray, almost looked better, more usable, more appropriate. They looked much more like symbols of grammar and less like ethereal clouds.

I liked seeing a sky of punctuation marks, it isn't often you see that sort of thing in the sky.  I might have been the only person on the freeway at that moment who thought of those clouds in that way.  That fact makes me oddly happy.

!@?"#:

The quest for decent food at a cheap price continues

It is certainly not difficult to find mediocre food in any suburb, or in any city. What is difficult is to find decent food (or perhaps mediocre to some people's standards) at a really fair price. Tonight Tom and I visited our new favorite food mall in Petaluma.  This food mall, which is actually just a strip mall anchored on one end by an Orchard Supply place and on the other by IHOP and Burger King, has, in one long row, 8 businesses.  In order: an Indian restaurant, a Vietnamese restaurant, a smoke shop with quite a selection of pipes, an eyeglass store, a Chinese Donut shop (come on, Chinese donuts, that is so intriguing), an empty storefront, a flower shop ("mixed bouquets for $9.99") and an Italian restaurant. Quite the ethnic variety, especially if that empty place had housed a Mexican restaurant, that would have rounded out the food choices quite nicely.

We ate at the Indian place three weeks ago and it was quite fine and the tab was about $25 for each of us, including tax and tip.  We were sort of aiming for the Vietnamese place this time but their entire front window was covered with those plastic laminated photos of the food and even the photos looked sad and anemic.  We passed on that.  The Chinese donut place was closed, unfortunately.  They only do Chinese donuts at breakfast and Chinese other treats at lunch and nothing for dinner.  By default, we chose the Italian place.

It should have been called EyeTalyan.  It was that sort of American-Italian blend that tastes fine at Original Joe's or Joe's of Westlake or San Rafael Joe's.  In a concrete strip mall in Petaluma, not so good.  (But my glass of Sangiovese wine was, I must say, a very healthy pour and quite delicious.)  Salad:  boring.  Bread:  boring.  Tom's Lasagna of the Day:  boring.  My linguine with clams:  boring.  

(Sad.  Honestly, my Italian mother-in-law taught me how to make good linguine and clams using canned clams, but you need garlic and lots of parsley and pepper.  Salt is nice too.  This had lots of clams but no flavor.)

And this meal cost us each $35, including tax and tip! That's $10 more than our allotted limit!  And it wasn't worth it! We have eaten cheaper at Dempsey's and it was better and it wasn't in a strip mall. (That is not to disparage Dempsey's.  I love Dempsey's but the reason I mention it is because it's a couple of steps above these strip mall places and yet you can get a really good meal for under $12.00 if you know what to order.)

So, our search continues.  We are on a quest to find good, solid, decent food in the north bay for $25 all inclusive. We are sure there are food options awaiting us and we will find them. Onward.

Oh gosh, so much to say, so little to say. Whatever

Seriously, if you were roped into reading this posting by that title, I apologize right now. There is little to say, you can just click that little back arrow and leave it alone.  Oh, wait, before you do, oh......  OK, you are gone.  Well, too bad for you, loser, quitter, giver-upper.  You are missing a blog post that could out-blog any blogger in blogdom.  Or probably not but you won't know that because you already left the building!  HA! 

When you do a blog like this, there is a list of all the postings you have ever written, of course, like a very sad bibliography of your blogging life, which even saying that phrase "blogging life" is sort of creepy.  But, hey, back to the list.  I never look at it, the list, but just now I scrolled through a couple of years of posts because I didn't want to re-use a posting title. (Oh, the horror of that!  Really, who would even  notice?  I wouldn't have, and so you would never have known either, right?  Duh.)  

But here is the REALLY GREAT THING that I discovered: in that list it tells you how many people have read each blog post. Usually when I glance at it (it comes up when you start to write a new blog post) it will show that maybe 4 people read a particular blog or 6 or 9.  I don't care, really, I write for myself.  But today, as I scrolled down the list, looking for that title I was thinking of using, I saw a couple of postings that had 63 or 71 or 73 viewers!  What is that about! Who are these goofheads who read this stuff?  And why?  None of those multiple-viewer posts had anything in common, so I was elated and then stymied.  And that's where I am now with it, so we are moving on.

The Mom thing:  (feel free to skip ahead.)  Mom lives in an independent living place, has her own apartment but they provide two meals a day, of which she partakes. (She has never cooked a meal in her kitchen. Barely heats up anything in the microwave.)  But she has fallen a lot lately and thus we worry about her and thus we have been looking for a board-and-care home for her.

Now, I don't know if you all out there know about all the differences between retirement homes, board-and-care, assisted living, blah, blah. Unless you have an old person to deal with, you don't need to know. (Well, that's not true... you, reader, need to know FOR YOURSELF!  Yes, you will get old, you will need either the Black Pill or care. Think about it and learn.)  Assisted living is too expensive (and too huge and impersonal) for us to use.  Board-and-care are homes set up to deal with old peeps who can sort of get around but need more monitoring than independent living. We visited many (previous posts will attest) and Mom visited some with us and most she hated.  I hated them as well.  Lovely new home, sterile, cold, inmates residents were silently staring into their own souls, no communication.  My mother needs attention like a squirrel needs nuts, so silent and sterile wasn't going to cut it.

But last Friday I saw a few that would work and today one of my brothers took Mom to the one I liked and !!!  Mom actually liked it!  The owner hugged her as she walked in (always the way to win an old lady's heart) and it is nice and bright and homey.  Mom is moving in within the week.
We siblings are relieved.  

OK, enough of that.  

Can we say enough about the rain today?  We cannot.  It seems odd to have water falling out of the sky but we are lifting our faces up to it and laughing like kids. It feels good. No, it won't last but on my way home from work today, the weather people were reporting, with such joy and hope in their radio voices, that the rain was falling directly on the Valley Fire.  I haven't checked the updates of that fire but we all hope it helps.  Seriously.

There is a wonderful Carl Sandburg poem that I say to myself when fires are close. It's the only poem I know by heart:  Fire and Ice.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice. 
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction
Ice is also great
And would suffice.

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Several things, to catch up

First, a few books:  "Coming of Age at the End of Days" by Alice LaPlante, a story of a young girl who gets involved in a kind of cult about the End of Days. Sort of a coming of age story, as the title tells us.  It's a fast read but I wouldn't go out of my way to get it unless you saw it on the library shelf. Parts are good, the last third was better than the first two thirds, but hey, I finished it, so that says something. 

"The New Neighbor" by Leah Stewart.  Sort of the same thing (fast read, no need to put it on your list unless you see it on the shelf)  but less cultist creepy.  Two women who are neighbors forge a shaky friendship but there is something about each one that remains a secret.  The reader eventually finds out those secrets but really, you don't care that much for either character, so why bother.

Second, update about Mom. (I know most of you don't even know her but it is cathartic for me to write about it.)  I spent my day off, Friday, in Sacramento, in 108 degree heat, looking at board-and-care places for Mom.  She is simply too unstable to stay where she is (an independent living place) and so she needs to be somewhere less independent.  The places I visited were, for the most part, quite nice.  Very friendly managers, immaculate, engaged residents who didn't have that 100 yard stare.  But it is so frightening for Mom, and why wouldn't it be?  At 95 she will be moved out of her home and put somewhere else with strangers, and she gets to have very little say in it all. No one would like that.  It was a difficult day and a difficult conversation with Mom. 

Third, yesterday I spent 7 hours grilling burgers, dogs, chicken and portobellos over mesquite wood out at Duncan Mills (near Jenner) for the Gay Rodeo.  Yes, there is such a thing.  It wasn't as hot as it could have been and, while very exhausting and dirty, it was fun.  It's always fun hanging out with gay men and women.  Odd conversation abounded. There were discussions about boobs (lesbians were in favor, men not so much), about penises (men and me were in favor, lesbians not so much), about gay men's facial hair (me not in favor, no one else cared).  There were hot words exchanged about grilling techniques and at the same time cool praise for the same techniques.  Beer was consumed. It was quite fun although I smelled like a smoked brisket by the end of the day.  All for the cause of a fund-raiser, and I am always up for that. 

I think that is all for now.  I just consumed a delicious tequila sour (tequila, simple syrup, meyer lemon juice) and I think I will have another. Late shift tomorrow, I can sleep in a bit, maybe until 7:00 am!  

over and out.

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Bowling? Yes, bowling!

About thirty years ago, I took Gabe bowling for his birthday, along with a couple of his friends.  They didn't know how to bowl, of course, being 7 or 8 years old, but it was fun.  I think that was the last time I went bowling, until last Wednesday night.  Needless to say, I was a bit rusty.  Gutter balls?  Yep, more than a few.  But I had a couple of spares and one strike, so it wasn't total humiliation.

I am not usually a fan of getting together with the people I work with after work hours.  There aren't usually connections worth savoring and my off-hours are mine, not to be shared with co-workers.  But fates conspired and this bowling evening was set up and six of us met to bowl, two others to watch. Bottom line, it was a blast!  We barely talked about work, a good thing.  We discovered that one of us (the blond with the bad back) was a cracker-jack bowler, at one point getting 4 strikes in a row.  We all had different styles of bowling, from commando-attack style to ballerina-style (from the youngest of the guys.)  Most of us just tried to get the ball down the lane without bouncing it or without falling down or making an ass out of ourselves on every frame.

The first game, I came in second.  Second to last, that is.  The next game I came in last.  Did I care?  Absolutely not, not one tiny bit.  Oh sure, it would have been miraculous to have bowled double my score but I was there for the fun, not the win.  The eight of us laughed for almost three hours, sipping on good beer, picking the pepperoni off of mediocre pizza, cheering for strikes and spares, commiserating over gutter balls. Conversation blew through many topics: television and  movies we loved and hated, books we were reading, politics, restaurants we recently visited, stories from our past, thoughts of the future.

Alas, it was a school night and we all had to get up early the next morning and work so we headed home a bit after 9:00.  Everyone concurred: we'll do something else together again.  (Some were promoting miniature golf as the next outing but since I hate that game, I am pushing for a game of pool, or even more bowling.)  Co-workers or not, sometimes you just need to get out of the sandbox and take a ride on the slide.  

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Mr. Tiny Head and his women

We last left Mr. Tiny Head as he rolled his ice chest away from me, his pounds and pounds of brisket safe and cold.  But that was not to be the end of our brief encounter. 

The following morning, Sunday last, I waited for all the hotel guests to come to breakfast.  It's one of the many things I do in the morning. I greet them, I ask what room they are in and I show them to a table and explain the breakfast procedure.  (I sort of gag along the way, but I try to hide that from them, the delicate flowers that they are.)  
In walks Mr. Tiny Head!  By himself, although I know he is with someone, so I ask "Are you waiting for friends or....?"  He answers "Yes, my wife and her sister.  We are friends of the bride you know." 
Me:  "Would you like to grab a table and wait there?"
MRH:  "No, I will sit here in this chair."   And he sits down on the lobby chair and starts talking about his father and his grandfather and meanwhile I am trying to deal with other guests and make all the appropriate noises at the same time.

After a few minutes, I turn my head and he is gone! Quite stealthy is Mr. Tiny Head.  Minutes go by.  More minutes.  And then I see him return and he is followed by what looks like a collection of those little Russian dolls, the wooden ones that are carved and nest into each other.  The first one must be his wife.  She is about a half foot shorter than MTH and quite wide but she also has a very, very small head!  It's amazing!  She is followed by another woman, about 4 inches shorter, then another one, 4 inches shorter still and on and on.  There were 6 of these dolls, the last one being about 50 inches tall......  (about 6 inches shorter than me) and they all looked sort of alike!

It did not seem possible that they all stayed at the hotel unless they indeed nested inside each other all night long like Russian dolls. (Hey, stranger things could happen.)  I had to ask "So, what rooms are you staying in?"  (I sort of knew the answer in advance but I still had to ask.)

"Oh, only four of us are staying here, the rest just came to visit but we will all have breakfast and we are going to move all these tables (4 of them) together so we can all visit with each other and, honey, can you bring us some coffee?"  

Me:  "Umm, we aren't actually a restaurant and while you are welcome to the granola and yogurt on the sideboard, only the four of you staying here can have breakfast. And no, sorry, you cannot move the tables.  There are other guests to consider."

Pause.  A long pause. Some shuffling of eyes.  Some pursing of lips. Silent waving of hands.  Finally, Ms. Tiny Head says "Oh, chile, that will be fine, we'll just all share whatever you give us."  (Realize, please, that I am probably 15 years older than her, so being called "chile" was a little odd.)

I said OK and left the dining room.  They squished 6 people at a 4-top and the other 6 (they had other friends I have not mentioned) sat at another 4-top on the other side of the dining room area.  They ate a lot of granola and yogurt and shared the main course and, of course, with that many people, made a mess of the table.  (But many people do, which is another topic for another time.  How can grown up people spill so much food on a table in such a short time?  And does no one clean up after oneself anymore? Baffling.)

When they all filed out, like circus clowns, they did say thank you and all that.  But it was such a strange thing and so many of them ate for free that it almost seemed like a huge intrusion.  Whatever.  

Mr. and Mrs. Tiny Head and their nesting doll friends came and went.  Their adventure was over.  The cast of characters that checked in after them brought new depression delights that plague amuse me still.

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"Babywearing" is the new "cool" thing. I guess.

There was an article in the Sunday Santa Rosa Press Democrat newspaper about this new phenomenon that is sweeping the nation called "babywearing."  Seriously.  It is the radical (albeit ancient) practice of tying your baby to your body with rags and old towels.  No, that's not correct. You tie the kid to you with Hermes scarves and hand-woven fabrics that cost more than $200 for a piece of material that your kid is going to throw up on.  (Or you, the parent, might once you realize how much this "trend" is costing you.)

Now, don't get me wrong, I have no problems with carrying your kid next to you, wrapped in a sling device.  It frees your arms to do other things like stock up on Lululemon tank tops (at $77 each) or reach for those organic $8.99 per pound tomatoes at your local farmers market.  Women, mostly, have been carrying their babies like this for decades, but those women were using whatever fabric was at hand.  The new generation of baby makers and babywearers would probably gag at the idea of using "whatever fabric was at hand."  That could mean anything, like a sheet or a curtain or something that had no actual value.  

Just the name makes me cringe: babywearing.  Like your baby is the new accessory.  What is next?  I know for certain that kitten and puppy wearing are already taking place.  (Cooper has been whining that he wants me to wear him.  I have explained to him that, yes, I would be happy to wear him.  AS A PIECE OF TANNED HIDE!  He did not like that idea.)

With so many people walking around with their phones in their faces, it will be very soon that we see the younger generation (pre-babywearers) with designer slings for their phones and iPads.  That way the device is always at hand but their hands are momentarily free to pick up that $30 bottle of hand-crafted beer that they just read about on said device.  We could call them "padwearers" but that sounds too .... distasteful.  We might call them "Applewearers" or "androidwearers" but maybe we should just call them sheep.

If the above sounds like an old lady rant, I assure you I am not that old.  Snuggle your babies, yes.  But there are sites and stores and commerce devoted to this trendy thing and I fear it's simply another person's way to make money off the rich young baby producers.  It's not new, kids.  What's new is your obsession with yourselves.  Hug your babies.  Give up the accouterments.

But hey, just my opinion.  I could be wrong.

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Hotel Courtesy

The latest amusing anecdote (which might need an antidote) with a hotel guest:

A guest who might be staying at the hotel (he did not come in for breakfast and I wasn't there last night to check him in but he did have a large cooler in the kitchen so who really knows if he stayed there last night or not) came in around noon to get said cooler. He was a really big man, maybe six and a half feet and maybe 300 pounds.  Really big body, little tiny head. He comes to the desk and wants to check on his cooler and the ice level.

We go to the cooler. The bags of ice have melted, of course.  (I guess the cooler has been there since mid-day yesterday and it was very hot.)  So he wants more ice.  But before that, he wants to empty out the melted ice, aka water. He assumes I will help him.  I am trapped into submission. We go outside.  He starts hauling plastic bags of somewhat cooked beef brisket out of the cooler and without asking, hands them to me.  One, two, three, four, five, six briskets, in wet plastic bags, not closed so the briskets are sticking out of the top.  I am so flummoxed by his automatic assumption that I will be Brisket Girl that I just keep taking the proffered briskets until I can hold no more.  When I say "Oh, I can't hold anymore" he says "Well, let's just set the rest of them on the ground."  I want to say "So then why am I holding what feels like 40 pounds of brisket?" But I don't. 

He dumps out the water. I am juggling briskets.  They are slippery in their wet bags.  They are perilously close to flopping out of the bags and directly onto the pathway on which we are standing. I am not caring about that, I just don't want to get beef schmutz on my clothes. He doesn't seem to notice any of this, he is simply intent on dumping out water.  He shakes the cooler.  My arms are shaking. 
I say "so, let's put these back into the cooler" and he says "oh, no, we need a layer of ice on the bottom. Can you fill up these bags with ice?" and I have no sarcastic retort, such as "oh sure, Mr. Tiny Head, here, you hold out your strong manly arms and you take these pounds of brisket while I fetch ice like a willing servant!"  

I do not say anything like that.  I just say "OK" and continue to hold the beef. Lots of beef.

(Let me say right now that I love BBQ brisket.  I wanted to take one of those puppies and hide it under my skirt but I wasn't wearing a skirt so that would not have worked.  But this is in no way a derisive comment about brisket.)

Finally, without saying a word, I convey to Mr. Tiny Head that I cannot get ice with 40 pounds of beef in my arms and I sort of suggest that he plop the bags of brisket into a strangely contrived storage container (tin foil) and then I can get him more ice. We successfully accomplish that task. The briskets were back in the cooler, the ice was refreshed, Mr. Tiny Head rolled his wheeled cooler away and I did  not have beef brisket schmutz on me.  All in all, a fulfilling exercise in weird hospitality. 

And the really happy thing is that I think Mr. Tiny Head will show up at breakfast tomorrow no doubt with Mr. Potato Head in tow and maybe even Gumby and Pokey.  I can hardly wait! I seriously hope he brings me leftover brisket but I am pretty sure that will not happen.  Oh well. 

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Book: "The Divers Clothes Lie Empty"

Recently released, this book hasn't hit the big time yet but it probably will.  It has garnered good reviews, it's an intriguing tale and it's not a long, tedious slog.  All merit points.  

It was on my library list early (there are now more than 90 holds on it) and since I had Friday off (yesterday) I started it with my morning coffee.  I finished it before lunch.  About 200 pages, it's a quick read.  The book is written in the second person, something I normally avoid like talk of the Rapture, but for some reason it moves the story along really well.  Second person prose usually seems too gimmicky for me: "you exit the dressing room and wait for the elevator.  When it arrives you step inside and press ten."  But since this book is all about one woman's strange journey and her lost identity, it works.  You, the reader, sort of feel like you are that woman, that they are talking about you.

The book is preposterous in a way, the circumstantial mishaps the protagonist experiences would never really happen, but reading is about suspending disbelief at times, so you go with it.  You want to see how she will get out of this mess, if she will be safe or land in some dangerous situation, if anyone will come to her rescue or recognize her screen of lies.  From the beginning there is a hint of a major betrayal that happened in the past but the reader doesn't find out about it until near the end of the book and then it explains a great deal about why the main character is so out of touch with reality.

It's a good read. The concepts of what constitute identity, who we are without our traditional trappings and what do we really need in order to feel ourselves are well woven into the story.  It is set in North Africa and like the markets in that country (which I have visited), the narrative leads you down one winding path after another until you are lost in the maze and have no choice but to keep reading in order to figure out how it all ends.    

THE DIVER'S CLOTHES LIE EMPTY by Vendela Vida.