I've perched at the end
of the kitchen
table
in front of the back porch
window
facing the
front
door
It became my
desk
grad school homework
nonstop
for three years.
I nested there
awaiting my possibilities
adding to the space
making it as cozy
as one can make
a kitchen table
competing with
family meals
kids' homework
craft projects
during down time
and breaks
junk mail
wine glasses
coffee mugs
papers waiting
to be graded
Time passed,
yet I still perch
at the end
of the kitchen
table
in front of the back porch window
facing the
front door
It has become my
desk
morning pages,
three of them
every day (mostly)
for over four years
flanked on the right
with a writing
cabinet
wine glasses
and unopened bottles
of wine occupy the
top shelf
waiting
to be sipped
This morning,
I changed my seat
and now I perch
on the long side
of the kitchen
table
to the right of the back porch
window
next to my son's
favorite seat,
occupied only when
he visits,
leaving the front door
behind
enjoying
a better
view
Me again. This time I’m not asking for advice on big life lessons. I want to say thank you. Thank you for writing great books. They got me through puberty. And now, there’s A MOVIE!
I can’t wait to watch Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret. Did this happen intentionally? Were you thinking about making this a possibility years after you published every pre-pubescent girl’s guide to body changes on purpose? How many pre, peri, regular, and post menopausal women will be in every theater across the country when it opens?
We’ll drag our daughters by the ears to watch it with us. (Do they even read anymore?). I’m orchestrating a watch party, at one of my favorite eatery theaters of course, because we must have access to fancy snacks and mimosas. Beer. Wine. Cocktails. I’m sure my favorite place will have a full menu of book related fare and fancy sips.
I might sneak in a pack of Oreo cookies, take a stack of four, and put two back as a nod to Blubber. I’ll drink a glass of orange juice before I get there in honor of Deenie. I’ll buy a brand new bra so I’m ready for “We must, we must, we must increase our busts!” However, in this case, it doesn’t need increasing, just lifting. I will mortify my thirteen year old with no shame.
I read this book twice in middle school. Years later, it was part of a Banned Books display in our school library one year when I took my class. Two boys were curious, I explained why it was my favorite, and they each checked out a copy. “There’s no better way to learn about girls than to read about them.” Sold!
I plan an adult me reading of it before the movie is released. I’m looking forward to loving it all over again.
Ever find that secret little spot unexpectedly? I found one last summer, a secret garden* of sorts, tucked into a cul-de-sac in my neighborhood. I visited agin this morning.
Monday, we took a day trip to a book store I had been eyeing. Local book shops are my favorite spaces because they’re full of charm and quiet energy.
Within walking distance from our lunch spot, we visited Fabled Bookshop and Cafe in Waco, Tx. Upon entering, Aesop the Owl welcomed us with a tip of his hat. The book cases, dark and cozy, held the usual sorts of books. Shelf talkers, scripted by employees introducing people to their next great read, persuaded me to choose them from the shelf, if not add them to my TBR list.
I always like to check out the kid’s section even though my youngest is thirteen. She upgraded to the YA section, but the lure of kid lit always draws me in at least to take a peek.
I didn’t find it, but my daughter did. I gasped in excitement, so much as to cause her embarrassment even though the two year old writhing away from her mom trying to read her a picture book on the blue velvet couch barely noticed us.
Faux fur coats hung neatly in a built-in wardrobe. We parted the coats on the rack, and sure enough, there’s a door! Is it real? Does it open or is it just for show?
She hunches down, pushes the door, and sure enough, it opens to the other side, the YA section, of all places. As she makes her way through, a group of college aged kids are on the other side, hunched down, making their way in.
“Come on in! The White Witch is gone and Mr. Tumnus has hot tea waiting for us,” I playfully say in my best Lucy voice.
“Oh, yes, we shall come in!” Through the door they enter the kid’s section.
Enchanted Rock. It’ll enchant you to want to hop on boulders and flit around like a mountain goat until you realize you’ve gone too far and the only way to a trail, any trail, is down. And it’s steep. If you hike often and lift lots of weights, no problem. We don’t. Sure, side stepping your way down works, unless the descent is too steep. Without rails and nothing to hold on to. Slide down if need be. If you’re wearing weather proof shorts, you’ve got the perfect seat to a fast slide all the way down a massive pink granite rock.
Don’t lose the trail map. On second thought, study the trail map, make a plan, and read about what’s on the other side. Not many people going your direction? That’s a slap in the face, shake you back and forth until your eyes pop out sort of sign that maybe you’re going the wrong way. The hard way. The way meant for experienced hikers twenty years younger. The guy rappelling down the boulders you went around? Yeah, he won’t be able to save you.
Toes slide to the ends of shoes as you have a death grip on the rock trying not to lose your footing. Stay balanced. Focus. One foot in front of the other, lean back a little, bend the knees. Be patient, be patient, be patient. Once you get going it’s hard to stop so if you want to jump step it down, you’d better be ready and balanced for what’s coming.
There’s a trail. No one is on it. This goes to the lake. The car is on the other side. How far to go around because we so are NOT going back up to the other side. Go back. Regroup. Thank goodness for the checkpoint telling us YOU ARE HERE with an arrow marking our spot. Yes, we are, here, but how do we get out?
Take the other trail. But Mom! It looks like we have to go back UP! I can’t do that again!
More people. That’s a good sign. Better than the map. Keep going. It’s a bit rocky, but nothing close to what we just went through. Aha! Here we are. Everything looks familiar. Stop for a snack. Guess who thought of packing them? Take more glugs of water.
Dad! This is the way we came up!
And the way we should’ve come down. Who says adventures are always fun?
Life lessons learned: Together, you’ll get through steep descents and boulders. Sometimes, you’ll slide down on your ass.
2 books x 3 inches x 1,020 pages. B x In. x Pp, are those the standard dimensions for a TBR tower? Mine is so much more than a pile. After discussing my break-up books in yesterday’s post, I took a day trip to a fantastic little books store. My budget didn’t allow for more, but I wound up with two more books to add to my TBR (to be read) tower.
I wasn’t planning it this way, the magic of the universe, (God?) pieces things together in more perfect ways than I can ever imagine. I purchased two “Catholic” books. Fitting during Lent. Rather than lamenting over authors I’ve never read and shaming myself for it, I admit I never read anything by Flannery O’Connor.
The Complete Stories of Flannery O’Connor
I heard she was an incredible writer. Oddly (perfectly) enough, a few years ago during Lent, I watched a video series by Bishop Robert Barron called The Pivotal Players-Fulton J. Sheen & Flannery O’Connor. Fascinated with her life and writing process, I was introduced to A Good Man is Hard to Find, along with an analysis of that work. I put her books in my Amazon cart. It must have been 2020 because I couldn’t get to the library or Half Price Books to poke around the shelves to look through her books. They stayed deep in my virtual cart because I wanted to take a peek first. Are her books those I want to own? Will we break up? Will I read and return them, dust myself off, and move on with my life?
Drinking with the Saints: The Sinner’s Guide to a Holy Happy Hour by Michael P. Foley
Another find practically leaped off the shelf and straight into my arms. I carried that book around the bookstore like it was a textbook; it weighs about as much. I heard about this one from a guy named Matt Fradd on Instagram, and have listened to some of his Pints with Aquinas podcast episodes. That led me to another Instagram account, drinkingsaints, and here we are.
I like that I can pop in as often as I can with these books. Short stories. Saint stories. Plus mixology recipes. I’ll sip (and read) to that!
Abandonment sounds so final. If it isn’t a good fit, there’s no point to continue reading. However, I’m the type who wants to hang on until the end, gives me more to talk about if I don’t like it. I use the term “breaking up with a book” to explain to students to move on and find something else if they aren’t connecting with their selections. It’ll still be there if you want to go back to it later, I tell them.
Why don’t I take my own advice? Why would you want to read a book you aren’t enjoying? I do it to myself. I’m loyal. Even with books. Usually.
I’m on a re-reading streak of some favorites. Deenie by Judy Blume. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets on audio (so good!). The Art of Gathering by Priya Parker. Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert. I need to stop here because I’m already overloading my list. This in addition my regular TBR tower, which groans under the heft of a new book I can’t resist when I’m shopping. I buy the ones that have library waitlists longer than several months.
I’m a slow reader, so if a book sounds like a great read, I usually buy it so I can spend all the time I need with it. Unfortunately, it takes me a while to get to them.
Beyond the queue, I’m considering adding break-up books. For different reasons, I couldn’t handle them at the time I picked them up. Dare I go back?
I broke up with A Wrinkle in Time as a kid, as a teacher, and as a parent. I checked this book out every year in middle school. I couldn’t get past the first few chapters. I tried reading it to my fourth graders one year. They weren’t crazy about it, we reassessed, and chose something else.
When the 2018 movie was released, the one with Oprah, my nine year old requested the book. We got a copy after having watched the movie, which is the opposite of our books-to-movie household rule. I started reading it aloud to her and she intercepted the book after the first few chapters. Book dumped. Similar to being Netflix dumped, but with a book. She finished it without me. It wasn’t a favorite, but she enjoyed it while it lasted. I seem to stop every time after, who is it–Mrs. Whatsit?– shows up.
The Hobbit. Fourth time’s a charm? I also broke up with this one as a kid, as a teacher, and as a parent. I have it on Audible. It’s next in line after I finish HP2, which is due tomorrow. I watched the movie with my oldest and enjoyed it. This one might work.
I once read or heard somewhere that people need to listen to great stories. Was it Neil Gaiman?
Those great classics? They’re meant to be read aloud. They sound different when you hear them. I enjoyed Harry Potter, but listening takes it to a whole other level. If it’s a great listen, I can always go to the book to annotate, highlight favorite passages, and maybe add it to my TBRA pile, to be read again, in print.
I’m sure there are more, but here are other book relationships that didn’t work out, each for different reasons. I may rekindle these by listening instead. (Except for Verity, I flat out didn’t like that one.)
Ever been “Netflix dumped?” It hurts. Not as bad as a real break-up, but still. I mean, I made a commitment. I promised. I said yes to an entire series with you. Then you went off and didn’t even wait for me. You cheated and watched. Every. Single. Episode. Without me, after I promised you I wouldn’t stray.
This isn’t the first time you’ve done it either. Season 4 of Stranger Things. How could you? After all, on your eleventh birthday, I vowed to let you watch season one. I fulfilled my end of the deal. We watched that first episode the night of you birthday. I even allowed snacks upstairs. Every day until the end of season three, we all watched it with you.
I worked that day and you just couldn’t wait. You promised you’d wait for me to get home even though summer break had already started for you. Lucky. But no, I got home and you had to brag about binge watching it. TWICE! Because you started watching when they dropped it at midnight. You would’ve thought you’d won a hot-dog eating contest. Glutton.
Then Heartstopper. Same thing. You watched a few episodes and swore you’d wait for me. I only got through the first three and you left me behind. Again. You had already gone through them twice, so why rush the third round? Sheesh.
The last one was Wednesday. Seriously!? You didn’t even know about Wednesday Addams until you found teasers for this Wednesday! I don’t want to watch anything with you again. You keep Netflix dumping me. I hate being mistreated this way. Take all the fun out it. I’ll watch on my own from now on. Don’t start on me when I decide to watch something without you.
has Friday become a dreaded yet welcome
oxymoron–
the end of the week
but an entry to the weekend
where once, after work
hours of happiness
clinking glasses
full of endings
and beginnings
now are more work
than mondays
that make one
want to go
home and
crawl
into
a
hole?
I know my wardrobe needs refreshing. We have jeans days every Thursday and Friday. Thursday we top them with a school t-shirt, Friday it’s a college t-shirt. A uniform of sorts. I don’t complain; I know what to wear at least two days of the week. Jeans aren’t my favorite so I may or may not wear them two days in a row if they’re still clean. Don’t want to waste the break-in from the last wash. I can move in them better on day two.
Having worn 80’s and 90’s fashion trends, I don’t want to wear them again. There’s nothing wrong with them, they just don’t feel right. I got my dose of parachute pants and floral prints with thick soled shoes the first time around. Cropped oxford shirts aren’t appropriate for me to wear to work. Sure I could wear a tank underneath it, but why not just make regular length oxford shirts? It’s a remix of what was trendy, but now I can’t wear it even if I want to.
Warmer temperatures have me scanning my closet for transition pieces. Dresses, especially flowy ones that are potluck friendly pair well with a jean jacket studded with bookish enamel pins. I’m not to old for that trend. I found a great dress a few weeks ago. I can dress it down or dress it up. It works with low profile sneakers, sandals, flats, you name it. Heck, if we go to the beach this summer, it will also be great for a family photo, salty breeze flowing through my hair, sun-kissed skin, a sunset behind us…
No, I didn’t try it on. It was late and I didn’t want to mess with the dressing room. Everything looks different at home, so might as well buy it and try it on in in the wild with normal lighting. If it doesn’t work, I’ll return it. I put it on and tied the belt around my waist. So comfy. Plus, POCKETS! This dress has pockets! I can stash Jolly Ranchers in them during a lesson and parse them out to the brave little souls willing to answer a question with actual vocal cords. I grab my jean jacket and put it on. Definitely an option for those chilly-ish days. I go through my shoes and find several that will work. Sandals for the beach. Birks for weekend brunch. Flats for church. Sneakers for work, on some days. This is perfect!
Giddy, I skip on over the the full length mirror. What. Is. That? My hips look like they’ve doubled in size. I turn around. Maybe it’s the jacket. I take it off. Maybe I tied the belt too tight? I untie it and retie it, looser. I put my hands in my pockets. Change shoes. Nope, nope, nope. It’s none of those things. Exactly. I look at the sleeves. 3/4 length with elastic, the kind those prissy influencers say to avoid. Well, I’m no influencer, but what in the world?
As cute as it was on the hanger this is all wrong. The sleeves are puffy. I got a size too big and how is it that something a little bigger actually makes you look bigger? There is no size medium and a half! That would be perfect. Maybe. I look at the sleeves. I look at the entire dress. Now that I think of it, I look like I’m wearing a belted hospital gown. The puffy sleeves make me look like an oversized mint colored marshmallow.
I take it off and put it back in the bag. Who made puffy sleeves a thing this season? Marshmallows? Sure, I’ll take one now and then roasted over a fire, but I certainly don’t want to wear them.
It’s my turn already? Uggg, I just… Okay. Sheesh. There. I close my eyes. Take a deep breath, and try not to think. It’s okay, no biggie.
Beep, beep, beep!
I slam press hard. I’m not ready for this. No worries, it’s fine…
Beep, beep, beep!
Goodness, I KNOW it’s my turn, I’m just not feeling it. It’s hump day. Two more to go.
Beep, beep, beep!
I just fell asleep after my 3:00 a.m. jolt out of slumber.
Why?
We go back and forth in five minute increments until 6:10. My eye pillow flops to the floor at my last attempt to slam the alarm clock, but instead I turn it off. I should’ve just set the thing for 6:15 a.m.
I get out of bed and don’t even look back at the sleep I left behind. It left me at 3:00, but I gladly took it back with open arms, reconciling my frustration and sinking deep into delicious rest that’s cut too short with my day job’s wake-up call.
Nerds Beget Nerds 