tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37335700091853793932024-03-13T16:22:06.372-04:00Word in the WoodsRamblings, Ruminations, Running CommentaryPJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.comBlogger318125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-33623009299859912212014-07-18T03:51:00.000-04:002014-07-18T03:51:12.178-04:00Patricia, Jan 23, 1954 - June 28, 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patricia and Marty during their time in Costa Rica</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span>This
is the final entry in Word in the Woods. But that doesn't mean it's the
last word. Patricia Jempty, the author who always signed her posts PJ,
passed away -- peacefully, in her sleep, in hospice -- in the early
hours of June 28 in Brooklyn. In the days before, she had been embraced
by her friends and her family -- her husband Marty; her children Mariel,
Mark and Harry. <br />
<br />
As a reader of Word in the Woods, you know them, and how much she loved
them. (And she could kid because she loved; as she once wrote on this
blog, "My son Harry went to Bonnaroo, a music festival in Tennessee, and
hasn't been heard from in more than a week. I'm sure his phone is dead.
Should I assume he'll be home for dinner tonight?"</span><span><span>)<br />
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</span>Her friend Ronni Gordon wrote a lovely tribute to Patricia on her own blog: </span><span>"She was feisty, funny, smart and compassionate." (You can read it in its entirety here: </span><span>http://runnerwrites.blogspot.com/2014/06/on-losing-friend-to-leukemia.html.)<br />
<br />
Patricia had a thing for the color orange long before Netflix decreed it
cool; she also liked shoes, earrings that matched her clothes and a
good cocktail. But it is her love for Marty, Mariel, Mark and Harry that
runs through every post on this blog.<br />
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That love lives on, through her family and her many friends, and through her writing; and because of it, so does she. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-55599521071969346612014-04-20T10:53:00.001-04:002014-04-20T10:53:46.170-04:00Passover Country<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEiU35w7hIacfezvs5q-LlZMqtDaOdFppOTXpitZ6Ib3fjW7ahF6c7b8ObXl8h-lcE44gOzKioc2-6wnJYohw7y9IdBijEl-EzcXbXLkTH_fWe-cSNsGmUfb0432Yk5D7R3xNUZ1F_WXs/s1600/seder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEiU35w7hIacfezvs5q-LlZMqtDaOdFppOTXpitZ6Ib3fjW7ahF6c7b8ObXl8h-lcE44gOzKioc2-6wnJYohw7y9IdBijEl-EzcXbXLkTH_fWe-cSNsGmUfb0432Yk5D7R3xNUZ1F_WXs/s1600/seder.jpg" height="266" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brie, Mark, Esther, Lenny, Frances, Marty, Patty</td></tr>
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I was trapped in a Passover factory in Pennsylvania. We arrived Saturday afternoon to a scene of intense preparation for a feast not arriving until Monday night. You can't be too careful. They're rules on top of pseudo rules that make for debilitating doubt. Fortunately my sister-and-mother-in law managed the whole affair.<br />
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On Sunday, we went to see friends in North Wilmington. We had a nice brunch and talked about an upcoming wedding we were planning to attend in May. For me, it was all about the wardrobe. No dress fit me, and this was a black tie affair. I had already checked out my local consignment shop only to find over-the-top gowns, stuff that looked cheap, or didn't fit.<br />
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We hit the jackpot in a nearby Marshalls. I chose five dresses to try on, and Marty was allowed to come in and help do me up. The first looked a little trashy like I'd need Farrah Fawcett hair to pull it off. There was an all-black number that had to much froo-froo in front. The third was the winner. Tapered black at sides and back and brocade-like front panel that is either white or gray. One dress I can't recall trying on. The last was for Harry's graduation and a less formal wedding in July. The dress is multi-colored print (peach, green, brown, scarlet) on an ivory background. It has a crossover bodice and it is waisted and flowing, on the short side. It has a scarlet lining. I even managed to get low patent leather shoes! <br />
<br />
The Seder went off without a hitch except the potatoes weren't boiled so there was a small delay. Other than that, the 7 of us had a wonderfully traditional Seder except we neglected to read the second half, which we always avoid.The following night we read the last half first, an innovation I strongly recommend.<br />
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Tradition!PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-65118584948629825662014-03-27T17:46:00.001-04:002014-03-27T17:46:29.430-04:00Long, Cold Winter Makes Great Excuse to ReadYou all know I don't need a reason to read. I always find time.<br />
<br />
I just punched my way through <i>The Goldfinch</i> by Donna Tartt. I'm not going to give a summary of the novel here, just a few comments about style et cetera.<br />
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Some parts of the book are riveting, but about 200 pages should have been trimmed. There's a lot of repetition.I grew tired of Theo and Boris's antics in Las Vegas. Boris himself was a character I grew to despise. So he loves Theo and will do anything for him. He does bad things to his friend, including something I won't write about because it's near the end of the book.<br />
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If you like to muse about the meaning of life, Tarrt gives you passage after passage through Theo's young-adult eyes. It seems a stretch that even though you've lived through a truly rotten teenagehood you would ponder these issues, even if you could.<br />
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I enjoyed the art history lessons, and Theo's travels through Amsterdam. I felt beaten over the head with the wetness metaphor, a thread throughout, and that it was always Christmas or Thanksgiving or a stormy night. This wasn't subtle enough for my tastes.<br />
<br />
Since it's probably the most-read novel at the moment, even if it's not coming soon to your local book club, you might want to read it for water-cooler discussions. Or if you want important snippets about plot and character development, you can go to <i>Cliff Notes</i>. It's on-line for all I know, or at least a modern version of an English class's best friend.PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-34935667973591096562014-03-25T18:25:00.002-04:002014-03-25T18:25:28.393-04:00John Kennedy TooleHave you ever heard of John Henry Toole? You probably know of or have read his only book, <i>A Confedracy of Dunces</i> published 10 years after his death by suicide. A biography of Toole,<i> Butterfly in Typrewiter </i>by Cory MacLaughlin, was sent to me for my birthday by my brother George who knew I would like to read the life story of the quirky misfit author who wrote a book whose main character is insane and who provokes some of the most hysterical events imaginable. The book is a also a portrait of New Orleans and its unusual characters.<br />
<br />
Do you like hot dogs? This is just one of the awful jobs Ignatius Reilly does to try to earn money as his mother demands. Mostly, he eats all the hot dogs, but he also gets involved in a porn caper, and is charged with a $500,000 lawsuit from an office job he was fired from.<br />
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Now, what should you read first, <i>Confederacy</i> or MacLaughlin's bio (if you were so inclined)? I read the novel some 30 years ago, then read the bio, then re-read the novel. The book wasn't as funny as I'd remembered it but that could have been from all the details in MacLaughlin's book. They were interesting but I think diminished the character. Or maybe after 30 years I'm a different person with a different sense of humor. Toole's mother, who worked tirelessly to have her son's book published is a real character worth reading about, though. PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-26885715751578789582014-03-18T14:22:00.005-04:002014-03-18T14:23:45.985-04:00March Mango MadnessI don't like college basketball but I sure love mangoes. Mango season is in full swing. I remember it lasted for about five months when we lived in Costa Rica. We ate them, Marty brought them to work, we gave them to friends, our employees, teachers and even people on the street who politely asked for one.<br />
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Mangoes come in different varieties. We had the large green/red ones, but I prefer the small yellow ones. I just made a fruit smoothie with mangoes and other fruits. That's when I remembered about all things mango. We also had all things banana four or five times a year, but that's another story.<br />
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Speaking of stories, I wrote one called "The Mango Lady." My friend's kids always referred to me as such. I also wrote a poem called "The Mango Wars." Mangoes were an obsession, a delicious one.<br />
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Never be shy about cutting up a mango, which is very hard to do, and just eating it over the sink with the juicy pulp running down your chin. Here's an excerpt from my"Mango" poem.<br />
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<i>There's glory for all </i></div>
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<i>here among the fleshy perfumed orbs,</i></div>
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<i>unless you're shelled while snoozing in the hammock.</i></div>
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</i><br />
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<i>If you survive, you have this story to tell:</i></div>
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<i>I watched the mangoes rain down.</i></div>
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</i><br />
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<i>It was hell, and I lived.</i></div>
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<i>Oh yes, I lived.</i></div>
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PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-47348889152094324932014-03-16T09:40:00.001-04:002014-03-16T09:40:16.992-04:00March HolidaysMid-March is a busy time. We celebrated St. Patrick's Day with corned beef, cabbage and potatoes washed down with Guinness. The Jewish celebration of Purim began last night, so I made hamentashen for dessert. These are little pastries shaped like a hat that the evil Jewish-hater Hamen wore.<br />
<br />
I've already noted March 4th. Friday, 3/14 was Pi day, so I hope you all celebrated with pie.<br />
<br />
And yesterday was the ides of March, which I hope you all navigated without mishap.<br />
<br />
March Madness has kicked off in College Basketball.<br />
<br />
An otherwise dull, between seasons month has its fair share of holidays. Enjoy!PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-67605432107434867282014-03-10T17:20:00.001-04:002014-03-16T09:28:51.493-04:00Sitting in the Past, With PopcornThere's an old (1930) movie theater 20 minutes away from where we live. It shows a new film each week and they are usually the best (in my opinion) the movie world has to offer. Two weeks ago we saw<i> 12 Years a Slave </i>which is a remarkable (and true) story of a free black man who is snatched from his comfortable life, sold, and spends 12 years picking cotton, cutting sugar cane and doing carpentry work. Abused, beaten with a whip and treated as an animal, he never loses his personal integrity and dignity.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, we took Harry with us to see <i>Her. </i>I felt the movie was a tad too long, but the acting was terrific and the story intriguing, mainly because although it's set in the future, it feels like it could happen sometime soon. What does it mean to be human? Can our faults and anxieties be ameliorated by another person (or in this case by a personal operating system you tote around like an i-phone)? Can love change us for the better? In <i>Her </i>the answer is yes. Harry approved of the music by "Arcade Fire." It's always nice to learn things from your children.<br />
<br />
This mono-plex theater is a gem, open only Friday through Monday. The seats are comfortable and it's kept as neat as a pin, whatever that means. Matinees cost $7 and I take the opportunity to make my lunch a huge bucket of popcorn with real butter. Yum.<br />
<br />
What a great way to spend a dreary winter afternoon or evening, when the tickets rocket to $9.PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-47540217419123421752014-03-04T15:53:00.002-05:002014-03-04T15:53:59.682-05:00Command Day GreetingsFor those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, Command Day is celebrated once a year on March Fourth. Based on a word-play that our friend Doug shared with us, it is little known and rarely celebrated except by us. When my husband wished a co-worker a happy Command Day, and told her the punch line (March Forth!), she giggled and then googled. What did she find? A lone reference to an obscure scribbling called <i>Word In the Woods</i>.<br />
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You read it right--right here in this blog 5 years ago.PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-22468893758368739802014-02-21T16:02:00.002-05:002014-03-18T14:26:13.038-04:00Gil's CentennialHere was a man I barely knew, yet I quote him and tell stories about him all the time.<br />
<br />
Gil was our neighbor when we lived in Fort Greene, NY, back in the days when there were actual neighborhoods with not just racial diversity, but age diversity, too. Try to find an elderly person in Fort Greene now who owns their own home and knows their neighbors. When I lived there, I was in my 30's and 40's. Unless you're very wealthy, you can't afford my former home. It would set you back $1.25 million.<br />
<br />
I'm glad I got that off my chest. Gil lived four houses down the block from us. He used to stand out front in his garden as the summer day cooled off a bit, saying "hi, how you be?" to all who passed. I immediately stopped and introduced myself, and he, himself. He was originally from the South but moved to New York City to work and raise his family. He settled in Fort Greene and was now retired. I remember he drove this huge old car from the 70's, a living room on wheels. It was two-tone, one color being a burnt orange. Man, he was a dude.<br />
<br />
His wife "passed" a year or so after we'd moved in. She'd been a shut-in and I'd never met her. He told me, she'd had a good long life. Then he did what he always did, cut some roses from his front bushes and presented them to me. "A beautiful woman must always have roses." What a gentleman!<br />
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Some nights, when Gil glimpsed me out back (townhouses all have side-by-side yards), he would say "hey young lady, come out front." There would be Gil, with a huge bouquet of roses from his "real" garden. "A beautiful woman must always have roses." What a gentleman.<br />
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One day, after his wife died and after he could no-longer drive due to cataracts and glaucoma, I told him it was my birthday. I was born in January or else he'd have cut one rose from every bush in his garden. "Well young lady, you are twice my age!"<br />
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As he grew older, he would would still sometimes be standing and leaning on his front fence in the evenings, but usually sat in a chair.<br />
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When I saw him and approached he'd immediately stand up.<br />
<br />
"How you be, young lady?"<br />
"Fine and how are you?"<br />
Aw, what's the sense of kickin'?"<br />
<br />
He was declining in health but he'd never complain. He was like my grandfather in that regard.<br />
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<br />
I'm not sure when he left his rose gardens behind for good, because we moved a few years later. What a loss to my neighborhood, and my life. PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-2343637119459608162014-02-18T12:26:00.000-05:002014-02-18T12:26:03.208-05:00"This Is My Life!"My daughter is working in Brasilito, Costa Rica teaching English to kids in grades k-8. I know she's happy because she shares her adventures with me.<br />
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She went to a bullfight last week. In Costa Rica, bullfights are big events. The whole family goes, because the animals are never killed, although the fren<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow";">z</span>y of the bull is still there. Men go into the ring and try not to get gored, but it's risky business. Mariel sat on the make-shift fence at the edge of the action, feet dangling into the ring. She had more than one adrenaline rush as bulls came near.<br />
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My daughter isn't much of a swimmer, but most nights, she and her friends swim out to an island off the beach and watch the sunset.<br />
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This how she puts it: I feel like every day I have these moments where I just pause and think
to myself, "this is my life. Can't believe it sometimes."PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-88780142282725924782014-02-13T17:40:00.002-05:002014-02-17T08:15:39.021-05:00The Uninterestings<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">I finally finished Meg Wolit</span><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">zer's <i>The Interestings. </i>While I could relate to some of the themes (aging, feminism, accepting that there's more to life than genius, talent and money, the AIDs crisis in it infancy), but found the characters to be flat, even though the main characters grew up more or less like me. She was ashamed of the LI town she grew up in. She's three years younger than I am, and she attended undergraduate school at SUNY Buffalo. I even have wealthy friends who lend me money. Guess the book is just not my taste.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow"; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">In other news, we had a bust of a snowstorm but they're promising another six inches overnight. It means I was able to keep my appointment to have a tooth extracted. All went well--very little bleeding or swelling and only minor pain. That's what drugs are for!</span></span><br />
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PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-112164143856183532014-02-06T14:50:00.000-05:002014-02-17T08:16:21.389-05:00Country Life, Hard and Beautiful<span style="font-size: small;">Finally, after many years of being practically snowless, we were hit with a storm that added a foot of snow on top of the 4-6 inches we already had. I went out yesterday to shovel a path for my dog and the UPS man who was supposed to be delivering a package. He never made it, but Buck and I managed a walk. Buck is a big dog, but even he has trouble standing in deep snow to do his business.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Today, I tried to tackle getting my car out. I have no driveway, merely a pull-in parking spot in front of my garage, which can't fit a car in it and would have made the snow removal worse. The village does a great job plowing but there's no place for the snow to go except to the side of the road. I took one look at the 2-foot wall of ice imprisoning my car and wanted to cry. There I was, at the foot of a mountain I planned on moving with an ice pick and spoon.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">My neighbor Jim who's always there, just like State Farm, has a nifty red pint-si<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow";">z</span>ed snow plow. He was just coming home, so I flagged him down and asked for help. He seemed so happy to move the snow around. He even drove my car out and dug a wide parking spot for my convenience when I returned.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">The scenery right now is picture-postcard spectacular. If you don't look down in the roadway and see all the muck, that is. </span><br />
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<br />PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-65337307825122735722014-02-03T09:31:00.001-05:002014-02-03T09:31:19.428-05:00More ReadsI'll just mention some books I've been reading.<br />
<br />
<i>On Such Full Sea</i> by Chang-rae Lee is a must-read. He's one of my favorite authors and this book will lull you with it's calm prose and frighten you by the implications of of the story's dark soul.<br />
<br />
<i>The Story of a Happy Marriage</i> by Anne Patchett is a series of short stories she's published elsewhere. Patchett's <i>Bel Canto</i> is to me her finest novel. <i>State of Wonder</i> was published last year You feel the sweat, hear the birds and the crunch of the jungle, along with it's earthy smell. You're there.<br />
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<br />PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-50407889883502634612014-01-31T10:48:00.000-05:002014-01-31T10:48:47.479-05:00Join Me for a Swim in the Gene PoolI know that what ails me is more than cabin fever, even though my temp was 99.9 briefly. Now it's normal even though I'm not. I am warm though, and my mind keeps drifting to the past, wherever that is.<br />
<br />
Last week I drove to NYC for my birthday weekend. I'm notorious for week-long celebrations. Ask my friends. I had a martini at the 21 Club and another at the restaurant. It was a small gathering, people I'ved shared my birthday with many times.<br />
<br />
The next day, I had a birthday lunch with my good pal Jeffrey, aka Luvy. For some reason, I usually get a burger when I lunch with him. It's comfort food and Jeff's always a comfort to me. Living in the boondocks though is evident when I try to act like a city girl, walking for miles, climbing subway stairs. New Yorkers don't have to diet as long as they stay away from taxis.<br />
<br />
Back at my friends' house (4 flights up), I decided to take a nap. As I was drifting off to sleep there was a knock at the door. Ma? It was my son Mark surprising me for my birthday. I thought I was dreaming, turned over and went back to sleep.<br />
<br />
He'd flown in from Texas for the weekend. His brother Harry also surprised me. These young men are gems. I attribute that mostly to their father, and that we lived in Costa Rica for six years. My daughter is working in Costa Rica at the moment and couldn't be part of the surprise. She's trying to save the world one child at a time. Admirable.<br />
<br />
Dinner at a restaurant in our old neighborhood was nonpareil. Breakfast at Juniors the next morning was a classic exercise in consuming vasts quantities of delicious greasy foods. I love that place.<br />
<br />
Mark returned with us to the woods and cooked dinner. He ran and consumed enough food to feed me for a week. He does crosswords in ink, just as my grandfather did.<br />
<br />
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PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-56575018825441021842014-01-12T16:34:00.004-05:002014-01-13T23:34:46.537-05:00Two New Novels That DisappointedI'm a big Dave Eggers fan. I've read most of his oeuvre, as has my family. It was with a certain amount of excitement and expectation that I started reading <i>The Circle</i>. It's basically a tale of right-around-the-corner technological totalitarianism. The company seems a thinly-disguised Google. Think about all the ways this company affects your on-line life. Think about how it could control even your off-line life. That's the premise of the book. The main character, Mae, is an enthusiastic new hire at the Circle, a massive California Company that hires the best and the brightest to do its work, not just to make money but to take control of everyone's life, from healthcare to banking to shopping to everything conceivable, all done in the "noble" belief that humans would be happier. Mae becomes a vehicle of this nightmarish scenario.<br />
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I found that Mae was a bit of a dolt, which is why she's chosen to implement the plan to close the Circle. The book is so obvious in its plot that instead of being a chilling warning a la Orwell's <i>1984 </i>minus the the worldwide war, it merely focuses on what we already know: that technology can rule our lives, if we let it. <i>The Circle </i>was nominated for the National Book Award in Fiction, but didn't win it.<br />
<br />
<i>The Good Lord Bird</i> by James McBride won the <span style="font-family: inherit;">prize</span>. McBride is the author of <i>The Color of Water,</i> a memoir about growing up in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. His father, who lived around the corner from me for a while, was an African-American and his mother was a white Orthodox Jew. This cultural combination seems to produce great writers. I think of Walter Mosely.<br />
<br />
Lets get back to <i>The Good Lord Bird</i>. The story is told by a black boy who masquerades as a girl named Onion by the mythic abolitionist John Brown. Onion, who is a 10-year old slave, depicts Brown from a very complicated man. He's the onion, not young slave he frees and takes along on his many forays through pro-slave territory. The major problem I had with the book is that aside from the fact Onion is literate, she uses words and phrases I find hard to believe she knew. She writes in Black/Southern dialect, but using the word "pixi-lated for drunk (It actually is a slang expression, but its first known usage in1848, is only ten or so years prior), and incog-Negro (which is a contemporary phrase) which didn't't ring true, and served to snap me out of the narrative. I recommend you read this book, along with<i> Cloudsplitter</i> by Russell Banks. In my opinion, Bank's is the better historical novel about an incredible man<br />
<br />
I love comparative literature. What do you expect of an English major?<br />
<br />PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-72185746425372977122014-01-04T08:19:00.001-05:002014-01-04T08:19:27.536-05:00The Long, Winding, Icy and Hilly Road to My DoorWhen I left my house Thursday, it had only snowed an inch or so and had stopped. I was driving my trusty old minivan, Vanna, which doesn't have 4-wheel drive. Three hours later, snow was falling and the roads were icy and untreated. My first challenge was to turn left out of the parking lot and go up a steep hill. There was minor slip sliding away, but I made it. It was a white-knuckle ride, snow whirling, darkness falling. I could barely see. Breathe, I told myself. Relax those shoulders. Unclench your fists.<br />
<br />
I was brave enough to pull into the local supermarket parking lot. The store was closing early--in 10 minutes--but I only needed a few things.<br />
<br />
Arriving at my house unscathed was a relief. My daughter arrived 40 minutes later. She'd driven from Providence, RI, encountering snow in the last hour of her trip. She had the 4WD vehicle for safety. I look forward to not driving for a couple more days. <br />
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PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-18277721949875907852013-12-29T16:35:00.001-05:002014-01-04T22:16:23.950-05:00The Novel That Keeps on GivingDavid Foster Wallace's <i>Infinite Jest</i> has been my Waterloo. I began reading this book in 2007, checking it out of the library and renewing it twice. I bought a paperback copy and continued to chip away. I'm currently on page 358 out of more than 1000. The book is brilliant but not for everyone. It's fairly difficult to read, with it's interruptive footnotes, and challenging to read standing in the subway. <i>Jest </i>makes the case for a Kindle.<br />
<br />
My 21-year-old son Harry asked me if I had the book. "Yes, but why?" I admit I was surprised. "A bunch of my friends are reading it and discussing it in a Google book group." I admit I was shocked. I knew precisely where the novel is, because it mocks me whenever I walk by it.<br />
<br />
The book group consists of Harry's friends who graduated form Vassar College (where Harry is a senior) all of whom competed in cross country and track (as does Harry). I see runners as a thinking lot, partly because in long training sessions they have what feels like endless time to think about things other than pain. But why choose <i>Infinite Jest</i> for your first discussion group? Maybe because the main character, still in high school, is a genius as well as a highly-ranked tennis player, under extreme pressure to perform. He also smokes a lot of marijuana and is socially inept. In addition, the book has many laugh-out-loud scenes.<br />
<br />
When Harry finishes <i>Jest</i>, probably in two weeks, I intend to plod on. I must finish it someday or the jest's on me. <br />
PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-13742287858895165932013-12-25T18:08:00.002-05:002013-12-26T08:39:41.187-05:00Listening to BooksIn my mind, there's nothing like reading a real book. My local library is excellent, so access isn't the problem as it is for some. I do end up schlepping tomes around when I could use a smaller electronic device, but it's not a real book.<br />
<br />
I drive a lot where I live. While I can easily walk to town, I have to drive to appointments that are usually at least a half an hour away. Why not spend all that time listening to a book on CD? My husband and I had once listened to an an English mystery novel on a long road trip, and the experience was enjoyable enough. A couple of weeks ago, I took out <i>A Gate at the Stairs</i> by Lorrie Moore. She's a great writer, introduced to me by my niece, Rebecca, who was one her students in the graduate program at the University of Wisconsin at Madison. Moore has a number of short story collections, of which I may have read, <i>Like Life.</i><br />
<br />
Briefly, <i>A Gate at the Stairs</i>, is about a young college student named Tassie who gets a part-time job as a babysitter for<i> </i>a middle aged couple who've adopted a mixed-race child. The themes in the book are many, including grief, loss, secrecy, anxiety and racism. Moore balances this with ra<span style="font-family: inherit;">z</span>or-sharp wit. I especially enjoyed her skewering of restaurants with dishes that have way too many ingredients, and menus that describe them in all their ridiculous detail. This was fun to listen to, rather than read. Descriptions of the weekly meetings of the self-righteous inter-racial parent's group were hilarious. But still.<br />
<br />
For the most part I'd rather read than listen to a book. It's easier to re-read passages for one thing instead of fiddling with the CD while driving to back it up. It depends upon the person who reads the book aloud, how different voices are used, and how well. I checked out a CD of stories by John Updike wich is going well perhaps because it's not a novel.<br />
<br />
It turns out that as I was writing this post I went to see what Lorrie Moore book I have a signed copy of via my niece. Surprise! <i>A Gate at the Stairs. </i><br />
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PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-13527613650246377912013-12-23T16:37:00.000-05:002013-12-23T16:37:02.252-05:00Artificial LightNatural light is scarce these days in the Catskill Mountains. The Solstice occurred two days ago so it's not unexpected. Add to the short daylight hours, it's been dark and dreary, with every kind of precipitation there is including fog. Fitting that I should read James Greer's <i>Artificial Light</i> during this season.<br />
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At least two of my kids have read this book (which is why I stumbled upon it) I think because it's about the rock band life, and makes references to Kurt Cobain of the group "Nirvana." It's a dark and dreary story that's awash in drugs and alcohol. James Greer used to be in a rock band, so he intimately knows the territory.<br />
<br />
<i>Artificial Light</i> is an intense read, containing many words I've never heard, which is always a big plus for me. It was also tiresome at times. I love Rock 'n Roll, and I enjoy Punk and even own a "Nirvana" CD. I think I'm just too old to care about the drama in this novel. <br />
PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-43779997328790245752013-12-18T16:43:00.001-05:002013-12-18T16:43:47.905-05:00Not Waxing Poetic About SnowEver read a snow poem? Ever write one? There's something enchanting about that frozen concoction of particles whirling about, adding more fluff to the quilted earth. See what I mean? <br />
<br />
When the weather outside is frightful, it's better to view it from inside, perhaps in front of a fire accompanied by a good book and a warm liquid refreshment. Unfortunately, our footman couldn't make it in yesterday (due to the snow), so Mariel and I had to dig out both cars. She's strong and I'm not so she did the lion's share of the work. Today's snow adventure was equally tiring. I'll leave at that.<br />
<br />
Except for the mud lining the snow banks, it looks nice out there. I think we got 10-11 inches, higher than any snow boot I own. <br />
<br />
I can't resist a haiku.<br />
<br />
It drops on your tongue,<br />
tasteless frozen drink that melts<br />
and makes you crave more. <br />
<br />PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-61655538368828563332013-12-10T16:35:00.004-05:002013-12-11T08:37:04.985-05:00Filling in My Reading GapsWhen I was in 3rd grade, I spent a lot of time in the library. When finished with school work, I was allowed to go across the hall and read until I was sent for. One day, the librarian asked me why I looked sad. "I'll never be able to read all these books," I murmured.<br />
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As an adult, I understand the obviousness of this impossible quest. Do I despair? Of course not. I do what I can to keep up with contemporary lit; read books the kids leave around; and buy books at book sales, some I myself donated. My kids read a lot so I get exposed to younger authors now and then, but also to ones I've inexplicably missed, like Nick Hornby. I found<i> A Long Way Down</i> sitting there on a bookshelf yearning to be read again. Mariel said it was good, and that so of his novels were, too.<br />
<br />
<i>A Long Way Down</i> is about four people who intend to throw themselves off a 15-story building near London on New Year's Eve. There's Martin, a disgraced 40-something television broadcaster whose family left him when he slept with a 15-year old and did jail time for it. Maureen, a sixtyish matron who lives alone caring for her fortyish son who was born in a vegetative state, has spent her entire adulthood caring for him. Jess, in her early 20's, despises her life and tries to medicate her despair with sex, alcohol and drugs. Finally, there's JJ, an American (the other 3 are English) who dropped out of his band, lost his girlfriend and thought maybe he'd get a gig in London. Instead, he delivers pizza, something he's deeply ashamed of.<br />
<br />
They don't jump that night, form a club of sorts, and set out trying to discover reasons why they should or shouldn't commit suicide in the future. The novel is sad, insightful and tinged with sardonic humor. My library has more of Hornby's books and I intend to read them while I'm waiting for James McBride's new novel.<br />
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I want my grave marker to read: SHE READ A LOT OF BOOKS.PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-77419262685528911522013-12-07T14:54:00.002-05:002013-12-07T14:57:44.085-05:00Ah, Solitude<span style="font-size: small;">I've always appreciated peace and quiet. There was so little of it in my childhood, what with four younger brothers and a bi-polar step-father given to screaming, throwing things and worse. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The Thanksgiving guests left Sunday, leaving Marty, Mariel and me. Then it was just Mariel and me. Then it was me. I said "no thanks" to the family get-together in PA this weekend. Marty went, making it a 12-person sleep-over. I would've been lucky 13.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Last night I boiled some cheese raviolis and threw together a vodka sauce. I also had a huge salad. I slept really well until Buck started getting restless, which I ignored and went back to sleep. I had yoga at 10, but first I had to clear the inch of snow off my walk. After a somewhat frustrating class, I ran errands, made phone calls and ate a casserole of some sort that had fallen out (flung itself out?) of the freezer last night, sending cracked plastic everywhere. It was turkey tetrazzini from 4 or 5 months ago and quite tasty. I'm spending the afternoon reading, writing, and then going for a massage.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Dinner? I think I'll open the freezer and see what pops out. </span></span></div>
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PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-5894011808707920032013-11-30T12:31:00.001-05:002013-11-30T12:31:40.632-05:00The Fab Five<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlA0yhPlr5W2nHvg_hFX2YitCgT5xhzefozxpRUjheEIdm2wiZ4pxe56Q63sh4j5ubJRVaLsJXPfWyxPKbUkjwhletosmR-W-6zOQaXR7gpw6jPnD6vqIui0EVJJUMhyphenhyphenNKF8LUxB-EBB4/s1600/fab+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlA0yhPlr5W2nHvg_hFX2YitCgT5xhzefozxpRUjheEIdm2wiZ4pxe56Q63sh4j5ubJRVaLsJXPfWyxPKbUkjwhletosmR-W-6zOQaXR7gpw6jPnD6vqIui0EVJJUMhyphenhyphenNKF8LUxB-EBB4/s400/fab+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry, Mom, Mark, Mariel, Dad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This was our Thanksgiving family photo, the first since 2011. Harry lives 1.5 hours away; Mark lives in Austin, TX, and one never knows where Mariel will be on any given holiday or family event. For the past two Thanksgivings, she's been in Peru.<br />
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I love having my children with me, and watching their grown-up interactions. I made the traditional Thanksgiving feast, with a couple of changes (baked sweet potatoes and a butternut squash/red onion recipe Mark found in the NYTimes, minus mashed white potatoes, which seem to have fallen on hard times). The turkey was huge (19 lbs.) which meant I couldn't lift it. I bought it on an organic poultry farm in the area. I took the minimalist approach to cooking the turkey, brining it for 24 hours, brushing it with olive oil and sprinkling it with salt, pepper, sage and thyme. It was delicious. I won't bore you with the other yummy dishes and superlative desserts.<br />
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Eleven of us shared this meal, including my mother-, sister-, and brother in-laws. My friend Doug came from his place in the Poconos with friends Alex and Andrew who also joined us last year. <br />
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Tonight we'll have Thanksgiving redux, and since it's Hanukah, we'll have latkes. If I get the urge, I'll make sufgoniyot, donuts filled with jam. PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-16428723192426002142013-11-30T08:39:00.001-05:002013-11-30T08:39:08.417-05:00Tom's Tech TravelsThere are three reasons to read Thomas Pynchon's newest novel <i>Bleeding Edge</i>: You think Pynchon's a genius and have read his entire oeuvre; You're a techie geek hanging out on the cutting edge and want to poke holes in his theories; You wish to torture yourself with headache-causing travels through a world you'd rather believe doesn't exist, plus you want to wipe out any self-esteem you have left because the book is so difficult to read.<br />
<br />
Pynchon does parody extremely well. He takes you to a Loehman's women's changing room in the Bronx. He walks you through an IKEA store with its maze-like set-up that makes leaving seem like a pipe-dream. Speaking of opiates, the book wallows in illegal drugs and money-laundering. Conspiracy theories abound. His main character brings out a lot of Jewish commentary, provoking my husband to ask, "Is Pnychon Jewish?"<br />
<br />
Over 500 pages of dark, dense and droll, which is usually right up my alley. I always learn some interesting arcana when I read Pynchon.Not this time. PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733570009185379393.post-58671558111598391422013-11-19T18:01:00.001-05:002013-11-19T18:01:38.641-05:00See Harry Run!We drove to Letchworth State Park on Saturday, about 4 hours away. Marty, Mariel, mascot Buck and I cheered the Vassar Brewers, who did fairly well. It was sunny and warm, not so good for running but great for watching. As a surprise for Marty, our friends from Buffalo, Ken and Kathy, joined us and we had lunch afterwards in Geneseo.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjihPOZH2iod8Ob7-CWqLjmrwURIutp-mZ7pGJn34d5af12Qyjqc7Goo7P-2vcw0cyhFCoIHLtZ1X4_Vc_46WDY0BjUr13G8hK-QY0uBIumdbqDjwP9MMFsf-kBNxRx6z-PUPP3mvP5lIM/s1600/harry+small+pack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjihPOZH2iod8Ob7-CWqLjmrwURIutp-mZ7pGJn34d5af12Qyjqc7Goo7P-2vcw0cyhFCoIHLtZ1X4_Vc_46WDY0BjUr13G8hK-QY0uBIumdbqDjwP9MMFsf-kBNxRx6z-PUPP3mvP5lIM/s320/harry+small+pack.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Harry is airborne</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Harry placed third for his team and was happy with his run. He may have been happier that his parents and sister came to watch. The chocolate mini muffins didn't hurt either.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0vcLuC8IzGds8Rj3J6jM1_OEV3aL-5RKkdITjpmqmqmH4aMAjKuA8qqiA87XssVBH8ilQBJEIkdl_RAg6LyXA7Hl499agt-f0VYmnWDjFgn-epZ_QDNk2JmbPTvDKonFz7NhFxUiU9w/s1600/Family+Four.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0vcLuC8IzGds8Rj3J6jM1_OEV3aL-5RKkdITjpmqmqmH4aMAjKuA8qqiA87XssVBH8ilQBJEIkdl_RAg6LyXA7Hl499agt-f0VYmnWDjFgn-epZ_QDNk2JmbPTvDKonFz7NhFxUiU9w/s320/Family+Four.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy family</td></tr>
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<br />
I must give credit for the family photo taken by Kathy. She made us laugh. And finally, we have to include this shot of the unofficial (but very cute) Vassar mascot, Buck. We did see another bouvier named Atticus, but of course Buck is more beautiful.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNmrRv9BpAMxGQeQkz90IrqbPdXTuQXBbu7zZIc9Ii7plxtvfDyvV0u7n63q5BFuR8m2RrqMQtTAcjQ74gIZd6bXpOV9ytZ7LqISHZrQp_fh7Q5bf9RVSE5gv6mnBPdJKJwKjjmzvgxgM/s1600/buck+for+vassar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNmrRv9BpAMxGQeQkz90IrqbPdXTuQXBbu7zZIc9Ii7plxtvfDyvV0u7n63q5BFuR8m2RrqMQtTAcjQ74gIZd6bXpOV9ytZ7LqISHZrQp_fh7Q5bf9RVSE5gv6mnBPdJKJwKjjmzvgxgM/s320/buck+for+vassar.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my shadow</td></tr>
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As you see, Buck is a member of the "brew crew." The founder of Vassar owned a brewery. What can I say?PJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08895652549080926672noreply@blogger.com0