Sticking to the Point

Randomly, with a little love

Happy Valentines day, you are loved and cherished.

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As one that has spent many an hour sick reclining these past few weeks, I've been afforded the opportunity to read. A lot.

When sick, I love nothing more than digging into  juicy, fiction. The Constant Princess was perfect.

I'm a big fan of historical fiction, especially a story centering on the Tudors. This novel is somewhat of a pre-quel to Gregory's big hit, The Other Boleyn Girl. This time the story's  focus is Catherine of Aragon and her rise to the throne as Queen of England.

A light read, I'm now primed for the series on Showtime to begin. Men in tights. Be still my heart.

Next in queue was the Twilight series trilogy. I love a good vampire story and devoured the first book, Twilight. I love when classic horror themes have a twist. It's why I love 28 Days Later and its horrifying sequel, 28 Weeks Later.

Twilight pushes beyond stereotypes and isn't your typical vampire story. It makes the attraction between mortal and immortal plausible; Bella isn't drawn into dark, dank basements where blood suckers rise from a coffin bed. Her dark prince dazzles in sunlight and refrains from feeding on humans. Instead the Cullen family feeds on animals, choosing to live as humanly as possible.

I devoured Twilight and have eagerly begun the second book, New Moon, whose plot surprises me and I'm eager to read at night, instead of watch TV.

In book club news, the selection for March is Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. I'm on the fence about Barbara Kingsolver novels. While on bed rest, I read The Poisonwood Bible and at the end, I wasn't at all sure I liked the story. Her writing is lovely; she was able to keep my interest, but the subject was grim.

I am however, looking forward to this new book. I'm curious about a year of living close to the earth; it's something I think about  a lot lately. How can a lazy urbanite make better choices...Catchy title right?

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Last summer, when Luzie was visiting, we sat down to watch Pan's Labyrinth. It was a favorite of many friends, I was curious. We quickly decided the movie was too dark and violent and I think we opted instead, for Just Like Heaven (which I own and love). But I kept thinking I should watch the movie. Catching the title while scrolling through the cable guide, on a whim I recorded it, finally sitting to watch yesterday. My heart broke a little with this film, I'm still not whole. I wept through the ending, I heard my tears dropping onto the sofa as I gently cradled myself. It was almost too much to bear. Staggering and breathtaking, I was devastated, trying to absorb all that I'd just seen, listening to the haunting soundtrack as the ending credits rolled by.

Honestly, I had to watch L.A. Ink afterwards, a stark opposite. I needed to clear my brain, let my body return to a world where a movie like that is just a story, even when I know on many levels, that it was so much more.

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I've got a crap load of packing to do today, a task that always  gives me shpilkes. I'm leaving winter for spring and I want to look cute for my 24 hour date in La Jolla (and the other days too), oy!

Reading

Last Fall I found myself on the email list of reviewers for Mother-Talk. I'm not quite sure how I ended up there, but I was thrilled to be part of a book reviewing community. Because I also participate in BlogHer ads, I forgo the Amazon gift card teaser (which Mother's Talk donates to charity on my behalf) and everyone is happy and whole.

When Persian Girls: A Memoir by Nahid Rachlin came up as a review possibility, I jumped at the chance. I'm always keen to read real-life stories, especially when the subject is women. Persian Girls tells the story of Nahid and her sisters, growing up in Iran. Nahid is raised by her auntie, her own mother having given her to her sister who wasn't able to have children of her own. Raised in a loving and nurturing environment, Nahid is forced to moved back to her paternal home, (literally ripped away from her aunt), and expected to be a part of a family she didn't know. Always out-spoken, Nahid feels outcast in her family, longing for her aunt, pushing against the oppressive traditions of her country. Nahid emigrates to the U.S. for college, escaping the fate of young women in her home, arranged marriage. Watching in horror and unable to intervene, Nahid catches glimpses from afar, the sad life of her sister, Pari.

Nahid's sister Pari had dreams and she was punished her entire life because of it. Institutionalized against her will by her husband, Pari only knew despair. When she divorced her husband, she never saw her only child again. I can't imagine how one could bear that. Iranian law favors the man and her ex-husband could do as he pleased. It was only after Pari's death that Nahid learns that her nephew was constantly searching for his mother, that he never gave up that dream.

I was fascinated by Nahid's story and devoured this book. It sickened me as I read along, that I felt grateful that I was born an American girl. We have choices and make the lives we want. It makes my navel-gazing reveries seem really self-indulgent, comparitively. The book inspired me to continue to follow my dreams and emphasized how important it is for me to nurture the same in miss A.

The women in Nahid's story were restricted and treated as though they were nothing. Her parents married their daughters off to men that were decades older, tradition being more important than companionship or love. What a difficult life and existence if you have dreams.

Random I say

This is the last week of NaBloPoMo and I'm surprised how quickly (no really I am), it passed. Will I continue to post daily? Not sure yet. It will be nice not to have to as if someone was forcing me, feh.

Now onto the random.

I took miss A to see Enchanted last weekend and I am thoroughly, enchanted. I can't wait for it to be released on DVD so we can have a copy in our home. I'm planning to make this an annual movie for Thanksgiving, a feel-good movie for everyone.
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Continuing on my voracious reading journey, I've devoured two books to recommend. The first, Divisadero, is written by an author whose prose I fell in love with when I read The English Patient. I admit to not being very interested in his recent titles, although I'm anxious to read the synopsis and reviews whenever a new book is released. I couldn't wait for this book to publish in paperback, my usual m.o. Like a crow drawn to shiny, I'm a sucker for family dysfunction and survival. (My apples don't fall far.)

The story focuses on three main characters; sisters and the young man that works their farm. A tragic event tears the trio apart and the story unfolds around their lives thereafter. Divided into sections focusing on each character, the writing is both compelling and captivating. At the conclusion, I felt lukewarm. Really, what was the point? I decided I was thick, that I didn't understand the message, somehow I'd missed the essence of the story. How could I like a book that didn't make much sense?

Since then, I've changed my mind. Most stories in life aren't neatly wrapped up, especially when tragedy changes your every molecule. The brilliance of the novel for me is that it felt incomplete.

Next up should have been Holidays on Ice, the next book club selection. A slim little gem, I'll read quickly I thought to myself as I eagerly grabbed Blackbird from my shelf.  (thank you nicole, xo.)  Quickly I fall under the  familiar spell of dysfunction, the memoir of a true survivor. I cringed and I wept as I devoured this book. And there's a follow-up! Still Waters begins with the same sentence that ended Blackbird, love that.

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For a complete non-sequitur, I leave you with photos of the last hurrah of Fall around here, I hope your day is color-full.

This is all I've got

Sometimes the only thing that will suffice is a dance party. I highly recommend this song. This one is also good. And this one, this will always get a dance party started.

This and that and a couple of books

• Fall colors are rocking my world.
• My hoodie from Tuesday is from Anthropologie. I've considered applying for a job in store, that discount would be sweet. Straightening and folding however, is not and instead, I save my pennies to indulge in cute articles of clothing now and again.
• Susanna asked about the chair in my living room, again from Tuesday's self portrait post. Before we had A, we lived in the city in a rent-stabilized apartment. We had a mish-mash of furniture collected over the years and then combined, and with our tax return one year, we decided we were going to buy real furniture and bought a bedroom set made by Heywood-Wakefield. Over the next few years, we bought a sideboard for the dining room and a hutch, that we use for ephemera and booze. (I quite like that combination, especially when there's Bailey's in the house). Every opportunity for a new piece of furniture sent us downtown. We bought another dresser and a desk. When we moved to Brooklyn, we purchased two chairs (the chair in question), and a side table, our last purchases, simply because we have no more room! I love to mix it up with furniture in my home. We've got a lot of the blond wood furniture mixed with heavier, more traditional-looking pieces and it really works. Maybe some day we'll do a walk around my house and I'll show you all the furniture I love.

Continuing on my love affair of the written word, I've finished two more books that I'd like to share with you. Suite Francaise was on my shelf for a long while and I was psyched that it became a pick for both bookclubs (with a little influence from me, wink). A densely descriptive novel set in World War II France, this book characterizes the occupation of Paris and the exodus of a group of characters to the countryside where they will wait out the war. The hardships of life on the run, the discomforts and trials of being separated from loved ones and in unfamiliar surroundings, the author captured this period in history beautifully, even though her own life was a horrific parallel. A Jew who'd converted to Catholicism, Irene Nemirovsky was deported to Auschwitz and exterminated immediately. Her two children were hidden with a nanny and one of her daughters hid this unfinished novel, (and two others), as a keepsake of her mother. Much of the story is reminiscent of the great Russian novelists, Nemirovsky was a biographer of Chekov and that style of writing definitely influenced the way that she wrote.

I loved this book, even though I'm not a fan of the Russian style. The stories were poignant and I look forward to devouring the other 2 books that are the trilogy/legacy left behind.

The next book I read was  Zoli, a huge disappointment to me because I'd been excited to read this book. I love the Gypsy lifestyle and looked forward to learning more about their nomadic life. And you'll get some of that history when you read this novel, but for me, it wasn't enough. Too much droning on about an unrequited love affair that never struck me as a great love. Much of the novel fell short for me, I wasn't interested and I didn't care.

As a voracious reader, there's nothing I love more than a bookshelf full of to-be read novels. I get a little nervous when the stack begins to dwindle as it has. You'll find me trolling around your blog, looking through the books you all have listed in your sidebar, searching for my next stack of books. Please leave me some good fiction selections in my comments, I so appreciate your suggestions!

What about BOB?

This summer I started receiving email updates from MotherTalk. I wasn't sure how I'd come into contact with the group, but I liked the website and the products that are endorsed don't seem pushy. As I skimmed an email blast recently, I noticed that BOB books would be up for review and I eagerly signed on as a participant.

We received our first collection of BOB books when miss A was four. Because I was reading before kindegarten, I was eager for MY CHILD (that's me being all stage mama like), to read before kindegarten as well. Miss A being her unique and individual self, had other ideas. First off, she never does anything to the speed of another agenda. Potty-training and reading apparently, was going to happen when she was good and ready, and our first collection of BOB books became coloring books, I sheepishly admit. (The simple and sweet  illustrations are actually perfect for coloring and really, it's sort of cute.)

Last Spring when A began to read, these books became fast favorites. Simple sentences with easy to sound out words, these books gave A the confidence to continue reading, especially during those first few months which can be so frustrating for beginners.

Thumbing through one of the books last night, I came across an illustration that I love. You all know of my fondness for chickens and I admit, that I've considered a chicken tattoo on more than one occasion. Imagine my delight when I found this image,

immediately inspiring me to want this little hen on the tops of my feet. Get it? Chicken feet? I know, I missed my calling. M thinks it's a bad idea, mostly because he doesn't like the cartoon aspect of the bird. To me, that's the best part! I would get endless amounts of amusement out of my feet and they'll be a big hit with the kiddies.

But I digress. BOB books are a fantastic introduction to reading for wee ones. The last page of each book breaks down the sounds from the story (in the red hen, we've got short vowels). 12 books contained in a slim box, easy for travel and little fingers, the BOB books would be a great stocking stuffer.

Book Club #3 and a little tele too

As a big fan of novels about carni and circus folk, I was looking forward to reading Water for Elephants. Told from the perspective of a circus vet, the story weaves from present to past as the main character, Jacob reflects on his life and love. I love the whole concept of a traveling train circus. Animals were slaughtered, people were thrown from moving trains, life in the circus followed a hierarchy and everyone was vulnerable.  A fast read, I loved the story even though the plot was somewhat predictable.

I enjoy interspersing short stories into my repetoire, especially when I'm reading fluff. This collection is inspired; I read the stories slowly so I can savor the words. 

I've been anxious to receive my first quarterly volume of this zine, which finally arrived in my box on Thursday. I love the tiny blurb at the end of each story, identifying the author. And I love the idea of each story beginning with the same, first line; so alluring to find how each interpretation unfolds.

Weeds is brilliant. I can't imagine how the season will end. Dexter begins again on the 30th, I wait with baited breathe. Curb began last week, a veritable cringe fest but funny just the same. And this week. This week the networks bring back my favorite and a new one I'm curious about.

Book Club #2

I'm not the majority here when I say that The Year of Magical Thinking wasn't for me. I really wanted to love this book. I loved Play It As It Lays and just knew that YMT was going to be the same, except it wasn't. I found the writing cold and remote and it was hard for me to feel the author's pain as I read along. I felt empathy for the loss of love and I felt my heart aching for her daughter, gravely ill and unaware that her father had passed away. There was a process being served and because I haven't experienced death intimately, I can only understand from afar, in no position to judge. Didion's process, her way of grieving and creative expression felt foreign, a perspective that didn't register or resonate.

I'm certain to be the lone wolf at bookclub next week, from the emails floating about. The stage production was in NY this summer, a few of the girls have gone, raves all around. I was ready to keep myself quiet, agreeing, without much to add until I had dinner with DeeZee last week in Venice. Talking about the book, admitting that I had luke-warm feelings about the story, felt cleansing, much like the pickled ginger we snacked on, waiting for our vegan soups.

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On our 6 hour plane journey last week, I read Susan Minot's Evening. A slim novel, Evening seemed the perfect summer vacation read. I love bittersweet reverie, particularly when it involves unrequitted love. The main character, Ann Lord is dying, her family gathered around to witness her last few days. Through a morphine haze, Ann reminisces about a weekend 40 years earlier, when she fell in love. The flashbacks to that weekend were enjoyable, I was curious about the relationship and how it would end.  What didn't work for me was the present. As Ann slips back and forth into consciousness, I found her fragmented lucidity an inconsistent aside. I wonder if the movie takes liberty with the novel, (script adaptations tend towards this) and I'll watch for this on cable.

I'd love to hear your comments and thoughts on either of these novels. Tell me what you think, why my reviews are rubbish or not, talk to me. I love talking books.

Reading is fun

Despite my lack of book posts, I've been reading voraciously. Instead of planting myself in front of the tele (or here) at night, I've been heading upstairs and settling in with a book, my favorite alone time.

First there was the sappy, predictable novel, chosen by bookclub number two. A quick, light read, it's hardly worth mentioning except I did like the premise of the storyline. What would happen if your boyfriend has a child that suddenly becomes your responsibility when said boyfriend dies and the mother goes MIA?

Next was The Historian, a book I've had on my shelf for months.  I'm never put off by a long novel, in fact I'm usually a little giddy when I have a long book to read, mourning as I do, when a good book has to end. I enjoy novels about the undead and wanted to lose myself in a good vampire story, the reviews were good. And so was the book, but not in the page-turning, I'm too scared but can't put it down way I was hoping for. I admit to skimming large portions of rambling description and feeling flat when the book finally ended.

A new fan of graphic novels, I anticipated reading Chicken with Plums because the author's first two novels are so dearly loved. A quick read (as most graphic novels are), this is the sad and bitter story of a hopeless man, Naseer, and the events preluding his death.

My current book is Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, a good summer read about two girls with bound feet in rural China and their friendship, brought together by fate and secret writing.

I'm looking forward to the books on deck for fall: the year of magical thinking, water for elephants, suite francaise and mr. david sedaris. If anyone wants the books I've already read leave a comment and then email me your snail mail. If you take it, it's yours to pass along or keep. No give-backs.

I'm always looking for good books to read. Tell me some of your favorites, my queue over at Amazon is dwindling.

edited to add: I completely forgot the most important book here, Walking in this World. Dude, I've totally punted. I started a group and was enthusiastic for the first month. It's not the responsibility of being the mod, it's the book. I wanted to love the book as much as I loved this one, but it's not happening. The exercises fall flat, my journal writing is halted and forced and I'm not enjoying artist dates anymore. If you were part of the group, I apologize.

Conversion and a book

Yesterday morning, A and I became Jews. I've written here and especially at the old joint, about my conversion over this past year. A blessing with informal, yet personal monthly meetings alone with the rabbi.

The last month felt the most serious. I had to write two essays to be presented to the Beth Din, who would witness our conversion as required by Jewish law. Since the other two rabbis had no relationship with me, these essays would provide them with the reasons why I wanted to convert, how I was raised, how I intended to have a Jewish home and most importantly, how we'd raise our child.

Part of the traditional procedure of becoming a Jew is having a mikvah; a purefication ceremony very similar to being baptized. (Which makes me think of the baptism episode on  Curb) Mikvahs are seperate from the synagogue and ours was in a house. I imagine people live upstairs, there was a very foreign looking woman (M said she had an Israeli accent) who unlocked the door downstairs but never actually appeared. We entered and sat in a waiting area, with 4 chairs semi-circled in front of the couch. A and I sat on the couch and the rabbis along with M sat facing us and asked a few questions before proceeding.  I was a little uncomfortable answering questions in front of M, realizing later, I've never been in a situation where he would observe me individually.

This is the mikvah bath.

It's not the actual one we used, ours was at the other end and it was half again as full.  Mikvahs are totally nude. You go into the waters as you came into this world and all jewelry is left behind. My rabbi is a woman so she came into the mikvah bath (on the side, not in the water) with us. Because the two other rabbis were men, they stood at the pictured pool (along with M) so they could listen to us say our prayers.

The water is caught rain water but warmed to jacuzzi temperatures. When I stood in the water, it was level to my shoulders. I went first. You have to hold your arms out in front of you and nothing can touch when you immerse, I had to dink a few times to get it right. Because the water would have been over A's head, she stood backwards on a step and jumped out and then once she'd gone under, I'd catch her. It was so amazing to hear the men yell, 'amen' and to watch my rabbi's eyes fill with tears of pride. A is almost six and she'll remember this experience, the day we became as she describes 'super Jewish'.  I am now Carmela, daughter of Abraham and Sarah, a welcome member in the house of Israel.

Have you read this thin masterpiece? I wanted to read this book before my conversion, not knowing until I was done, how it would impact me. Taking my breath away as my heart shattered, each sentence evoking such raw emotion and pain. I truly wasn't certain I'd be able to turn the page, knowing the next word would be more horrific than the last. Unable to comprehend how this boy survived and understanding that he didn't.