Through a Glass, Darkly

I always wonder about those “Slow: Funeral” signs. Should I actually slow down? Is it rude of me to continue on at my normal speed? Does anyone even notice? Do they have the signs in other parts of the country? When my mom’s cousin (who lives across the street from my parents) lost his father, they put “Slow: Funeral” signs on the road, and people really did slow down. I remember being impressed, just a little bit, that those signs work. Of course, the people slowing down didn’t know if it was our house or their house that was experiencing grief, but it was very nice of them just the same.

I was all set to say that it’s an antiquated custom, but then I remembered something from a book I read a long time ago. In it, a man was remembering how his mother died when he was very young, and he was shocked that the milkman delivered the milk just the same and the mailman didn’t seem to know. How could everything be the same when his mother was gone? When something painful happens, like losing a loved one, it can be completely shattering. It seems that the whole world should know that everything has changed, because everything has changed for you. And the very least I can do, as a fellow human being, is acknowledge that grief by slowing my car down, as if to say, “I don’t know you, but I do know a little bit about the human experience, and I’m sorry for your loss. I hope it was someone who lived a full life, and who didn’t suffer at all. I hope you have friends and family to support you during this time.” (I have time to think all those things, because I’m driving slowly. I have time to look at their well-cared for yard and their front porch with its rocking chairs and the tall trees in the backyard. I have time to notice instead of being lost in my own thoughts or singing along to whatever is playing on my iPod.)

So, I’ve decided I like the “Slow: Funeral” signs. The part of me that likes them is the same part that chooses not to do self-checkout, that likes going to a small church. It’s important to be connected to people. And because of that, even if I don’t know the people who live in the house across the street from my neighborhood, I have slowed down when I passed their house this week, to acknowledge that grief in a small way. It’s a bit of an inconvenience, but it’s inconvenience for the sake of being a little more human.

On Sunday, while catching up on some ironing, I watched Mad Hot Ballroom. It was fabulous. I highly recommend it. Its very existence calls the whole “100 Years/100 Cheers” list into question. I understand that the criteria indicated that movies on that list should be fictional, but why should a fictionalized version of Seabiscuit or Erin Brokovich or even All the President’s Men (in any of these movies, events have probably been switched around or left out in order to make the story more dramatic) be more inspiring than an actual documentary about actual children? Manipulation is better than genuine feeling?

If you don’t know what Mad Hot Ballroom is, here’s where you can read a plot summary. Of course seeing the children work hard was inspiring, but more than that, you saw them gaining confidence, you saw them (as one of the teachers said) “becoming ladies and gentlemen,” and you saw them learning about winning and losing. You saw the arts working, getting through to these kids. You saw excellent teachers doing their best to keep kids off the streets. And along with those teachers, you want to believe that this program will make a difference in some of their lives.

I think my favorite part was at the end, at the final competition, when the kids were dancing their hearts out. There was a judge with very long hair, and she was grinning her face off the entire time. She enjoyed every second of what she was doing, and when I turned off the movie, I am pretty sure the expression on my face mirrored hers.

Fictionalized stories are great. I love fiction. But that doesn’t mean we should forget the power of a true story, one in which real people work hard and overcome obstacles and maybe even let it change their lives.

At lunch today, I finished rereading The Kite Runner - my book discussion group is talking about it next week, so I had to brush up. I remembered the bare bones stuff, the overall plot, that it’s sad and somewhat violent, but I didn’t remember that it’s so good it hurts. I think that, when I read it before, I was focused more on the plot and less on the structure of the plot. This time, I finished it, walked up to a coworker, and said, “The structure of this book is so good that it makes me want to cry.” I did cry this time through, even though the book didn’t seem as bleak as it did last summer. When my mom read it a few months ago, she talked about the hopeful ending, and I said, “I think the book lost me before that.” This time I could see more of what she meant. My coworker said that it’s worth reading again like a textbook - “This is how you structure a really good novel.”

I don’t think The Kite Runner is for everybody - like I said, it’s sad and kind of violent, but the picture of redemption that it paints is pretty amazing. The first time I read it, our house was flooded and I was being grumpy about it, and the message I got from it was that I needed to remember how good my life actually is. With that lesson already learned, this time I sat back and marveled at the way Amir found himself again, the way that he was finally able to atone for the wrongs of his childhood, the parallels that built up to the wonderful last scene, which I did see as hopeful this time. It’s a painful story, but it was freeing to watch him free himself, to make the right decisions instead of the wrong ones.

Sometimes you read a book and you don’t want it to end, because it’s so wonderful. I don’t feel like that with this book - I’m happy to escape the difficult life of an immigrant and the war-torn streets of Kabul and return to my regular life. When I read it last summer, I never would have thought I’d read it again. I’m really glad I was “forced” to, because reading it this time . . . while I wouldn’t call it a pleasure, it helped me appreciate the book on a deeper level than I did last summer.

I’m wearing red and black again today!

Dear North Carolinians,

This is a dire situation. We’ve only got one more chance to win the Stanley Cup, and we’ve blown two chances in a row. I am begging you, begging you to change whatever it is you’ve been doing. Have you been wearing a “lucky” shirt or hat? Please wear something else. Have you been watching the game with certain friends? Ditch them tonight. Is there music you’ve been listening to? Change the CD or the station. Is there a couch you’ve been sitting on? Sit on the floor. Better yet, move the couch out of the room. Throw it away, even! Buy a new couch! The Hurricanes are clearly not getting the right vibe from us, the fans, and we need to change things up as much as possible. This means you. North Carolina has never won a professional sports championship, and how will you feel if you keep it from happening tonight? I’ll go ahead and answer that - you’ll feel terrible. Worse than you did the day after the Panthers lost the Super Bowl. Because you’ll know it was your fault. You thought, “The lucky hat has to work this time.” The lucky hat is not going to work. If you’re planning on wearing the lucky hat, you might as well go to sleep.

Today I am wearing red and black. I am ready to cheer my heart out tonight, even though hockey is a sport I don’t completely understand. Please, Hurricanes fans (and North Carolinians in general). Please do what you’ve got to do. Help me make this happen.

Rallying the troops,
Kari

So far, the worst part of my eye surgery was getting the stitches out. I know, I know, you’re totally grossed out by the idea of stitches in my eye. It hasn’t been a big deal, though. I can’t feel them or anything. And, even though Mike stopped reading this at the word “stitches,” I’m not going to say how they got the stitches out, because he made me promise I wouldn’t tell him. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it was kind of uncomfortable, and it left me with a jangly-nerves of feeling for the rest of the day. I hadn’t had to take Tylenol since the day after the surgery, but I had to take some for a couple of days after getting the stitches out. It wasn’t pain, just a sort of achy feeling.

They didn’t take all of the stitches out, because the eye needs to heal a little longer before they do. They took three of the five out, which made a huge difference in my vision. I can see Mike when I wake up in the morning! If I hold the book in the right place (my point of focus is a little off, because the stitches prevent my eye from healing into an astigmatism, which means that my vision currently resembles an astigmatism), I can read with my new eye! I can see the clock when I wake up!

That last one has a bit of a downside, I’m learning. While it’s always been a dream of mine to be able to wake up and just read the clock, it was not so great the other night when I saw the clock at 12:something and 1:something and 2:something and 3:something and 4:something and 5:something. I slept a bit each hour, but I was awake a whole lot. And my normal, “I can’t see the clock so I’ll just pretend it’s not there!” doesn’t exactly work when you CAN see.

Nevertheless, the eye situation is good. I get the rest of the stitches out on July 10. That’s right, the doctor will take the suture kit, get out the tiny knife . . . have I said too much?

(And hopefully we’re getting the sleep thing under control, too. At least, we’re working on it.)

I haven’t seen a lot of Robert Altman films (here’s where I admit I haven’t seen MASH), but I have really enjoyed the ones I have seen. I remember watching Gosford Park - Mike was asleep on the couch and I, as recommended, had put on the subtitles in order to keep up with what was being said. Gosford Park was like a revelation. I loved watching the story unfold, all the twists and turns, all the different characters and how their lives intersect. Robert Altman is one reason that I decided I wanted to see A Prairie Home Companion.

I know that, because of my love of Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls (aka “that movie where she was so pretty with her red hair and cute figure before she started smoking crack”), you’re expecting me to say that she’s the other reason. Actually, the other main reason I wanted to see A Prairie Home Companion is Meryl Streep. I have seen some of her movies and enjoyed her work, and then Kelly and I saw The Hours in the theater, and I was mesmerized. After we finished the movie today, I told Mike that same thing - “Every time Meryl Streep was on the screen, I was watching her. I find her mesmerizing.”

You see, I haven’t listened to “A Prairie Home Companion” on NPR in years. Sorry, but it’s true. I think part of that is that I don’t like to get into something in the middle, where I’m missing all the history and the in-jokes, and that keeps me from starting it now. And I never could get into any of Garrison Keillor’s books. I don’t remember my mom and dad listening to the show a whole lot, but I do remember them talking about it, and I think they listen to it if it’s on and they’re in the car. Mike, for his part, has never heard the show. So we aren’t exactly PHC experts, by any means. I give that disclaimer to say, look, we’re not looking for the same things a fan of the show would be looking for. We didn’t have the weight of expectation that a fan of the show might have. But, not to put too fine a point on it, I thought the movie was fabulous. Mike loved it, too, but I don’t think he uses the word “fabulous.” Ever.

Basically, it took me out of the movie theater I was in, one seat away from a weird guy with an annoying laugh, and made me feel like I was there, with those people. Virginia Madsen’s character says at one point that when she used to listen to the show, she felt like they were all her friends, and that’s what the movie felt like to me as well. The history of the people and their love for what they were doing on that stage came through in a wonderful way. I laughed and cried through it, and I left feeling . . . like you do after catching up with an old friend. You talk about things both happy and sad, but you leave with a full heart. Mike and I hadn’t been to the movies together since January, and this was well worth breaking our fast.

I was going to leave my review at that, but it would be a little dishonest, I think. I don’t know exactly how to put this part into words, but I especially enjoyed the way the movie handled mortality, both in the desire to honor the people and things (like radio shows) that are no longer with us, and the balance of continuing to live your life without the people and things you love. It was a lesson in Ecclesiastes: acknowledging that there are times and places for all the different feelings that we experience here on earth, and we all express those in different ways. It was a good lesson to learn in a dark theater on a Saturday afternoon.

I’m probably not going to become a fan of the show now (we talked about that on the way home, and Mike says it’s not podcasted, so that’s pretty much it for us. But let me just say that, every week, we thoroughly enjoy the podcast of “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me!” Listening to it together is one of the highlights of my week), but count me in as a fan of the wonderful movie. Mike came upstairs as I was writing this and said, “Are you writing a review? You should say that they just don’t make movies like that anymore.”

KARI: Hey.

MIKE: Hey.

KARI: You didn’t come to bed last night.

MIKE: I didn’t want to wake you again.

KARI: Again?

MIKE: Yeah, I came and told you about the game and about It’s a Wonderful Life.

KARI: I took Ambien.

MIKE: I could tell.

KARI: I don’t remember this conversation.

MIKE: I figured.

KARI: So, the game?

MIKE: We lost in overtime.

KARI: Suck!

MIKE: Yeah.

KARI: I’m sorry.

MIKE: It’s okay.

KARI: And It’s a Wonderful Life? Don’t tell me that was the top movie.

MIKE: It was.

KARI: What about To Kill a Mockingbird! I thought that would be number one!

MIKE: It was number two.

KARI: What else?

MIKE: Schindler’s List was number three.

KARI: Yay, Holocaust?

MIKE: I think the criteria was a little different than we thought it would be.

KARI: Yeah, when I think “100 Cheers” I don’t think “Schindler’s List.” I guess I was expecting more of the movies to be like Rudy, since that was the one on the commercials. Movies that inspire you to be a better person, or to reach for your dreams.

MIKE: It was about the triumph of the human spirit. That means the movie can be sad.

KARI: Well, then, two things. 1. “100 Cheers” is a terrible name, because I thought it would be actual cheers in movies that they’d be talking about. Like Rudy. Or Hoosiers. Basically, I thought there’d be a lot of sports. And 2. What human spirit triumphs in It’s a Wonderful Life?!?

MIKE: I think they were trying to make it rhyme. 100 Years/100 Cheers.

KARI: It’s a Wonderful Life is NOT the most inspiring movie! Unless we’re talking about “inspiring people to stab themselves in the eye with a pen.”

MIKE: When I told you that It’s a Wonderful Life had won, you said, “I have WORDS.”

KARI: Even drugged-out-on-Ambien Kari knows that that is a terrible choice. Have these people even SEEN It’s a Wonderful Life? Do they KNOW how depressing it is? So he gets some money in the end and somebody rings a little bell so Clarence can get his frickin’ wings. This does not inspire me.

MIKE: I think now is the time for you to write an essay detailing the many faults of It’s a Wonderful Life.

KARI: I might have to watch it again to do that. And I refuse to watch it again.

MIKE: But I enjoy your bitter diatribes.

KARI: If they named Atticus as the greatest hero, how can his movie NOT be the most inspiring?

MIKE: George Bailey was number nine on that list.

KARI: And Mr. Potter was, what a top-five villain? [Editor: he was number six.] That means the villain in that movie is better than the protagonist!

MIKE: That’s not really what that means.

KARI: ….

MIKE: You’re right! That’s exactly what that means!

KARI: Thank you.

MIKE: It’s a good thing you didn’t stay up. You would have gotten so mad you wouldn’t have been able to sleep.

KARI: Well, yeah! Because the human spirit doesn’t triumph in It’s a Wonderful Life! He wastes his whole life in that stupid town, and then, at the end, his friends come and bail him out one time, and I’m supposed to think it’s great! But it’s not! Everything will go back to being awful in the end. The only difference is that now Clarence has his wings.

MIKE: Hey, remember how they talk smack about librarians, too?

KARI: Now you’re just trying to provoke me.

MIKE: Yes. Is it working?

KARI: Yes. I bet they had lots of shots of Uncle Billy. Stupid Uncle Billy with his stupid string around his stupid fingers. Too stupid to realize he’s given the money to Mr. Potter.

MIKE: Don’t forget Zuzu’s petals.

KARI: I hate Zuzu’s petals. And the stupid banister. And the, “I wish I had a million dollars!’

MIKE: Remember how he gives up his honeymoon to save the Savings and Loan? That’s my favorite part.

KARI: I hate you.

MIKE: It’s so great that he never gets to leave.

KARI: The list is now inspiring me to stab YOU in the eye with a pen.

MIKE: There are plenty of people who agree with you. Bitter, sad people who can’t enjoy the greatness of the most inspiring movie in the history of cinema.

KARI: Like Phoebe. “It’s a Sucky Life, and Just When You Think It Can’t Suck Any More It Does!”

MIKE: Yeah, Phoebe on your side. That’ll convince people.

KARI: . . .

MIKE: Hey, thanks for cheering me up about the game. I feel a lot better already.

Alisa and Carla have reported that they like the songs on the CD I made, except for one: The Dandy Warhols singing “We Used to Be Friends,” AKA the Veronica Mars theme song. I’ve started running again, and I’ve been using that playlist. I have to say that “We Used to Be Friends is a kick-butt song to run to. It gets me moving.

Speaking of Veronica Mars, over the weekend, Mike and I employed a “Work hard, play hard” mentality. Saturday I did a lot of work around the house while he did some yard work, and then on Sunday, after working on our new fire pit/patio area, we watched nine episodes of Veronica Mars. We finished season two, and I can see why people say it wasn’t as good as season one, because I think it would have been frustrating to watch it over an entire season, but watching it as quickly as we did (19 episodes in less than a week) was fun. And now we are all caught up! We’re ready for Gilmore Girls/Veronica Mars Tuesday nights!

I finished Lost and Found by Carolyn Parkhurst, and I have to say that I really enjoyed it. It wasn’t my favorite book of all time or anything, but I liked the characters, and I liked the concept of following them on a race around the world. I would have liked for it to be longer, and there was a subplot I would have liked a little more resolution to, but I give it a thumbs up overall. At first I was like, “No, I don’t think it was actually better than Dogs of Babel,” but that one was so unusual that it’s hard to compare. This one was more straightforward, and what it did, it did very well. I will definitely keep an eye out for her books in the future.

In the acknowledgements for Lost and Found, Ms. Parkhurst thanked her husband for watching the same shows that she does. Appropriate for a book about a television show. Mike and I generally watch the same stuff, with me getting him into Veronica Mars and him getting me more into Scrubs and The Office. But that got me thinking about the kinds of things I thought were important in relationships before I was married. I think it’s great that Mike and I like the same movies and television shows (not so much the same music, though), and it’s important to me that Mike can watch a chick flick or a show like Gilmore Girls without making a big deal about it (i.e. his masculinity isn’t threatened), but it’s much more important that he be respectful and thoughtful and kind. I’m thankful that’s the kind of guy he is, because, working with the public, I come into people who are just the opposite of that. Every day.

Speaking of working with the public, I don’t actually work with them any more. So scratch that last statement. I used to come into contact with people like that every day. Now I come in contact with a lot of books every day. And I have windows, so I can see the sun. Or the rain, as is the case today.

Speaking of rain, yesterday I was running and it started raining. I decided that Mike and I need a code for when I’m out and it starts raining, because I didn’t have my cell phone with me. The rain was nice, because it was cooler. I did not, however, like the man who, while I was walking, said, “Now’s the time to run!” I will run when I want to run, sir. The Dandy Warhols are not currently playing. Now is a time to walk.

And now that I’ve brought it full circle back to running and The Dandy Warhols, I’ll go ahead and hit publish. Seems like the best thing to do.

Alisa is leaving on Monday to drive to North Carolina, and she requested mix CDs. Mike and I made a set of three to send her, with him contributing two and me contributing one. I was pretty pleased with mine, so I’m posting it here, with my notes for Alisa on each song. The title of the CD is the title of this post, and a lot of the songs had to do with traveling and/or love, because I figured that was the theme of the trip.

I would have to say that mix CDs are something I am not too good at, because I am not a music aficionado by any means. The meaning of the song is often more important to me than the music part, and I appreciate something I can sing along to much more than I appreciate something “important” or “groundbreaking.” So that’s my disclaimer on these choices.

“Here in America” by Rich Mullins - What better way to appreciate driving across America than by listening to this song? Plus, when you see “the mountains waking with the innocence of children,” you’ll almost be at your new home.

“Hey Jack Kerouac” by 10,000 Maniacs - Mike’s the Natalie Merchant fan in our house, but On the Road is the ultimate road trip book (that I admit that I didn’t finish. I’m not so much a road trip kind of girl), so Jack Kerouac earns a place on a road trip mix for that alone.

“100 Miles to Charleston” by Martha’s Trouble - You may remember this song as one of the ones that makes me think of Susan. I’m trying to redeem it by giving it to you instead. Plus, it’s a great song about being on the road.

“Movin’ Right Along” by Kermit and Fozzie - Hopefully you won’t see the sun come up in the west, and you’re driving the opposite way as they are, but . . . it’s Kermit! And Fozzie! I admit this song is a bit of a novelty, but Mike and I hardly ever take trips without it. Plus, I think every road trip mix is allowed one novelty song. I always make the little noises with Kermit: “We’re moving right along (dun dun dun, dun dun dun), hey LA, where’ve you gone?”

“For You I Will (Confidence)” by Teddy Geiger - Well, you like Love Monkey. And this is my favorite Teddy Geiger song.

“One Thing” by Finger Eleven - I just like how this song sounds. Nothing big. I just think it’s the kind of song I like to listen to while the miles go by.

“Don’t You Cry Out” by Miranda Stone - This is my favorite off of her live album. I drove to Charlotte once with it on repeat. Two hours of this song.

“We Used to be Friends” by The Dandy Warhols - This is the theme song for Veronica Mars, and when we watched the first episode, I said, “I don’t like this song, but here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re going to love the song from watching so many episodes, and then we’re going to get tired of it.” So far, I am still in the “love” phase. Mike loves to sing, “Come on now, sugar!”

“Keep the Customer Satisfied” by Simon & Garfunkel - If any song off of Bridge Over Troubled Water can be considered a “lesser-known” Simon & Garfunkel song, perhaps it’s this one. I included it in the hopes that you’ll stay one step ahead of the shoeshine and two steps away from the county line. One of the things I like about this song is that my mom likes to sing it, too. When I bought Bridge Over Troubled Water, I knew most of the songs already, but she was the one who sang along with this one.

“Something Pretty” by Patrick Park - The “tobacco skin” is supposed to make you think of Tobacco Road, your new home.

“Taking Pictures” by Sam Phillips - A song about leaving things behind. And Sam Phillips is awesome - her songs manage to sound both sad and hopeful at the same time.

“Handle With Care” by Jenny Lewis with The Watson Twins - Originally by the Traveling Wilburys, this version features M. Ward and Ben Gibbard. Mike’s gotten into the Traveling Wilburys, but I like this version, too. It got kind of mixed reviews on Amazon, but I think it’s a feel-good song.

“World Spins Madly On” by The Weepies - I think this song sounds like what it’s like to be driving at sunset.

“Travelin’ Thru” by Dolly Parton - Well, I can’t do a road trip mix without this song, can I? I don’t know if anyone has told you this, but moving to the south means that, if you don’t already, you’re going to have to acknowledge the greatness of Dolly Parton.

“Love Shines (A Song for My Daughters About God)” by Live - I have never been a fan of Live, but Mike got their latest album, and I like it. It’s pretty straightforward Top 40 stuff, but . . . I like that kind of stuff. And I like this song. It sounds like spring, when the world is starting to come to life and you want to roll your windows down.

“I-35” by The Damn Millionaires - I wasn’t sure which DM song to include, but I went with this one because of the “driving to be with the one you love” theme. And I love the guitar on this one.

“Forever” by Ben Harper - As far as I’m concerned, this song can’t be played enough. Another that I’ve put on repeat. I especially like the bridge.

“Give it Up” by The Format - In honor of the fact that you’re not “too scared to go.”

“Follow Me” by The Innocence Mission - At the last minute, I took another song off and had to find a replacement. I thought maybe you wouldn’t have too much of The Innocence Mission. My first introduction to this song was when Mike picked it to be on one of the CDs that played at our wedding reception. It’s a pretty little cover.

“Got to Get You Into My Life” by The Beatles - I asked Mike if this song was an overplayed Beatles song, and he said no. It was just me that overplayed it, then. Of course, “overplay” is such a subjective term. I’m certainly not tired of it. A slightly lesser-known Beatles gem.

“At Least I Got a Car” by Waterdeep - I’m sure you have this song, but . . . it’s one of my favorite songs to drive to. It had to be included. “Man, I wish I had a home tonight!”

“Closer to You” by Brandi Carlile - I don’t hear people talking about her much [note: I wrote that before Brandi posted of her new Brandi Carlile love], but I really like this song. And I decided very early on that I was closing the CD with this, because it combines the two themes: love and driving. So there you have it.

They were the tallest swingsets I had ever seen, with the poles stretching up into the trees. And there were a lot of trees. There were so many swings that it was not such a hard thing to get one, and I could make myself go higher than I’d ever gone. I pointed my toes and closed my eyes as I soared through the air. I could swing for our entire break if I wanted to, talking to the friend swinging beside me or just being quiet.

The big kids went on the merry-go-round, but usually there wasn’t room for those of us who were smaller. If we were lucky, if we got there early and there weren’t a lot of kids around, we could get on the merry-go-round and one of the big kids would spin it for us. I would watch as the faces around us turned into blurs as we went around and around. One of my not-so-shining moments was one summer afternoon when I had somehow scored a spot on the merry-go-round and the teacher asked how I was connected to the church (through my grandparents) and then what my grandparents’ names were. I was around eight, so I knew what their real names were, but I blanked as I spun and the teacher’s face came back into view and went back out again. I finally said, “Grandma and Grandpa.” And for the rest of the week, my grandparents and the teachers reminded me of my grandparents’ names so that I wouldn’t forget. It was horribly embarassing to be talked to like I was a mere five or six year old.

We’d already had our cookies and juice - always butter cookies that we’d put on our fingers like rings - and there was always a kid who would get a little dizzy from the spinning and threaten to get sick. I don’t remember anyone ever actually getting sick, though it might have happened. I think I’d remember seeing someone throw up red or orange juice mixed with the remains of butter cookies, but maybe I looked away.

I went to VBS at my Grandparents’ church every year until I was in high school, so I have a lot of memories of its playground. When I go see it now, it’s a lot smaller than I remember, and a lot more rusty. It’s been a lot of years since I was on that swingset, but I still remember floating through the air those summer mornings.

My new job means that I get weekends off. So what did I do with my weekend off? Well, on Saturday, Mike and I slept late, made lunch, went for a walk, and I read an entire book.

Let me digress for a second about the book. It was Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, and it was wonderful. It’s hard to talk about the book without spoiling it, because part of what was so mesmerizing about it was how it unfolded in deliberate pieces, giving you just enough information to keep you guessing. Basically, I can’t tell you what it’s about without giving everything away. But it was definitely one of the more memorable books I’ve read in a while.

Sunday was the day of appliances.

-We used the deep fryer to make fried okra for lunch after church (it went with our turkeyburgers). I have been thinking of fried okra as a winter food, because it’s comforting, but it’s really a summer food. We don’t have fresh okra right now, though. I can’t wait until we do.

-Mike made pizza dough in our bread machine. And then made grilled pizza. (He also made homemade pesto to put on the pizza.) How fabulous is Mike? Very fabulous.

-I used our Kitchenaid mixer to make cookies. mmmmmmmmm.

-This one is kind of sad. I did some laundry yesterday and left the dryer on medium when I should have turned it to low. Now I’m afraid my pants have shrunk. Or perhaps it’s the cookies. Let’s say it’s the cookies. I don’t want to have to buy new pants.

In case I haven’t mentioned it lately, I LOVE HAVING WEEKENDS OFF. We didn’t do anything and it was wonderful.

(I started another Gail Godwin book, and this one is going much faster than the others have. So that’s good, too.)

Every day on my way to work, I turn right at a stoplight. At this light, for whatever reason, I have a yield sign, so I am supposed to yield to the drivers approaching me who are turning left onto that same road. And, nearly every morning, I try to yield and am honked at impatiently by either the drivers behind me or the drivers who are wanting to turn left and are waiting for me. Even though, according to the law, I am supposed to be waiting for them.

This is a very frustrating situation. Every once in a while, I’m like, “Screw it, I’m not yielding!” And then I get honked at by the person turning left, who thinks I should have yielded. There is no way to win. This is not the kind of stress I need on my way to work. I was complaining about this to Mike last night, and he reminded me that the point is just to keep the flow of traffic, and if I’m holding up traffic, I should just go. In response, I told him that the yield sign is my new metaphor for life: I try to do the right thing, and it never works out. He did not approve.

Last night we were talking about baseball and somehow we got on the subject of Johnny Damon. I said that there are things I wouldn’t do even if lots and lots of money was offered to me, and playing for the Yankees is one of them (I would be so unhappy living up north, for one thing). Mike asked me if I’d cheer for the Yankees if I was offered money, and after a certain amount, I agreed that I would. I mean, I hate the Yankees, and I wouldn’t want to play for them, but . . . I’m not really eligible. So, if my daily life could be improved by cheering for the Yankees once, then, I think I could do that. For the right price. And then, Mike got evil. He said, “What if Duke and Carolina were playing in the national championship game and someone offered you a billion dollars if Duke won. Would you cheer for Duke?”

I told him no.

He went kind of ballistic.

Seriously, though. It’s the national championship. For a lesser game, say, the ACC tournament, then, eh, probably. Give me the billion. That’s just a game, and a billion is a lot of money. I’d get over it in a year or so. But to see Carolina beat Duke in the national championship, that’s worth a billion dollars in my heart.

He did not understand. And accused me of not caring about providing for our family. In this hypothetical situation. Which would never happen, because I hope people have better things to do with a billion dollars than offer me money to pull for Duke. He thinks that if I saw the hypothetical billion dollars, I’d change my mind. But my hypothetical conscience is clear.

Now I have to figure out what to do with the information that my husband would sell his soul to Satan for a billion dollars. It’s a sad sad day in our house.

(Y’all. It’s the NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP. I cannot be expected to cheer against my team for a NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP. Not for any amount of money.)

I’m reading a book called Why Do I Love These People? by Po Bronson, which is about family, all different kinds of families, and how they survive and overcome in the 21st century. It’s very good, and exactly the kind of thing I enjoy, because I love reading other people’s stories. There are all kinds of things I would like to say about it or quote from it, but I’m just going to quote this one passage. Forgiveness is something I think about a lot, so this paragraph really hit home for me.

Forgiving your enemies is the easy part. The hard work is in forgiving those you trusted to care for you, those precious few you believed would keep your interests in mind, the one person you thought would never do that to you. Forgiving those you love is not something you do once, like a ceremony. It’s required of you, in some form, every single day.