Through a Glass, Darkly

I must make a confession.

Though I saw it four times in the theater, I have cooled quite a bit on 2005’s Pride and Prejudice. I still think it’s beautiful, the soundtrack is lovely, and it’s a lot of fun . . . but it’s just not right. I know all the things that irritate people about the movie, and even though they don’t irritate me, too, I am aware of them and sensitive to them. And I just don’t enjoy the movie as much as I used to. (I still like the proposal in the rain, even though it’s wrong. I can’t help myself.)

I know, I know. Enough surprising confessions.

I saw No Reservations yesterday, and I had read some bad reviews of it (well, I didn’t really the reviews themselves. I just saw that the overall ratings were mediocre) and I kept waiting for the part where I got irritated with the movie (a la How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days or Sweet Home Alabama) and . . . I never did. I’m not saying it’s brilliant or that it has great things to say about male/female relationships (or women in the workplace) or that I want to watch it repeatedly. Just that, for two hours, I enjoyed myself. There are worse things in life. I took my aunt for her very belated birthday present, and she loved it. So there you go.

I have decided that one of my primary love languages is fresh vegetables. Homegrown vegetables, to be specific. Seriously. Mike and I keep failing at our tomato and pepper and cucumber efforts (WHAT ARE WE DOING WRONG?), and when people give me homegrown tomatoes, it’s like manna from heaven. It means more than I can tell you. I love love love fresh tomatoes. When someone offered me some at church yesterday, I was really touched. I can’t wait to make a salad tonight. Someone should give me some cucumbers, too. Anyone? If I had nice vegetables, I would love giving them to people. I would give them proudly. “LOOK WHAT I GREW!” Also, I would make lots of salsa. Maybe one day.

I was going to make some Afghanistanani treats for my book club tomorrow (A Thousand Splendid Suns), but I forgot to buy the ingredients at the special store. I read the “snacks for Tuesday” as “snacks for Friday.” Chocolate chip cookies it is!

I’m reading an interesting book . . . after I started it, I read a review that said that it would be good for fans of Philippa Gregory and Girl with a Pearl Earring, and I was like, “Great, I like both of those things.” But even then I was finding it a little slow, so I checked the ending. And, wow, it took some twists I did not expect. And I totally ruined it for myself. When I told Mike, he cackled with glee. He hates it when I ruin the end. He was glad it came back to bite me in the butt this time.

Can you tell I’m bored, internet? It’s boring at my house.

The first sunrise I remember seeing was when we lived in Gibsonville, which means I was probably 4 or 5. I remember my mom drinking her coffee, but I don’t remember if anyone else was there or why I was up. The sun was red that morning as it slipped over the horizon. In middle school, when I was at the beach with a friend, she always wanted to get up and watch the sun rise. In college, even though I consider myself a morning person, there were times I’d stay awake until almost sunrise. I never really see the appeal of watching the sun come up, to be honest. As much as I like mornings, seeing the sun just means that you’re awake really early. I prefer evening - watching the stars come out.

I don’t know the last time I was out driving by myself before sunrise. We left to take Mike to the airport at 4:30 this morning, and as I drove home, drinking my coffee (my only task this morning was to make sure there was coffee) and listening to my Gilmore Girls playlist, I watched as the eastern sky started growing brighter, ever so slightly. While I am thrilled for Mike that he gets to go to Costa Rica and play with sea turtles, I have not been thrilled about this trip in general, mostly because I won’t be able to be in touch with him. Our relationship was formed in an age of email and cell phones, so the idea of not being able to talk to him until he comes back next Sunday night is a little overwhelming. I worry both about something happening to him and something happening here while I can’t get in touch with him. I worry about the fragility of life. As I confessed to him last night, even when he’s here I worry almost every time I answer the phone that something has happened to him or to someone I love. This trip also means that the summer is pretty much over, and that he’ll be starting his final year of school. We have a lot of changes ahead.

But, as Grant Lee Phillips sang this morning, “Ain’t nothing that stays the same / I won’t ask it of you.” Last night I did try to convince Mike to stay, but we both knew he couldn’t. And I wouldn’t really ask him to. This trip, this time without contact is something new for us. We have a lot of new things ahead in the coming months. I want to enjoy this time to myself, take advantage of it. This morning, that meant not going back to bed, but staying up and reading the paper (which was here when I got back), making plans for the day.

I tend to want things to stay the same. It’s good that I’m married to someone who doesn’t feel that same way, who gets excited about our new adventures. This week he’s off on his great Sea Turtle Adventure, but I hope to have some adventures of my own.

(And also to get some more sleep. Getting up at 4:00 is not my favorite.)

After 21 hours of reading (it takes longer when you read out loud, but the advantage is that we hear every single word and that if we get confused about something, there’s someone to consult), we finished Deathly Hallows at almost 2:00 on Sunday morning. At that time, we were both like, “We enjoyed it,” and we felt satisfied, but we agreed it wasn’t our favorite. After finally getting some sleep and some distance on the reading marathon, we both agreed that we liked it a little better. I was surprised at how many people loved it right away. It won’t ever be my favorite of the books, but it was very satisfying and had some great moments, which is quite a feat for something so anticipated. I am content. It wasn’t a perfect book. I thought it could have been tighter in some places. But I am satisfied with it and happy with the very moving story we were given.

I hated for it all to be over, though, so when Mike went to a concert Sunday night, I started the book again. (I didn’t make it very far before falling asleep around 9:30.) I read it more slowly this time, reading some other books in between and going back to check passages in previous books for clarification. That first post dealt primarily with the facts, what we got right and what we got wrong. Here are some of my thoughts and responses now that I am reading it again and now that it has sunk in a little more. Spoilers, obviously. And it’s a little long.

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Full disclosure: I hate circuses. It’s not the clowns or the acrobats, it’s the animals. I’m not a PETA member or anything like that, but the animal performances make me uncomfortable . . . there are allegations that even the biggest circuses mistreat the animals, and I find it hard to believe it doesn’t happen. Nor do I like the “freak show” aspects of circuses. I just find them distasteful. So, I didn’t want to read Water for Elephants, because I knew it would be about the seedy side of circus life, and I am uncomfortable enough with circuses as it is. But my book club seemed interested, so I thought I’d read it to see if it would be any good for them. I’m still undecided.

Water for Elephants is the story of Jacob Jankowski, a veterinary student who ends up working with the animals in the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth. The book is basically a “behind the scenes” look at a 1930s circus, with Jacob, the newcomer, as our guide. The circus stories alternate with modern-day Jacob, now in his 90s and living in a nursing home.

I thought this was a pretty good book, though, as expected, the animal stuff could get kind of gross (heck, the people stuff could get kind of gross). I liked Jacob as a character, but I didn’t get involved in the story all that much. I did very much like the character of Rosie the elephant . . . when she was introduced, I didn’t realize she’d be as crucial to the story as she was. I can see why people liked it so much, but . . . I think my dislike of circuses made it hard for me to appreciate or enjoy it. If it sounds interesting to you, you’ll probably enjoy it, but I should have stuck with my first instinct, I think.

Our Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows release party pictures are up on Flickr.

For the record, we did not get spoiled between the party and the parking lot, even without our iPods. We had a grand old time. I love geeking out with people I don’t even know.

QUESTION: How many times will Kari cry?

QUESTION: How many times will Mike cry?

Let’s just say that one of us cried more than expected and the other cried less than expected and leave it at that, shall we?

Actual Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows spoilers below.

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I liked this book, sort of. I had a hard time with the main character’s compulsive spending at first, because it’s not something I can really relate to. But I did appreciate how, over the course of the book, she made an effort to change that, to be a more generous person, to give of her time and money to those in need rather than surrounding herself with stuff.

The problem was that one of the things that helped her do that was that a kangaroo jumped in front of her car and caused an accident. I still don’t quite understand whether that was actually supposed to have happened or whether we were supposed to think she was hallucinating. I mean . . . a kangaroo. In America. What the heck, right? Maybe I missed the part where it was supposed to have escaped from the zoo? Or maybe it was just symbolic of something?

I also felt like the husband wasn’t a fully realized character - the main character, Heather, spent most of her time wondering why her husband, Jace, loved her. And for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you, either.

The first part of the book was kind of difficult to get through, because Heather seemed all over the place, and I couldn’t sympathize. Later in the book, when she was breaking herself of her spending habits and making an effort to deal with some of her guilt, I thought that things came together better. By the end, I was wishing we’d spent more time with the back half of the story and had a little less on the front half.

I can see why the Women of Faith would choose this as their novel of the year, because I think that a lot of women in this country feel as Heather did - trapped by their “stuff,” wanting to give back but not sure how to make the steps to do so. At the same time, I can’t recommend the book. Mostly because of the kangaroo.

From J.K. Rowling’s website today:

We are almost there! As launch night looms, let’s all, please, ignore the misinformation popping up on the web and in the press on the plot of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I’d like to ask everyone who calls themselves a Potter fan to help preserve the secrecy of the plot for all those who are looking forward to reading the book at the same time on publication day. In a very short time you will know EVERYTHING!

It’s hard to talk about this without starting with the ending, so I’m going to kind of work backwards from the postscript.

Two people met on a hot May day, and never later mentioned their meeting. This is how it was.

The postscript is both unbearably sad and exactly as it should be. No matter how much we know about a person, no matter how well we know someone, we can’t possess all their thoughts and experiences. There are events between two people that no one else will ever know about, conversations that go unrecorded. We don’t know other people’s private thoughts. As much as Roland and Maud and Leonora and Blackadder and Cropper and Beatrice think that they solved the mystery . . . they didn’t. There are still a lot of things they don’t know, too (and therefore that we do not know), like what exactly the relationship between Christabel and Blanche was, whether they were just friends or whether it actually was a “Boston marriage,” and the things that Ellen edited out of her journal, about her difficulties. They don’t know what was in Ash’s letter(s) that Ellen burned, as much as it pains Cropper to know that there is information that was lost.

The part of the postscript that is the most poignant to me is, I think, the hair. Ash says to Ellen, “In my watch. Her hair. Tell her.” But Christabel never knows the truth.

This is a good place to talk about Ellen, so I’m going to jump from the postscript to a discussion of her. Her journal and thoughts are some of the things I think of when I think of this book, mostly because she has been kept off stage pretty much the entire time, and then gives us insight into the entire situation. When I read this book, I don’t have the same trouble with it that I do sometimes with adultery stories, mostly, I think, because of Ellen herself, that glimpse we get into her thoughts at the end, her problems with sex that led to what seemed to be a sexless marriage. It was interesting to be focusing on this section right now, because I read On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan last week, and it’s about a married couple on their wedding night and the problems they run into. Their story does not end as . . . happily . . . I think Ellen and Ash were happy, truly, I do . . . On Chesil Beach doesn’t end as happily for that couple, and it was interesting to think what life could have been like for them if the man in the story had been more like Ash. It gave me more appreciation for him, actually.

When it came to the affair, Ellen was hurt and angry, I think, but also seemed a bit . . . resigned about what had happened. And that’s why I don’t get so angry myself – I don’t want to excuse Ash for having an affair, but neither do I think Ellen should have withheld sex. Even if I don’t agree with what happened, I understand it, and I can’t blame one person without acknowledging that the other person had something to do with it. It’s like life, I think. Not so black-and-white that one person is completely in the wrong.

Were you surprised that the baby had lived? Had you guessed, as the lawyer had, that Christabel’s family had taken in the baby and raised it as their own? I do love the idea that Maud’s quest turned out to be searching for the truth of her own heritage, that she’s descended from them both.

Roland and Maud had quite a bit of trouble in this section. I always relate, when it comes to these class issues, more to Roland than to Maud. I have done what Roland does here, put my hackles up and been sensitive about money/class issues, even when I didn’t mean to. We’ve been watching Maud evolve throughout the book, growing less cold and more open, but it was interesting that what it took for Roland was the job offers. I love the scene where he realizes that, as much time as he has spent on Ash, they are two separate people. And while it’s very sad, I love the scene where he realizes that, in finding the letter, he did, in a sense, lose Randolph Henry Ash. Only after all of those things can he finally, finally go into the garden. He and Maud get the ending they deserve – each of them progressing in their careers, each of them finally learning to move past the white room with the small bed and into a real relationship.

I think it’s somewhat surprising to see that this book ends in a dramatic confrontation in a graveyard at midnight. I mean, that’s not what you’d expect, right? That seems more Da Vinci Code than literary detection. But I like that, in the end, all of them are there in that room with that box because they want to know the truth, and, yes, some of the details of ownership are going to need to be ironed out, but . . . in the end, the possession of information was much more important than the items themselves.

Other than that, I don’t have much more to say. This was my favorite time reading this book through, so I just want to say thanks for giving me the chance to actually dig into it. I enjoy this book so much, the themes of love and scholarship and sex and ownership. Thanks for playing along!

Just for fun, here’s my copy, so you can see what I did to it this summer.

It just took us a while to get some of the bowling pictures up. Look at this awesome cake my friend made for me.

She’s totally a rockstar.

If bookstores and websites can put out books full of Harry Potter predictions, why can’t Mike and I get in on that game? Well, we don’t have a publisher, but other than that, why can’t we get in on that game? So, here is our giant post full of our best Harry Potter predictions. You don’t have to pay to read our post. And, when we are more right than all those books, we will laugh in their faces. Laugh, I say! And so, in no particular order, here are the predictions of Mike and Kari, sometimes with the added bonus of percentages that mean very little. You may notice that we don’t completely agree on everything. I should go ahead and confess that this post is less about gloating over Borders or MuggleNet, who would care very little. That’s right, it’s about eternal Harry Potter gloating rights. We’ll revisit this post after Deathly Hallows to see who is the most right.

Gentle reader, I desperately want to be the most right. But I am sure you know that about me already.

QUESTION: How many times will Kari cry?

MIKE: Twice per chapter.

KARI: Are we including the party? Because, embarrassingly enough, I have had to fight back tears at midnight when all the kids are cheering. Kids cheering! For a book! I love that! So, once at the party, three times during the book itself. And then, after finishing, for the rest of the day.

MIKE: Three times during the book itself? Know thyself! I amend your answer for you. Ten times at the very least.

QUESTION: How many times will Mike cry?

MIKE: Five. I mean this is it. The end.

KARI: Mike will only cry if something happens to Ginny.

Actual speculative discussion of theories and ideas below the cut. If you don’t like thinking about this stuff, beware. (But we don’t know any spoilers. It’s all speculation from the books and from things she’s said.)

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It’s hard to live a life filled with wonder. I get glimpses of it when we play with kids, when summer nights stretch out hot and humid in front of us, at Christmas, when I eat something that tastes amazing, when something I have been looking forward to finally happens. But most of my life isn’t like that. I get caught up in my regular routine: getting to work, cracking open a Diet Coke, processing books, going home, making dinner, cleaning the house. It’s hard to find a day of rest in the midst of all that has to be done at work and at home, and it can be hard to remember to be excited about life in the middle of summer when you’d rather be relaxing by the pool.

When I think about people in my life who have taught me about wonder, I think about my dad. It’s a well-documented fact that he was the one who was most excited on Christmas morning, but he lived like that, too, I think. He would take us out of school to go shopping for Mom’s birthday, or to the State Fair, or just to go with him to school (when he was in school after some health problems). I think he was trying to teach us about taking time for what’s important. He certainly always tried to emphasize that there were things he wanted for us much more than good grades, no matter how proud he was of our good grades (and he was very proud of them).

When it came to faith, what I got from my dad was a sense of gratitude that he was allowed to participate at all. I am sure that shaped the way that I think about faith – I am a person who likes to have answers, but when it comes to my faith, I’d rather not try to spell out each theological point. I am much more comfortable with embracing the mystery, being thankful that we can be a part of something so much bigger than ourselves.

When my dad was sick, one of the things he said was that some people see the glass as half full, some see it as half empty, but, as for him, his cup runneth over. I would like, someday, to embrace life like he did, rather than just living.

Waterdeep is a band I always associate with my dad. I have no idea if he ever heard their music at all, but I think he would have liked them, their jangly sound and their take on life. I think he and Don Chaffer could have been friends, actually, and I think he would have thought their music was pretty great. Their new song, “Good Good End,” makes me think of my dad: “I’m amazed by life, and it’s amazed by me / We’re a strange old pair, me and eternity,” is not something he would have said, but I think he would have agreed with the sentiment. What a blessing that we’re here. What a mystery that life doesn’t stop here. What a miracle that, in the end, Jesus will be waiting for us. I miss my dad, but I am thankful he has found his good good end.

You can leave right now
You can ring a bell
You can tell ‘em you think I ain’t doin’ too well
But when I stood like you
I eventually fell
So you can leave right now
Go on and ring your bell

I’m amazed by life
And it’s amazed by me
We’re a strange old pair, me and eternity
It don’t make good sense
It ain’t easy to see
But I’m amazed by life
And it’s amazed by me

It’s a long hard road
With a good, good end
And if I keep on walking on past the crooked bend
I will meet my Maker
I will meet my Friend
It’s a long hard road
With a good, good end

Let’s talk about some of the things I got for my birthday. I want to see if you notice a theme.

Mike gave me a pie pan, an apron, a pie cookbook, and other pie gadgets.

My mom gave me another baking stone, which I can always use, and which is especially useful for Christmas baking.

My aunt gave me a Singer sewing machine.

Wait. A. Second. I’m Susie Homemaker! Holy crap! When did this happen? I assume that after I master all of those, I will start canning all my own food and baking my own bread. Oh, and gardening. I’ll be growing all my own vegetables, obviously. After that, I’ll need a larger freezer to store all of the meals I prepare in advance. That is of course on top of all the pies I’m baking and the clothes I’m sewing.

Or maybe I could just finally learn how to knit. Yes, I like that plan much better.

When I was growing up, it didn’t seem like a stretch for a person to be a Christian and also to believe that evolution was the way that God chose to create the world. These days, though, Intelligent Design seems to mean that very clear lines are drawn and you have to pick a side. What’s especially confusing is that each side has information on how the other side is distorting the facts. Or flat-out lying. I’m not science-y enough to want to invest a whole lot of time in it, so I mostly tune out that whole conversation. I know people I trust on both sides of the debate: thoughtful, considerate people who think evolution is a lie from hell and committed Christians who believe in evolution. I used to know more in the first group, but lately I meet more in the second.

Maybe I’m just being dense, but I don’t understand why there’s a problem with believing that God used evolution. To me, that doesn’t take away from God at all. And I assume I’ll get all kinds of hate mail and comments about . . . I don’t know, the fossil record or something, but, as I said before, both sides seem to have different facts and interpretations. It just makes me tired.

Which brings me to this book: Evolution, Me, & Other Freaks of Nature. Mena, a high school freshman, was basically in the youth group from Saved! before she got kicked out for doing something she thought was right. Now they’ve turned all their venom on her, pushing her into lockers and generally making her life miserable. Mena makes a new friend in her lab partner, Casey, and when the science teacher, Ms. Shepherd, begins teaching a unit on evolution, Mena watches her old friends’ antics (turning their backs on the teacher, interrupting to demand that Intelligent Design be taught) for the first time as an outsider.

I loved this book. I loved that Mena continued to believe in God even though the church kicked her out, that she didn’t write off God even though her former friends weren’t acting in a very Christlike way to her. I liked that she learned about both science and faith and that they don’t have to be at odds. I loved Ms. Shepherd, who was passionate about science and teaching, and who infected her students with that excitement. My favorite character was probably Casey, her lab partner. Mena’s family is very strict about media, and when he found out she had never seen or read The Lord of the Rings, his dramatic response had me laughing out loud.

The only thing I wasn’t sure about was how realistic Mena’s parents’ response was to her getting kicked out of youth group. For most of the book, they gave her the silent treatment, because they were affected by the decision Mena made that got her kicked out of youth group. I am not a parent, and I agree that Mena should probably have talked to someone about what was going on before she did what she did, but it’s hard for me to believe a parent wouldn’t have been proud of Mena for standing up for what was right (and I think Mena did what was right, not just what she thought was right). At the very least, wouldn’t they have talked to her about it? I would have liked that relationship to be fleshed out a little more, I think, because even the confrontation in the end wasn’t quite enough for me. Maybe it was too much to believe that Mena’s parents would understand her right away, though, and we are just supposed to see them taking steps to work out their differences. That’s real life, to be sure. We don’t wrap things up like a sitcom. But it did leave me a little unsatisfied.

In the end, Mena learns a powerful lesson about science, belief, and the separation of church and state. Not only that, but she also gains a little perspective on her parents and her old friends, learning to consider how her decisions affect other people. This is Robin Brande’s first book, which comes out in August, and I look forward to reading more of her work.

Until Friday, Mike and I had never been bowling together. Isn’t that weird? One time at a conference, he went bowling and I watched because I didn’t bring any socks with me. That’s the only time I’ve seen him bowl. I hadn’t bowled since . . . high school, maybe middle school.

There’s no real reason we hadn’t been bowling. I mean, lots of people don’t bowl regularly. It’s something you tend to do more of when you are younger, right? Birthday parties and the like? Unless you are in a bowling league, you probably don’t bowl much either. Are you in a bowling league? I did not know that about you.

Plus, I broke my right wrist when I was in elementary school, and, frankly, bowling hurts. I always try to turn my hand around at the last second so that I don’t have to support the ball with my wrist. This not only hurts, it makes me a terrible bowler. This time, however, I was resolved to be a good sport about it, so I wore a brace on my wrist. The good thing about bowling with a brace is that it helps a whole lot with the pain. The bad thing is that wearing a brace makes it look like you know what you are doing. I do not know what I am doing.

Everyone we were with knew my tale of woe, and I was prepared for them to make fun of me anyway, because that’s how we roll. But they also cheered me on, because they knew that just getting the ball down the lane is quite an accomplishment for me. What I did not expect was to bowl two strikes in a row. Two strikes in a row! What in the world?! My brace was magical! Or perhaps the yellow bracelet that my friends purchased from a vending machine in honor of my birthday was what was magical. I wore it over the brace to give me some extra flair. It went well with the shoes.

So, in the first game, I bowled a 91! A 91! I know! I can’t believe it either! Even better, I beat Mike! He definitely beat me in the other two games (I did break 50 in both of those games, which is something, at least), but I can always hold on to the fact that I beat him in the first game of bowling we ever played.

It’s still new for me to be willing to put myself in situations where I suck, and to be okay with my friends teasing me about it. I attribute the willingness to the fact that I am so much more comfortable with who I am, which makes me more comfortable with my friends. I was prepared to suck, and that would have been hard. It was such a grace to find that I didn’t suck quite as much as I thought, a silly thing that made the evening even more fun.

Were you surprised? Had you guessed? I can’t remember if I was surprised when I read it the first time, but I remember being like, “Ohhhh, so that’s what’s going on. A baby.”

I didn’t read these chapters twice, either, probably because the journal was quite long enough once, which is not to say I found it uninteresting, just long. But I think I will break this one down by chapter and then sum up my thoughts at the end. Ready?

Chapter 16: The Fairy Melusine. Of course, this isn’t all of the poem, but I think that this part is significant because of the way that Christabel acts. I said last week that I found her unsympathetic, and that is, of course, also how she is portrayed in these chapters as well. But look at this: “But let the Power take a female form / And ’tis the Power is punished. All men shrink / from dire Medusa and her writhing locks. / Who weeps for Scylla in her cave of bones, / Thrashing her tail and howling for her fate / With yelping hound-mouths, though she once was fair, / Love by the sea-god for her mystery, / Daughter of Hecate, beautiful as Night? / Who weeps the fall of Hydra’s many heads? / The siren sings and sings, and virtuous men / Bind ears and eyes and sail resolved away / From all her pain that what she loves must die, / That her desire, though lovely in her song / Is mortal in her kiss to mortal men. / The feline Sphinx roamed free as air and smiled / IN the dry desert at those foolish men / Who saw not that her crafted Riddle’s clue / Was merely Man, bare man, no Mystery. / But when they found it out they spilt her blood / For her presumption and her Monstrous shape. / Man named Himself and thus assumed the Power / Over his Questioner, til then his Fate– / After, his Slave and victim.” In some way, I feel that this is Christabel’s answer to the question of why she behaves as she does, both before, during, and after the trip with Ash. No matter how much she cares for him, she is deeply aware of how she has been treated because she is a woman, and, given the end of the chapter, she is deeply aware of her power as a woman, and feels the need to use it.

Chapter 17: Oh, Fergus. Stop sneaking around. No good can come of it. You fill me with a sense of dread.

Chapter 18: Oh, Blanche. I found the part about the “volcanic stones” especially heartbreaking. She used the stones from the trip to drown herself. I keep meaning to read “Merlin and Vivien,” but I haven’t done it yet, so I don’t know if the reference that keeps being made to that painting of Blanche’s is significant. I’ll try to get it read this week, finally. I like watching Maud with Leonora, because (I think I said this before) I am afraid of Leonora, too, but I also find her very likable. I think I would be the same as Maud - dreading her visits and then remembering how warm and friendly and alive she is. Oh, Cropper. Stop mucking with things. Look what you did. If Maud and Roland have to escape, it’s your own fault. (I don’t really believe it’s his fault, because I feel like something had to force them on their Quest. So, thanks, Cropper.)

Chapter 19: Again, the imagery in Christabel’s poem is significant, I think, as the lady of Is refuses to admit the danger until it’s too late and the city is drowned. We get yet another perspective here, Sabine’s journal. So, did you guess that she’d be pregnant? Were you surprised by what happened with the baby? One of the most interesting parts of the journal was, I think, Gode’s story. Do you think it affected Christabel because she’d made a decision about what to do with the baby? Or because she hadn’t? She is so, so unsympathetic here, in these journals. So unkind to people who only wanted to help her. And yet, I’m not unaware of what she has given up - her happy home with Blanche, destroyed. Her relationship with Ash, over and done with except for an unwanted pregnancy. I did notice that, like Maud, she cut her hair. Maud has grown hers back out . . . is there anyone who can give Christabel the strength to recover herself?

Chapter 20: So, what happened, exactly, that day at the seance? If you are anything like me, you spent a lot of the book before this wondering why the seance/medium discussions were there. How do you think Ash knew about the baby? And can I just say that I love that Leonora helps Blackadder buck up and handle the media storm. What an unlikely friendship.

This is the section in which everything seems to come together: the Breton legends, the discussions of mysticism, even the characters overlap. The whole book has been leading up to this section, the mystery of the result of Christabel and Ash’s relationship, even if we don’t have all the answers yet. It seems to speak for itself, and, knowing what is to come, I am a bit afraid of saying too much. So I will just say: I look forward to finding out how you enjoy the ending next week.

The New York Times says so. Who are you to argue with The New York Times?

1. We ate more of my pie last night, and I liked it better than I did on Wednesday. The flavors combined a little better. So that’s interesting. Mike very loyally said that he liked it exactly the same on both days.

2. Did you see the pictures of the fantastic meal that Mike made for me on my birthday? Spinach and sun-dried Tomato gnocchi with Gorgonzola cream sauce, people. Veggie tapenade with wheat bread. Shrimp. Cheese. Olives. He’s the best.

3. I made a chocolate chip kahlua cake to take to work for my birthday, and this is all that was left of it. For the record, it was not dry and mealy. It’s a very moist cake. In case anyone wanted to ask. You know who you are.

Before yesterday, here is what I knew about making your own pie crust:

MOM: “Making your own pie crust is overrated.”

That’s all. I’ve only used store-bought crust. Making your own pie crust seemed like a feat of mythical proportions. And, actually, I’ve had people compliment store-bought crust before. So my mom (who knows how to make her own pie crust, for the record, and just chooses not to) could be right. But, after seeing Waitress, I was determined to learn, so Mike bought me a bunch of supplies including a fancy-schmancy pie pan, an apron, and a pie cookbook for my birthday present. I decided that instead of my usual flag cake for the 4th, we’d have pie. Blueberry and strawberry.

I chose to make a cream cheese based crust. Here I am mixing it together.

And here is the beautiful fruit. I don’t use that bowl as much as I should. It worked really well yesterday.

Here I am sorting the fruit. Mike kept sticking the camera in my face. hehe.

The crust was, obviously, the scary part. I had only ever used the frozen ones that are already lined for you. Don’t look at me like that. You know you enjoyed it. But I managed to get it in the pan okay. I just didn’t roll them out large enough. I’ll know better for next time.

Here is the actual fruit in the crust. Mmmmmmmm. Makes me hungry right now.

I hope, I hope it works!

And here I am trying to seal the sides of the crust. Since I didn’t roll the crust out large enough, I am not doing this right. But doesn’t it look cute just the same?

Pie in the oven!

Turning the pie!

And, finally, the finished product.

(Plus one picture with an American flag bandana, just for Scott.)

Since I didn’t exactly know what I was doing, there are clearly some things I could improve on. But it worked out okay. The blueberries were pretty tart, but the juices were sweet, so it ended up being a nice combination of flavors.

This was the most low-key 4th of July we’d had in a while – the past several years have seen us busy celebrating with friends and family, but this year Mike and I stayed home and read and baked and grilled steak. He ended up not having to do his radio show last night, so we got to go see the fireworks with Melissa and her sister instead. The fireworks were truly fantastic (you can see our pictures here). The place we parked was truly a bad idea. I was frustrated last night, but after a decent night’s sleep, I have decided that I don’t want the long wait to overshadow the really nice time we had. (That’s not to say we’d go to the same place next time, though.) I love fireworks. I love how life just stops for them, people pulling over by the side of the road, traffic ceasing. I love the moment when the first one goes up in the air and the crowd makes a collective gasp. I love how everyone applauds, even if you’re in a field far away from where they’re actually being set off. And I love that I can pretend that they’re for me. That joke never gets old. (To me. I think other people find it tiresome. But maybe that is because they are jealous that they don’t get fireworks before their birthdays.)

I have enjoyed the fun and frivolity of past Birthday Weekends (I mean, really, last year’s Birthday Weekend was one of the greatest weekends of my life), but a quieter time was what I needed this year. The past year has been dramatic and draining, and I just needed for things to be low-key. I feel like I say that all the time – “low-key.” In October, it was practically the theme of an entire weekend. I am thankful for the smaller festivities this year, the friends who have helped me celebrate. And for Mike, who encouraged me to achieve one of my goals, and who is putting together a fantastic meal for the evening.

Mike and I went to Charleston last week. I maybe forgot to tell almost everybody we were leaving. Sorry about that. To make up for that, here is some helpful information about our trip so that when you plan your next trip, you can take my advice and pretend that you are us.

We went to see the Charleston RiverDogs, and I want to give a PSA about that: The game was a steaming pile of crap. Seriously. They are in the same league as the Grasshoppers, and our stadium is so much more awesome. And our announcer isn’t lame. They even made me feel like Spaz was awesome (though I don’t hate Spaz like Alisa does – I mostly find him amusing). The game itself was not well-played, and I won’t deny that I’ve been to some poorly played Grasshoppers games, but this was a new and awful level of crap.

That’s not to say that we had a bad time. We had a great time. There was a bouncy baseball castle! I just wish that the game hadn’t gone into extra innings so we could have seen the fireworks. So that I don’t sound like a total fiend, I will say that it was very touching to see the players wearing Charleston Fire Department hats, in memory of the fallen firefighters.

Here are some other public service announcements about Charleston. These are much happier. And about food!

We went, once again, to Hominy Grill, where grits are good for you. And they are. So good. The food was once again fantastic. Shrimp and grits, people. Shrimp and grits. Anthony Hopkins thinks Hominy Grill is great, too. I know because there was a picture of him there. Oddly, the picture was in the bathroom. Not taken in the bathroom – hanging in the bathroom. But we all know what happens if you don’t listen to Anthony Hopkins: HE EATS YOUR FACE. Go to Hominy Grill. Your face is so pretty. You want it to stay like that, DON’T YOU?

We also revisited Jestine’s Kitchen for more fantastic food. Jestine’s has been featured in O magazine. If anyone has more power than Anthony Hopkins, it’s probably Oprah. Do what Oprah says. Go to Jestine’s. She could possibly get Anthony Hopkins to eat your face if you defy her. And why would you defy her? Look at these pictures of our food! Why would you not want that? Look how happy I am! I had Coca-Cola cake! And Mike had Pineapple Bread Pudding! Not to mention our meatloaf! So good it makes me weep. I’m crying right now.

One final food PSA: Mike and I went to Five Loaves Café before the RiverDogs game. We found this place on a website, and there are three locations in Charleston, but it’s not a chain. Only in Charleston. You guys, this place was awesome, too! The food was so good! I would go there every week! If I lived in Charleston! Half-price bottles of wine on Tuesdays and Fridays!

We clearly ate very well. Other things we did: float around in the pool. That’s pretty much it. That’s how we roll.

This week went by quickly for me, thanks to my vacation. And so, I must admit that I only read these chapters once. While floating around in the pool. Tough life, I have.

So, anyway, I don’t have tons of individual notes, since I didn’t have my post-its out at the pool (I am going to post a picture of my book and how post-it-filled it is at the end), but I thought I might break this one down chapter by chapter, if that’s okay. I think that this section, with the way that Maud and Roland figure out what happened by matching up the poets’ own words and the story of Ash and LaMotte’s trip, is my favorite part of the whole book, and what I remember when I think about the book. And I don’t want to spoil the movie, but I thought that this part of the movie, where Roland and Maud, Christabel and Randolph were all in the same place (though many years separated them), was very well done.

Chapter 11 is Ash’s Swammerdam poem. I have done pretty well this time through with understanding the poetry and matching it up to what she was trying to do/evoke, but this one is kind of mysterious to me. I do appreciate the fact that Ash had Christabel (why do I want to call him by his last name and her by her first name?) in mind when he was writing it, which, to me, makes the ending, about questioning, more interesting. You can kind of see how its religious bent grew out of their discussions. And I know Andrea had some comments/ideas/perspective on the “science” aspect. That’s probably part of why I check out a bit on that poem. I mean, come on. It’s about microscopes. hehe. I did actually read this chapter twice, for the record. Not that it helped. After I wrote this paragraph, I went and looked at the reader’s guide, which asks the question in this way:

Ash writes “Swammerdam” with a particular reader, Christabel LaMotte, in mind. Is Christabel’s influence on Ash evident in the poem, and if so, how and where? How, in the poem, does Ash address his society’s preoccupation with science and religion? How does he address his and Christabel’s conflicting religious ideas? How does Christabel herself present these ideas in Mélusine [which we will get to in Chapter 16]?

Chapter 12 is Roland and Maud beginning to piece together what happened. I especially like the scene with Maud and Beatrice, because Beatrice, who has seemed so . . . dull, understands very quickly that something is going on. I also like how Beatrice is very protective of Ellen, knows that there’s something more to her, but she can’t quite figure out what it is or why the diary would have been written “to baffle.” There are definitely indications of something deeper going on with Ellen, things she is choosing not to say in her diary, as well as the idea that she is very uncomfortable with the idea that her maid is pregnant and the example her own mother gave when it came to treating servants. And Blanche’s role in this whole story is also beginning to come clear, as we find out the moves she made to protect her home and her friend from the danger as she saw it. But what was the “evidence,” and what did Ellen do with it? I also liked that Blanche’s suicide note from all those years ago was echoed in Val’s words in the modern day: each considering herself superfluous.

Chapter 13 is the next piece of literary detection, as Roland and Maud actually follow Ash and Christabel on their (supposed) journey. This is where they find that the poetry matches up, and I like that because it becomes apparent that Christabel was intentionally placing clues in her poetry, more than just the “Dolly” poem.

In this section, most significantly in this chapter, we again run into the idea that perhaps we see things through too much of a sexual lens. I think that Roland speaks for the author when he disagrees with Leonora’s oversexualization of every aspect of life. We also see Maud feeling that Cropper put quite a bit of himself in the biography he wrote on Ash, another instance when the author is probably speaking to us through her character.

Chapter 14 is fairly short, and contains the scene I always think of when I think of what Roland and Maud are doing: the scene where they see the waterfall and Maud realizes that a poem that Christabel has written was inspired by what she must have seen on that trip. And, finally, Maud and Roland have become comfortable enough with each other to spend some time talking, getting to know each other. Maud, fulfilling the earlier idea that we mentioned, begins to let her hair down.

Chapter 15: Did it surprise you when it switched to a different perspective, that we got the poets’ story not only from their letters/journals? Did you know we were going to know for sure what happened on their trip? I’m not sure I have anything more to say about it than that . . . it feels almost intrusive to say more about their trip. These last two chapters are more “traditional romance” than anything else we’ve gotten so far.

So, how is it going? Do you find this section as interesting as I do? Any comments on the piecing together of the evidence or the poets’ trip or Ellen Ash or Swammerdam? The next chapter, if you haven’t already looked, is Christabel’s Fairy Melusine poem, and I expect I’ll have more to say about that than I did about Swammerdam. I haven’t read it yet, but when I was reviewing things for today, I realized that in last week’s reading, I completely missed that Roland looking through the keyhole at Maud in the bathroom was paralleling what we know about the Melusine legend. I am looking forward to that.

And, one last thing - I think we can do two more weeks instead of three. So we’ll plan on reading chapters 16-20 next week and finishing it up the week after. In my copy, the last eight chapters + epilogue are only 120 pages, so it makes more sense to do that than to stretch it out. Plus, if we don’t finish it on the 16th, we’ll be pushing it back to the 23rd. And we’d rather be talking Harry Potter that week, I think. hehe.