Through a Glass, Darkly

Yesterday I went to an event at UNCG featuring Margaret Maron, an author whose work I greatly enjoy. I went with some women from my work book club, and after the event was over, they planned to drive home and I was supposed to meet up with Mike, who was studying at Starbucks. Before parting ways with them, they said, “Now where are you meeting your husband?” “At the coffeeshop,” I said, waving vaguely, knowing that they wouldn’t want me to walk all that way, but not wanting to ask for a ride. I called Mike, who said he was extremely comfortable and that I should walk as we had discussed. No problem, I thought, except that part of where I was going didn’t really have any sidewalks. And thus began my adventure.

First, let me say that I was excited about walking, because it agrees with my principles. Yay for exercise! Yay for being outdoors and communing with nature, for saving gas, for taking time instead of rushing around! All of these things are great! Not so great: the blazer I was wearing and the heavy bag I was carrying. But still, I relished the idea that I could walk and eschew my cell phone and my iPod (I left the headphones at work even if I had wanted to listen to it, but that is not the point, is it). I started by . . . not finding any sidewalks. So instead of following the road I needed to be on, I cut through the practice golf course at UNCG, praying that no one would hit me. An adventure already! I was only vaguely familiar with that part of the campus, having run there during my jogging class. (Yes, I took jogging. And got an A. Shut up.)

Basically, right away there was a problem. When I got to the first street, there was no place to cross legally. I walked west for a bit to find a crosswalk, and, not finding one, dashed across the street with my plastic bag banging into my leg. Also, my blazer was starting to get oppressively warm.

At the next street, I had to head a block back east to find a place to cross. There were crosswalks, and I managed to head in the right direction, going into a neighborhood and then trespassing through someone’s yard to finally make my way back to the street I was actually trying to follow, which finally had actual sidewalks that I could use. What a novel idea, these sidewalks. For people to walk on! This is around the time when Alisa called me, wanting to know where the heck I was and should she come pick me up. I am nothing, however, if not stubborn. I had done the hard part with the crazy street-crossing, I said. I was almost there. I took off my blazer.

Problem again. I got to the next street I needed to cross, the largest yet, and there were sidewalks on the other side of the street, but not the side I needed to be on. I am tough, though, so I . . . trespassed some more, walking through people’s front yards. It really would have been better if I’d just crossed the street, I think. It was shadier over there. I called Mike and gave him a hard time. He asked where I was, and refused to come and pick me up, citing the fact that I was so close.

After I got off the phone with Mike, there were sidewalks for the rest of the way. Oh, no, wait, that’s not true. There were sidewalks for the rest of the time that I was on that road, but I had to take a right to make it to Starbucks, and there were no sidewalks on that side street. I did finally make it. Mike let me have his comfortable chair. I verbally abused him. Alisa gave me some Chipotle. I stopped sweating and was able to put my blazer back on.

When I got home, I checked the distance, and it turned out to be 1.7 miles. It took me 40 minutes to walk it, partly because of all the dodging in and out of neighborhoods that I had to do and partly because I was lugging a big bag (and, eventually, my blazer). In fact, I imagine that the women I went to the event with made it back to their homes over 25 miles away in the same amount of time that it took me to walk 1.7 miles, which is kind of sad and strange.

We used to live very close to where that Starbucks is, and I attended UNCG during that time, but I never walked to campus. Mostly because I thought, “Where are the sidewalks? How would I get there?” It was, basically, a little bit too far to walk, not to mention a little too difficult (jaywalking, trespassing). I hate it when my principles make me do things that are hard.

We have a friend who works for the city, and part of his job is to do things like encouraging people to walk or ride bikes to work. If I’d had his number yesterday, I would have called him and said things like, “I’m . . . walking . . . where . . . are . . . the . . . sidewalks?” Also, I would have verbally abused him. He enjoyed my story (he tried to discount the trespassing, but I told him that it was important for a story to have adventure) and, while we were talking, pulled up a map of where the city intends to put sidewalks, and the route I took was not included. So, don’t expect to be able to walk to Starbucks from UNCG any time soon. Unless you are incredibly principled. Which, you know, some of us are. (Never again!)

At least I got my new Chucks worn in a bit. But I am going to have to wash the blazer.

About two-thirds of the way through The Feast of Love, one of the characters muses that, “In truth, there are only two realities: the one for people who are in love or love each other, and the one for people who are standing outside that.” The secret is that the book doesn’t really believe that at all, offering the love of its characters to you in a way that welcomes rather than alienates.

I read this because Cheryl Klein described it as one of the books that had most moved her in the past few years, and if you can’t take the Harry Potter continuity editor’s advice on books, who can you trust? Seriously, though, I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but as I followed the stories of love, one person to another, I couldn’t help but agree that, for reasons I can’t really explain, the story really resonated with me. I hate to say this kind of thing, but when Mike asked me why I was crying, the only thing I could think of was, “The love that people have for each other is beautiful.” Lame, I know. I am actually fairly lame at heart when it comes to romance, though I hide it beneath my gruff exterior.

You are going to ask me about the movie, and I just don’t know if I am going to see it or not. I had thought I would after finishing the book, but . . . maybe not. This might be a case where I just let the book stand as it is.

I woke up in the middle of the night and reached over to the nightstand, fumbling around for my glasses. It took a few seconds before I realized that I don’t wear glasses anymore, but I suppose that something so ingrained in my being would be a hard habit to break. I wore glasses for over 20 years, barely even getting up to go to the bathroom without them. I can hardly expect one measly year to overturn the automatic responses of a lifetime.

Or maybe it’s just been that kind of a week. I left some laundry in the washer and some in the dryer on Sunday. The laundry that was in the dryer was no big deal, just some sheets that I’ll put back on our bed on Saturday morning. But . . . when considering those sheets, I apparently didn’t consider that I did need to get them out of the dryer, to make room for the clothes that were still in the washer on Thursday, when I went to put in a load since I had the afternoon off. Never in my grownup life have I forgotten a load of laundry for that long. Maybe my automatic responses are just . . . off this week. In all kinds of ways. (I was able to get the smell out. Thanks Arm and Hammer detergent. They didn’t pay me to say that.)

When my dad died, the most unhelpful comment that anyone made was this one, three days after his death: “Wait until you pick up the phone to call him and you realize he’s not there.” Well . . . thank you. That was just a delightful thing to say. And maybe that will happen one day, but I’ve spent most of this year being acutely aware that he wasn’t available, that my automatic response to call him when I needed help or advice or basketball smack talk was just not possible. It hasn’t slipped my mind. I haven’t found myself dialing his number accidentally.

But, given this week’s brain lapses, I don’t discount the possibility.

There are so many things that were huge parts of my life that just aren’t around anymore, things that shaped my week and my perspective and the way I saw myself. It was hard to imagine not needing my glasses, not being on top of the laundry, not being able to call my dad. But that’s the way things are now. And maybe I’m just suffering from a ten minute window of optimism, but . . . that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. There are all kinds of bad habits that I try to break - biting the skin beside my nails, holding on to grudges. The habit of calling my dad, or wanting to call him, isn’t the worst possible thing.

I have been rather neglectful as far as writing up the books I’ve read. This is partly because I read a few books in a row that were so terrible that they caused me to lose my will to write anything about them and partly because the past few weeks have been busy with Mike’s birthday and other family things. Also, I read one that was so great that I felt that anything I said about it would be lame and ridiculous. Here is a quick roundup of a few that I’ve read lately, in reverse order-ish. I don’t have my notebook with me, but it’s close.

Away by Amy Bloom – I can see why this got glowing reviews, but overall, I would have to pass on it. I don’t want to give away the ending, but it was anticlimactic to the extreme. I really don’t have anything else to say.

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See – Did. Not. Like. Just ask Andrea, who had to listen to me rant and rave about how I could not, would not finish it. I finished it. I had to; it was for my book club. But if it hadn’t been, I would have stopped. Here’s the thing. I can (and do) read tons of sad books. I like sad books. Bring it on, I say. The human condition is a sad one for many people, and I like books that honestly deal with that. But what I need when I read those books is a sense that the people are fighting for a better life. That’s why, despite the despair, I can read a book like A Thousand Splendid Suns and not get bogged down in sorrow. Those women were fighting back. In Snow Flower, though, the systematic oppression of women was perpetuated by the women themselves (speaking, of course, of the bound feet), and my feminist 21st century American self just can’t understand that. One of the questions in the back of the book was something about what you would do if you were in that same situation, and I thought, “THAT question is completely missing the point, which is that it was so ingrained in the culture that they couldn’t imagine doing anything else.” I can’t imagine binding my daughter’s feet, hurting her in that way, and I don’t think that a book can break through in order for me to connect with that kind of story in a meaningful way.

Consequences by Penelope Lively - This one was pretty much okay, following three generations from World War II to the present, but it also kind of felt like nothing happened. It’s about how the small choices of our lives affect us.

Peony in Love by Lisa See – I am of two minds about this book. On one hand, I was completely mystified by it the whole way through, thinking, “What is the POINT of this book?” On the other hand, the author’s note at the end was very illuminating: Lisa See based her story on some actual women whose lives centered around a certain Chinese opera that was said to affect women so strongly that they would starve themselves to death, thinking themselves “lovesick.” If I had read the author’s note first, I would have gotten a lot more out of the book, and with that note in mind, I can appreciate the book so much more. In the end, I think that what she was trying to do with the book was interesting, but I am not sure that it worked. If you are going to read it, read the author’s note at the end first. It will give away some things, but the story will make more sense.

Stormy Weather by Paulette Jiles – This book was too . . . detached, I think. While I thought it was interesting to learn about the time period (Depression-era Texas), I didn’t really care about the characters. At all.

Atonement by Ian McEwan - This is one of the best books I have read this year, hands down. McEwan managed to string the tension along at such a level that I kept having to put it down in order to breathe. Additionally, the themes of truth and fiction and consequences really resonated. I can’t wait for the movie.

Songs Without Words by Ann Packer - I haven’t read The Dive From Clausen’s Pier, so I don’t really have anything to compare this to. I think I liked it. I liked the character of the daughter very much. I did not like the friendship between the two women all that much (which, now that I think about it, their friendship has some similarities to that of Snow Flower and Lily), and had a hard time with the character of Sarabeth. I also, from reviews, had thought this would be more about the friends than it ended up being. So maybe I had the wrong expectations going in. It was pretty good . . . it went off the rails a bit in the second half, but pretty good overall.

Evening by Susan Minot - Did. Not. Like. I mean, really. A one-night stand was the love of her life? I just can’t buy it.

When December arrives and I start getting all introspective and, “What did I DO this year, what does it all MEAN?” I will be able to say . . . this year I learned how to bake things. From scratch.

First I made this cake:

And then I made a pie:

And some more cake:

And another pie:

And then, lo, Mike’s birthday approached, and I was perplexed about what to do. I mean, he’s put up with me for nine years, so it needed to be something pretty awesome, right?

What I really wanted to do was to make Deb from Smitten Kitchen’s Mosaic Brownie Cheesecake. (I didn’t want to link it, because, let’s face it, mine is not as pretty as hers. But there you go. That’s what it’s supposed to look like.) I think Mike saw that and thought, “Yes, what I would LOVE for my birthday is for you to be completely stressed out.” But he finally agreed. And so, the great Brownie Mosaic Cheesecake Experiment began.

I have mentioned before that brownies from scratch are just not that appealing to me, because of the Unfortunate Crunchy Brownie Incident That Must Not Be Named. I like the Ghirardelli kind. From the mix. I will not apologize for this. However. When I was making the four-layer chocolate cake for Brandi’s birthday, I bought some things I didn’t need, including Baker’s chocolate. So I figured I could use that to make their supposedly easy one-bowl brownies. And you know what? They WERE easy. I made a thin layer of them, as I was supposed to, refrigerated them overnight, and cut them into cubes. They were super-delicious, especially cold. So, you know, hooray! I made brownies from scratch and they didn’t suck!

In addition to the brownies, on Tuesday night I also started making the crumb crust. Deb claims that chocolate Teddy Grahams make the most superior crust, so I purchased a box. I do not know the last time I had Teddy Grahams. They were actually pretty good. Since I, as she recommended, doubled the crust, I only ate one. I needed all the Teddy Grahams. To go into my food processor. To be murdered. What did you do Tuesday night, Kari? Thanks for asking, I murdered a bunch of Teddy Grahams. And while I was doing it, I laughed. Which Mike found gravely disturbing.

Which brings us to Wednesday night. I finished making the crust and cut up the deliciously cold brownies. I had stalled for as long as I could. It was cheesecake time.

What is there, really, to say about a cheesecake? I had never made one before, so I was not completely sure that I beat the cream cheese for long enough, but it seemed to be fine in the end. I made the cheesecake, I added the brownies, I poured it into the crust, I put it in the oven.

You should know that the night before I attempted the actual cheesecake, I had horrible dreams about baking. I dreamt I was making that four-layer chocolate cake again, and it was not going well. So I was a little nervous about the cheesecake. I worried about it all day. I thought about it during my yoga class instead of relaxing. In the end, though, it was all fine. Fine. No problems. I’m so glad I wasted my yoga class thinking about it. I’m so glad I slept fitfully for two nights in a row (oh, I haven’t yet mentioned that AFTER making it, I also dreamt about baking. Good night nurse).

Look at those chocolate chunks. And it didn’t even crack. I didn’t do a water bath, so I can’t take credit for it not cracking. Though it may have something to do with not being overly beaten. And it’s not such an impressive thing when you remember . . . I still had to make the ganache. Who cared if the top cracked? It was going to be covered up! (Well, actually, I cared.)

One thing I couldn’t find the information for was when, exactly, I was supposed to take the springform off the cheesecake. I ran a knife around the edges and then left it on the cheesecake for easy transport to my mom’s house. This gave me something else to worry about, and you know how I love that.

Thursday night I was off the hook as far as baking/cheesecake duty, because we went to Bianca’s for Mike’s birthday. All I had to do was put the ganache on the top. I have no actual pictures of this, because, at this point, I was sort of over the picture taking. It was just chocolate on top of the cheesecake. I bet you can imagine it for yourself. Let’s just move to Friday, shall we?

Here is the finished product, and my wonderful husband blowing out his candles.

Here is his testimonial, in his actual words: “That was the best cheesecake I have ever eaten.” Enough said. Happy birthday, baby. You are worth all the effort.

This is the track list for a mix CD I made. It is a melancholy autumn CD. You have been warned.

“What Light” by Wilco – I would not consider myself a Wilco fan, but I do like this song.

“Moon River” by The Innocence Mission – I didn’t like this song until I saw Breakfast at Tiffany’s last winter. Finally, I get the appeal. I had thought about including Patty Griffin’s version, but I think The Innocence Mission fits better.

“Thirteen” by Big Star – This song sounds like fall to me.

“Monster Ballads” by Josh Ritter – Mike put this on a playlist for me, and I thought it fit with the feel of this CD. Which is monstrously depressed. Sorry about that.

“Falling Slowly” by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová – If you haven’t seen Once, you are probably sick of people telling you to see it. But, seriously, you should see it. This is from the soundtrack.

“Real Love” by Regina Spektor – I never liked this song when the other Beatles recorded it “with” John for the Anthologies. But this recording is really amazing, and really brings out how beautiful and not-cheesy the song is.

“Daughter” by Loudon Wainwright – Besides being melancholy, this mix CD is a nice little recap of all the movies I saw this summer. This song is from Knocked Up. I heard it before I saw the movie, and thought that the song was just okay. But after seeing the movie, I liked it much better.

“Imitosis” by Andrew Bird – I have been listening to his latest album, and this song stands out to me.

“Starcrossed” by Ash – Here is a more upbeat song! Except that it’s about starcrossed lovers. So it’s still melancholy. Oh, well.

“Five Colors” by Sam Phillips – I am a big Sam Phillips fan. Surely you knew that by now. I wrote about this song here.

“Moment in the Sun” by Clem Snide - Mike and I stumbled across Clem Snide/Eef Barzelay a year or so ago. I always like to put one of their songs on mix CDs. I believe this was the theme song to Ed for a while, but the fans hated it. The fans were wrong.

“My Rights Versus Yours” by The New Pornographers – I don’t have anything to say about this one. It’s more upbeat, at least.

“Addy Will Know” by SNMNMNM – This is a local band, and this song is about how fantastic librarians are. I think that mix CDs are allowed one gimmicky song. This is mine.

“The Story” by Brandi Carlile – I like this song, too. I don’t listen to the radio, so I’m not sure if it got any radio airplay. At least it’s not completely depressing. (And thus ends the upbeat portion of our CD.)

“Love Love Love” by The Mountain Goats – This is the only song of theirs I know, but I have been meaning to look into more of their stuff.

“Give it Away” by Quincy Coleman – This song is from the movie Waitress, which I loved. Mike calls this song “the long one from Waitress.” But I persist in liking it.

“Amazing Glow” by The Pernice Brothers – I don’t know any of their other songs, either, but I would like to hear more. I heard this song when they played on Gilmore Girls.

“Close the Door” by Waterdeep – Their new CD is, honestly, kind of a downer. Which is perfect for inclusion here! (And being a downer doesn’t mean that I don’t like it, because I really like their new album. And sad music.) I really like what this song is about, faith and belief growing and changing through different phases of life.

“Bookends” by Simon and Garfunkel – I can think of no better way to close an autumn/melancholy CD. This song is a very “end of summer” song for me.

I realized that after I was done, since I took Patty Griffin’s “Moon River” off, I should have put “Burgundy Shoes” on there somewhere, because it really would have fit. But I didn’t. So this is the CD as it stands, forever and ever, amen.

When Melissa and I were first becoming friends, one of the things that we ran into was that I have this need for physical space. I am not a very touchy person. I couldn’t tell you why that is, but I have never been one of those girls who plays with other girls’ hair or snuggled up to friends on the couch. Melissa and I have now worked through this issue. This means I let her touch me occasionally. Look, here is an example of how far I have come:

I am practically couch-snuggling with Kelly in that picture. I’m a whole new woman.

I am like this with my emotions, too. I think I can be pretty open when I share how I am feeling, but you have to let me be the one who makes that decision. When I feel like my emotional boundaries are being assaulted, I kind of freak out. Sometimes I accuse Mike of being hard to pin down, but then I will be in a conversation with someone and realize that I am doing exactly the same thing that he does to me . . . wriggling and squirreling my way out of having to give details.

A lot of it is that I am so afraid of being laughed at. I think I’m better at that than I used to be, much more confident, but . . . I fear I will never get over it completely. I cannot handle being made to look stupid, or being thought the butt of a joke. If there’s something I think you are going to use against me or, worse, laugh at me about, I will do everything I can to keep from telling you about it. And if you turn me into the butt of a joke, especially if you do it in a room full of people, I am not going to forget it.

So one of my buttons definitely has to do with that. I see people (like my husband) navigate similar situations without it being stressful for them, and I can’t understand it. How does he just let that sort of thing roll off his back? Why doesn’t he mind all the questions? Of course, I could also ask: Why does traffic make him so uptight?

When I think about other people and situations that have pushed my buttons, a lot of it has had to do with disrespect. Disrespect of my opinion (or, you know, anyone’s but your own), my intelligence (hey, I’m a reasonably smart cookie), my emotions (perhaps you shouldn’t publicly insult me merely weeks after my dad died), my effort, my boundaries. These aren’t bad things to oppose, but when they happen, my fears of looking stupid and being laughed at, combined with the disrespect, make it hard for me to function. I shut down. I get abrupt or even surly. I can’t make eye contact. I practically will my body to curl into itself. I do believe this is the worst version of myself. Unfortunately, there are some people who only know this version, because I feel belittled to the point that I completely lose the sense of who I am around them.

Lately, much to Oprah’s chagrin, I have not been living what I consider to be my best life now. My buttons have been pushed, and in some situations, I am functioning at a level that is considerably lower than normal.

The advice I have been getting is to pray about this, to pray about my responses and trust that God will move. And I do believe that he can help me make some changes, but this is a McDonald’s culture, and I want change to happen now, even if it’s never really happened that way in the past, and how in the world is it reasonable for me to expect character flaws to correct themselves in a week’s time?

So I am relegated to patience, to taking my temper on one phone call, one risky emotional situation at a time. At least I know that when I lose hope, I can sit on Melissa’s couch and let her put her arm around me. To be able to take comfort in that is a reminder that, from time to time, I do actually make a little progress.

I have already told Mike not to expect any future birthday week to surpass this one. I mean, really. He started his birthday week with a phone call informing him he gets to meet J.K. Rowling. Then we went to see Wait, Wait. Yesterday we had ice cream for lunch. And on Thursday, his actual birthday, we are going to Bianca’s for their 25th annual Abbondanza. Not to mention the birthday dessert I am going to attempt, but that I will not directly mention here in case it doesn’t work out and I end up making cupcakes from a mix instead. If it does work, I promise there will be pictures.

He got the first part of his present yesterday: brown Chuck Taylors. The store where I bought them had a buy one, get one half off sale, and since I am a woman, I looked to see if I could find any shoes for a good price. I still love my yellow shoes, but I’d been wanting a pair of black Chucks, so I looked around for a bit. I decided, though, that even half off the regular price was a bit more than I wanted to pay for myself (my first pair of Chucks was, after all, $9.88). On a whim I went to the children’s department to see what their sizes look like. Chuck Taylors, after all, run long. It had been a while since I looked at children’s shoes, so I had to remember how the sizing worked. I found a pair in size 3, pulled them off the shelf, and slipped my feet into them, hoping no one was watching.

Perfection. I think these fit better than any I’ve had before. And so, for $12.50, I bought myself a pair of Chucks. In a children’s size. I may never shop in the adult section again.

Last month, I entered this contest to see J.K. Rowling at Carnegie Hall. The prize? Two tickets to see her read, answer questions, and sign books. This will be her only public event, and tickets couldn’t be bought, they could only be won.

I also entered Mike, because he’s been kind of lucky lately.

And it’s a good thing I did, because HE WON. HE WON. WE ARE GOING TO SEE J.K. ROWLING NEXT MONTH.

. . . Sorry, I keep getting loud every time I talk about it. We are clearly an excellent team, because I entered and he won. That’s a binding contract, right? He can’t try to take someone else, can he? He keeps threatening to take someone else.

We had a big night last night, seeing Wait, Wait . . . Don’t Tell Me at Wake Forest. I continued with my stalking of public radio figures by having my picture taken with both Mo Rocca and Roy Blount, Jr.

Mo had on a really sparkly shirt. Really. Sparkly. This picture does not accurately show how sparkly it was.

Dwight also had his picture taken with Carl. Apparently Dwight loves public radio. Who knew?

This time of year, I find the seduction of cool nights (finally, cool nights) impossible to resist, and you are likely to find me and my iPod outside. I love running on nights like that, though my soundtrack tends to be a little too melancholy to inspire running at a very admirable pace.

Mike listens to sad music in the fall, too. Well, he listens to sad music all year. For someone so upbeat, he really likes wallowing in sorrow, especially in the fall. And now that it’s September, he’s put in his official autumn soundtrack: August and Everything After. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it, and I found myself humming “Anna Begins” as I transferred the laundry to the dryer last night. I am so easily swayed. My music, though, definitely switches in late summer. I started a playlist in early August that was called “Kari is tired,” and I’ve been listening to it for the past six weeks or so. The “Summer 2007” playlist (usually my playlists have pretty boring names) was a whole lot more upbeat. A lot of “Kari is tired” songs are going on a CD I am making for a CD circle, and I should probably warn them that the mix I have so far is pretty much a downer. I told Mike I needed a few more upbeat songs, and he said, “No, put some more sad songs on there, really push them over the edge.” And you thought he was the optimistic one.

I appreciate that the rhythm of the church calendar gives us space to grieve, instead of asking us to be “up” or “peppy” all the time. This year, especially, I have appreciated that the rhythm of the seasons does the same thing. In spring, I celebrated new life and rebirth and the miracle of the resurrection. Now, autumn means that the world is beginning to die, that we are heading into winter. It’s another Lent, in a way: memento mori. After this past year, I think that autumn will always be a time to grieve, and I like that the earlier sunsets and cooler evenings help me learn to make room for that. And make room for me to learn it.

The truth is that I don’t know how to make room for my own grief, let alone other people’s. I don’t know how to be patient with myself or others when it comes to grieving. I have never been good at dealing with strong genuine emotion. I take refuge in sad music and big plans. I want some kind of process, some steps to follow. I want to make things manageable. For now, the slow decline into winter is going to have to be enough.

Now that all (well, most) of our Harry Potter questions have been answered, some mysteries remain: Will another series capture our imaginations? Will there be a second coming of Harry Potter? How long will we have to wait?

I believe, as Stephen King said in his article, that there are always more great stories to discover. With that said, part of what made Harry so special was the community that developed around the series, and I think it’ll take something remarkable for that to happen again in such force. As far as the stories themselves, one series might not be able to capture everything we enjoyed about Harry, but there are good candidates to carry on with different aspects, and The Alchemyst by Michael Scott (no, not THAT Michael Scott) has a handle on action/adventure and mythology. The characters are engaging, and the juxtaposition of myth and modern-day kept me intrigued.

The Alchemyst is the story of twins Josh and Sophie Newman, who find themselves caught in the middle of a battle between Nick Fleming/Nicholas Flamel and his nemesis John Dee. Dee has captured The Book of Abraham the Mage, which Nick has been protecting for hundreds of years and which holds the secret to the survival of the human race (as well as other alchemy secrets such as the philosopher’s stone). He plans to turn it over to the Dark Elders, who will use it to enslave humans (or worse). In a battle, Josh kept Dee from getting the last two pages, and Dee is out for revenge. Meanwhile, there might be more to the twins than meets the eye, as certain prophecies in the book appear to apply to them, and they may have powers beyond what they have ever imagined.

I put off reading this book for a while because I didn’t want to start another series, and because I didn’t know how serious the alchemy stuff would be. But this book was flat-out fun and adventure the whole way through, full of vampires, ghosts, wereboars, and magic, though none of them are quite what you would expect. It managed to make do with enough explanation to make me feel like I understood the history without bogging the story down with exposition. It’s definitely a natural place for kids (and kids at heart) to turn after finishing Harry Potter (or even just after having their interest in Nicholas Flamel piqued by Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s/Philosopher’s Stone). I will definitely be waiting for the next book in the series . . . and that’s saying something, because before I started it, I spent a great deal of time explaining to Mike why I didn’t want to get caught up in another series that wasn’t completed. Hooray for the kind of fiction that reminds us all why reading can be, after all, plain old fun.

Black Bean Pizza.

Start with one pizza crust. You could make your own, but, yes, we buy ours. We get the Mama Mary’s whole wheat thin crust. I do think that this pizza would be better with a thin crust, for what it’s worth. This winter I will probably experiment with making my own.

Then, make yourself some refried black beans. I use this recipe from the Food Network. My only recommendation is that you might want to up the cumin and salt a bit - the first time I made it, I had about 1 1/2 cans of beans, and I forgot to take down the levels of cumin, and I have found I like it better with the extra flavor. Mike doubled the recipe when he made it when I was in Chicago, and . . . it didn’t work as well. The beans tasted like mashed potatoes. Which, admittedly, is not a bad thing for anything to taste like, but was kind of strange. So be careful if you are doubling it.

The refried black beans take a while. You are probably still making them. Speaking of beans, we have been using so many black beans lately that I have been wondering if I should be buying dried ones instead. But I hear mixed reports. Anybody have a strong opinion? Recommendations on where I should/could buy them? Mike bought some but we haven’t tried them yet.

While you are doing that, sautée some peppers (preferably from the Farmer’s Market) and onion and chicken (we used chicken that was already cooked and shredded and then added it after the peppers were done just to get the seasoning) in some vegetable oil. What kind of pepper is up to you. I realized last night we could have used the jalapeño that is sitting on our counter, but we stuck to red and green bell peppers. Season all that with a little salt, a little cumin, a little chili powder, and a tiny bit of cayenne.

You are probably still waiting on the refried black beans. I maybe should have warned you to use a bigger pan than you thought you’d need.

When the refried beans are finally ready, spread them on the pizza crust. There will be some left over, which is excellent, because you can have some later on in the week. Then add the peppers and onions and chicken on top, cover it with cheese, and bake it at, oh, about 425 for ten minutes or so. Until the cheese is nice and melty.

While it’s baking, cut up a tomato and some cilantro. When the pizza comes out of the oven, spread those on top. Eat your piece while your husband is wrestling with Skype for a class. Be sure and taunt him with how great it is. Threaten to eat the entire thing.

This is just something we came up with because Mike came back from Costa Rica with a black bean obsession. This suits me just fine, because I am also quite a fan of black beans, and it means we get to try new things. He’s been eating black beans and rice (made from a recipe he brought back from Costa Rica) for breakfast, but he wants to branch out, too. He asked me to make refried black beans the other night, and after we enjoyed them, we thought maybe they’d go pretty well on pizza. We sort of knocked off California Pizza Kitchen’s Tostada pizza, except of course that ours was better and cheaper.

—

Hummus Pizza.

Make some hummus. I think you should start here so that you have time to make the hummus. We haven’t settled on a hummus recipe yet. We tried it with tahini and liked it, but added some roasted red pepper as well, just to balance out the sesame seed flavor. I basically just like hummus. We haven’t tried it with dried beans yet (again, lack of confidence in my ability to work with dried beans), but it’s been good with canned.

Take your pizza crust. Again, we used the thin whole wheat crust from Mama Mary’s. Spray it with olive oil and put it in the oven at about 400.

Slice an onion and begin caramelizing it in some olive oil. We used red onion. I love red onion. We hardly ever buy it. I love slicing into them because they are so pretty.

When the pizza crust is starting to get a little brown, flip it over, spray it with more olive oil, and let the other side brown as well.

When the onion is almost done, add a red pepper you bought that very morning at the Farmer’s Market. Continue sautéeing it until the red pepper is soft.

Take the crust out of the oven and spread the hummus over it. Put your onion and red pepper on top of that. Sprinkle with feta and put under the broiler for, oh, about 3 minutes, just to soften it up a bit.

If you are me, you will also add olives to your slices. If you are Mike, you will not. And we meant to add tomato, but by the time we were done with all that, we’d forgotten the tomato and didn’t feel like slicing it.

When I’d envisioned hummus pizza, I’d thought: crust, hummus, tomatoes and cucumbers. And a little feta. But Mike doesn’t like cucumbers, so we tried this instead, and it was really good with the red onion. He didn’t love the crunchy crust (although I did), so we may not do olive oil on both sides next time, just so it won’t be as crunchy for him.

Many other people have said eloquent things today about the passing of Madeleine L’Engle. I grew up with her books, both chronologically and emotionally, and there is no author who has shaped my faith and helped me believe in a loving, personal God more than she has. It is no exaggeration to claim her as my favorite author. As I said earlier today, I liked being in a world where she was alive. In losing her, we not only lost an excellent storyteller and truthteller; we also lost Vicky and Polly and Adam and Zachary and Meg and Charles Wallace and Katherine and Camilla, characters who changed the way I see the world. I am thankful for the things she taught me through her life as seen through her writing. And I am thankful that she now knows exactly where her home is.

Fare thee well, Madeleine L’Engle. And thank you.

(Title quote from The Rock That is Higher: Story as Truth.)

Some people have asked why I haven’t written about the rabbits since getting them. The main reason is that I don’t read it when other people write about pets on their blogs, so I can’t imagine why anyone would want to read about my pets. (Except your pet. I always read your entries. It’s other people’s pet entries I don’t read. Obviously.)

But, seriously. Sometimes Pamie will write about her cats and say that people have been asking how the cats are. Why are people asking about the cats? I always skip the cat entries. And I like cats! I would just rather read funny stuff or introspective stuff. Not cat stuff. I mean, the Kool-Aid Man conversation makes me laugh to this day. “OH… NO!” Stop asking about the cats, everyone.

Since most people do not have hearts as cold as I do, I will tell you a little bit about how the rabbits are doing. How the rabbits are doing can basically be described in one word, and that word is “humping.” (I guess that is what the rabbits are doing, not how they are doing. But do you really want to nitpick this point? I just said that my rabbits are humping.)

I will start in the beginning.

I didn’t really talk about where we got the rabbits, but we got them from the family member of a coworker. The rabbit owner moved away and left the rabbits here and I took them from her house after she moved. Basically, Mike and I have zero information about them. We do not know how old they are or what they used to eat or how they used to relate to each other. The only thing that we were told is that they are both girls (we sure hope this is true), they have been fixed (really really hope this is true), and that they are a mother/daughter pair.

We wanted to get a rabbit, to be sure, but we were by no means prepared to get one, let alone two. I was told that we could have them the same morning I picked them up. While Mike was in Costa Rica. They came with their own cage and stuff, but we weren’t ready. Especially for two. This meant that, as we were trying to figure out how to fit rabbits in our house, we switched their cage a couple of times, trying to see what they liked best and what best fit in our house.

I think that might have been a mistake. I think it really upset them.

After we settled on a cage situation, the bunnies seemed to be adjusting to us and to our house. We tried to keep them from chewing our carpet. We let them hop around. We started to be able to get them back to their cage without having to pick them up. And then, out of nowhere, Big Bunny started humping Tender Nibbles. A lot. It seemed to make Tender Nibbles very very unhappy (sad bunny noises, you guys!), which made us very very unhappy. At first we thought it was not necessarily a bad sign: Oh, they are comfortable here, now they are establishing social mores. And then it got more . . . pronounced. Almost more . . . violent. And it kept getting worse and worse.

Remember, we have no idea how they used to get along, whether this is new. We don’t know anything.

So, at this point, we have had to separate them. They have two cages. We don’t know what we are going to do or what would be best for them. Tender Nibbles? Doesn’t chew anything she’s not supposed to now that she is not constantly being assaulted. She’s actually very good and very happy. Some people have asked if the rabbits would be lonely if they were separated. It sure doesn’t seem like it. Well, Big Bunny might be lonely since she is no longer having her sexual needs filled.

Or maybe this has all been a huge practical joke at my expense and Tender Nibbles is going to pop out some baby bunnies. Wouldn’t you like a baby bunny of your own? Haven’t I made it sound oh so appealing to own a rabbit? hehe.

Just for the record: I am very happy we have the bunnies. They are so cute when they hop around our house. (I just want them to stop humping.)

In college, a friend of mine turned 21 and we went to Outback for her birthday. I guess because of the margaritas? I’m not sure. It wasn’t my choice. It was actually a fairly uncomfortable night for me in general, for a whole lot of reasons, but the one I will mention here is the food. I ordered . . . soup and salad, I think. I am pretty sure. Maybe I ordered chicken, but I think it was soup and salad. And a friend of mine (not the birthday girl) was sitting next to me, and she ordered steak. And another friend of ours who was sitting next to her also ordered steak. This completely freaked me out.

You see, somewhere in my mind, I seem to have gotten the idea that women don’t order steak in restaurants. Women eat steak at home, but wouldn’t . . . purchase it. In a restaurant. Obviously. I think that this happened for a few reasons: First, when I was young, my family didn’t go out to eat very much. Second, when my family did go out to eat, we were very price conscious. And third, my mom generally isn’t the type to order steak in a restaurant, both because of price and personal preference. Add all of that together, and Young Kari gets the idea, somehow, that it’s not . . . ladylike to order steak. And yet there are two of my friends, brazenly ordering large pieces of red meat. I felt very awkward. I probably looked awkward, because I remember declining vehemently after Mike encouraged me to order a steak. On the way home we untangled the situation and he kindly explained to me that it was perfectly fine for me to order steak if I would like.

But still, even now, I don’t order steak in restaurants very often. Sometimes when we are at a steak house, Mike will insist that I JUST EAT STEAK, ALREADY, and in those cases he will place my order for me, since he knows how I like steak and I know very little about it. And I will joyfully devour my large piece of red meat. But, in general, I still don’t order steak. I am more comfortable, I think, eating it at home.

You can imagine, then, that I broke into a cold sweat when I was told we were going to Gene & Georgetti when I was in Chicago. But, but, but . . . that’s a steak place! And one of our guidebooks says the waiters are notoriously brusque! And Mike’s not here to order for me! And I don’t know what kind of steak I like! And the waiter might yell at me! And so, I did what any independent young woman would do in my situation: I called Mike before we went to the restaurant and got him to tell me what kind of steak I like. My brother was also there, and he weighed in with his opinion. I’m so ashamed of myself. I mean, really. I should know that. (I do know it, now. Hopefully I won’t forget.) At least I didn’t chicken out and order chicken.

And, I must say, the steak I had was quite excellent - probably the best steak I’ve ever had in a restaurant. The waiter was nice. The cosmopolitan was very good. All in all, a very positive experience. I am now, on Brandi’s recommendation, trying to convince Mike to take me to Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. I’m like a whole new woman. Stay tuned for my new and exciting cholesterol problems.

When I tell you that this was my 100th book of the year, you will have an idea of how many books I haven’t written up this year. I know you think that all I do is write up books, but I have spared you quite a few. You can thank me later. Preferably with cookies.

The Discovery of Heaven was my 100th book of the year, read for my second book club. It was, in short, not really my thing, though I did find what it was trying to do to be interesting.

I am not going to try and sum up this 700 page tome in a quick blog entry. The length does prevent me from doing that, but also the themes of heaven, hell, time, science, and divine intervention. Just to mention a few. Overall, I thought that the characters (especially the female characters) were not fleshed out very well, but that, I suppose, betrays my own interest in character development. This was a book about themes rather than people, about what might happen if God changed his mind about his covenant with humankind and needed someone to take the evidence (in this case, the Ten Commandments). If you are interested, you can read The New York Times review. Also, check out the page at BN.com.

While this book was written on a philosophical level that isn’t really my thing, what I thought was interesting was how, when angels intervened in human lives, the humans basically became miserable. People died, friendships ended, lives were ruined. There were also some beautiful things said about friendship, and some powerful comments on life and death.

I don’t really want to get into all that, though, because I fear a big old predestination/free will debate. Instead I will tell you about how I read the book. I started reading it last week and then I thought, “Oh, crap, I’m going to have to take it to Chicago with me.” What I wanted to take to Chicago with me was Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen. But I thought, “Well, what if I finish Garden Spells? I will take The Discovery of Heaven just in case.”

You guys. I finished Garden Spells on the shuttle to our hotel. Not. Good. (Well, the book was pretty good, but it was not good for my plan for me to have finished so soon.) But, actually, very good for me to work on The Discovery of Heaven, because it afforded me big chunks of time for reading. This was actually quite a good plane book. For one thing, it made me feel important to be carrying it around. “You over there! Look at what I’m reading! The Washington Post declared it to be ‘one of the most entertaining and profound philosophical novels ever written.’” And the other (slightly less shallow) thing that made it a good plane book is that I knew I wasn’t going to be able to finish it. I have a horror of finishing a book on a plane and having nothing to do (but talk to the person I am with). There was no danger of that with this book, though I did make enough progress to make me feel like I would, some day, finish this book.

When I wasn’t reading in Chicago, my aunt and I managed to find time to go to a Cubs game, see the Harold Washington Library (I am one of those lame-os who wants to see libraries when I am on vacation), visit the Art Institute, walk through the middle of the Jazz Festival, check out Navy Pier, consume a lot of food, and do a fair amount of shopping. My pictures will be up at some point. I know you can’t wait to see the pole that was my view at the Cubs game. Being able to see the batter is overrated.