Through a Glass, Darkly

This is how our mortgage is written up. My wife and I are very happy with our new house, by the way.

Yesterday all of our belongings were moved into the new house. Before we went to bed last night, I made lists of the things that need to be done in each room. I also made lists of overall things to be done and, finally, a list of things that had to happen on Sunday. Now that it is Sunday, I have resorted to writing things like, “Take shower,” and, “Make coffee,” just so I can cross them off.

Mike and I spent much of Friday afternoon/evening uncovering the hardwood floors in the front room of our new house. We pulled up the carpet, then got to work pulling out the staples and tacks. This is not the sort of thing we claim to be very good at, so it was especially satisfying to be able to say that we completed the task. The floors are in very good condition - no stains or discolorations. No real scratches, either, except where we had trouble pulling up the tacks. We had to finish the task by flashlight, as there are no overhead lights in that room and we haven’t yet brought any lamps here. Lamps will be here today, along with the rest of our furniture and belongings. About halfway through, we realized we should have taken a before picture so that we would have evidence of all of our work. Since we didn’t, you’ll just have to trust me. What a difference. I have spent many years objecting to hardwood floors, and, to be honest, I really do prefer carpet because I like both sitting on the floor (as I am now) and walking around barefoot. But it’s just wrong to cover up hardwood floors as pretty as these.

This house is a bit of a fixer-upper, it’s true. For many years we said that we needed to live somewhere new so there wouldn’t be as many things to fix, but we have had a little more practice, so we felt a little bit more ready to try. And we have so many plans and dreams for this place, plans and dreams that start today. When we start taking down that godawful wallpaper. Which is something else we’ve never done before.

Oh, internet. Have my comments about boxes got you wondering about our house and how we put it on the market? We put it on the market. And then people came to look at it, and we went to a coffeeshop and used the internet while the people were looking, and then we came back after two hours and those people were still at our house so we had to stake out the place like crazy stalkers to figure out when we were going to get to go home again but maybe those nice people would buy our house! Well, those nice people did not buy our house. But some other nice people did put an offer on our house, and we accepted it, and then we picked out a house to move into, and our offer on that house was accepted. Yay! Mike and I went to pick out cabinets because, yay, we are going to redo the kitchen in the new house! We discovered that Lowe’s is not my favorite place, what with all the decisions about countertops and knobs. Those decisions cannot be made by someone like me, someone who has no idea whatsoever about color or style. I cannot pick out things like that. However, I will be happy to help you pick out a good book. In exchange, could you please help me pick out those things? Before I stab myself in the eye with this possible option for the drawer handle? Other than that, things were great! We were going to move! And have a shiny new kitchen!

Except. Then things started to go all wrong with the buyers’ paperwork and we spent a month without knowing anything at all. A whole month. At first I was a little uncomfortable with that, but mostly I was okay. As the month wore on and school ended and I worked on my summer class, I did not remain mostly okay. I lost my freaking mind.

This spring, Mike and I have had several discussions about adversity. For one thing, I do not handle adversity as well as some people do. And for another, I feel as if the past few years have been quite enough adversity for me, thankyouverymuch, not to mention any baggage I might be carrying from before that that I still haven’t dealt with. I have worked out an uneasy truce with God over the past two years, and I have been willing to concede that maybe he isn’t really out to get me, maybe he doesn’t really save all his good gifts for other people, and, to sum up, he’s not so bad after all. I know that selling our house isn’t the worst kind of adversity in the world. It is, however, stressful, and it has brought out the absolute worst in me, the insecurities and the selfishness that I didn’t even know that I had. And the fear. And the anger, oh the anger. I know that I can have a temper, but I did not know that I was so angry. It has not been a great time to be my husband or my mother, let me tell you. They had to listen to quite a lot of that anger, and they didn’t have good answers because life is full of more good questions than it is good answers. Funnily enough, this anger is one of those things that has brought me and my brother closer, because I was not as patient with him as I could have been when he was angry about some similar things a few years ago. That was partly because he was processing some things I was not ready to deal with, and partly because I just didn’t understand what he was going through. But I understand now.

On Sunday at church, part of the call to worship was about risk. We have had some conversations about risk, especially when we thought the house was going to fall through. Should we do the two mortgage thing? Should we lease the house to someone? I vetoed everything as “too risky.” Fed up with our lack of options, Mike reminded me that sometimes we have to take risks. But in order to take risks, I think you have to have the sort of faith that I’m not really able to manage right now, faith that someone out there cares. There are all sorts of things that I say that I believe about God - that he’s “not safe,” that he’s a wild lover of our souls. But I also want him to work in some sort of system. If we follow these steps and are responsible with our finances, shouldn’t everything work out? If that’s the case, why should I take any kind of risk? I will stick with the program.

Except. The program doesn’t work. I can be as responsible as I want, and that doesn’t mean anything. We may put money into retirement and eat tons of organic food, but that’s no guarantee that we won’t die young. And I don’t know what to do with that.

I haven’t talked about any of this because I didn’t have any perspective on it. I was covered up in shame about our lack of progress, I was angry, and I felt forgotten by God. I was lonely, because I didn’t even know where to begin talking about this to my friends. I prayed for better news and I got no response whatsoever. I lost hope that things were going to work out. Normally my pessimism and Mike’s optimism are a good balance, as I keep him grounded and he keeps me upbeat, but the lack of concrete information and my pessimism affected both of us, and he spent some sleepless nights worrying as well. There is a song on Eef Barzelay’s new album, Lose Big, that Mike has deemed the Kari Theme Song. It’s called “Could Be Worse.”

Show me the bright side and I’ll look ’til my eyes catch fire
And please forgive me if I leave you feeling uninspired
My only pleasure is to make that bubble burst
I can’t find comfort in the fact that it could be worse

Don’t tell me there’s so many things for which I should be glad
And I’m truly sorry if I made your party guests feel bad
Could be I think too much or maybe I’m just cursed
I can’t find comfort in the fact that it could be worse

In the past few week, though, it all slid back into place as quickly as it fell apart. (And then fell apart. And then slid back into place, fell apart, and slid back into place in rapid succession.) I am left feeling a little bit embarrassed at my histrionics, especially since I can’t pinpoint exactly why I think that the rug is always about to be pulled out from under me, why I can’t trust that there is some kind of plan. Nor do I know exactly where all the anger suddenly came from. I had kind of thought I was over the anger thing. I guess the anger thing is more a part of the human condition than I had realized. Or at least my human condition.

And so, we signed papers on our old house and the new house on Thursday. Our belongings are packed, we have purchased new appliances, and with the assistance of my aunt and my mother, we chose cabinets and tile and countertops for our shiny new-to-us kitchen. Even with the papers signed, I am afraid to trust those things, but I am trying to find joy and thankfulness in my heart. I am thankful for all the people who let me cry and complain and fail over the past few months, and I am thankful for my family and all the help they are giving us, and I am thankful and excited about the new house and the new kitchen and the new paint colors (chosen by someone Mike used to work with, not me, don’t worry) and all the things we are going to get to do over the next few months.

I hope one day I will be given the grace to trust and hope without fear. For now, I will settle for the opportunity to get up and try again tomorrow.

I am intimidated by people who have a strong sense of personal style, whether it’s their house or their clothes or . . . what else can you have a sense of style about? Your car? My car’s style is “dirty.” I am clearly uninformed about style. My personal style ranges from preppy button-downs to rebellious Doc Martens, depending on the day. (Are Doc Martens still rebellious, or are my flannel shirts and I still stuck in 1994?) When it comes to our house, Mike has a stronger vision for who we are, but that mostly comes from the fact that he worked for a while for an interior designer. Other than that, I think the message our house sends is: “Hand-Me-Down.” One of my dreams is to someday actually buy a couch of our own, rather than having the one that Mike’s sister decided to get rid of. And also, I dream of recovering the infamous Big Chair (which might be happening very soon!). I love the Big Chair, not least because it cost $100 at the Salvation Army (a steal!), but . . . even though its plaid is part of its charm, I think it would be nice if it was a little less . . . plaid.

As we have spent some time organizing and cleaning out over the past few months, I have been getting rid of gifts/hand-me-downs that we’ve kept around for a long time. This makes me feel good, but then I read blogs (I should know better than to do this) by people who have very specific ideas about what they want to put on their walls and in their houses. How does one know these things? Is this because I work outside the home? Would I be better at this if I was at home a little bit more? (Answer: No. You will never be good at it. You are just not wired that way. Thanks for playing, though.)

My guess is that I don’t know how to do these things in part because I don’t like shopping. I am not tempted to buy things because they are cute. I go in with a list, I get the things on my list, and I get out. I don’t even see the cute things, because they are not on my list. As I have mentioned, I don’t like yard sales. I tried, people. I have been to yard sales. I don’t need my own junk, though, so I certainly don’t need someone else’s. If I had to hazard a guess about my own preferences, I think that I can say that I would rather save up my money and get something nice that I have picked out than get something at a yard sale that I have to do something to. Also, I am big on causes. For furniture, this has meant that we saved to buy American made furniture for our bedroom. Which unfortunately costs more than Rooms to Go. Meanwhile, since I do not like to spend money on myself, I would rather just go without.

As we have been house hunting, this whole style thing has caused me great consternation. I want a house that fits us, but I am not sure exactly who we are. I see things like Dooce’s Daily Style and I wonder how anyone has the time to have a daily style. I would run out of cute things about my house after a month or so. And start posting pictures of books. “This book is also awesome! You should totally read it. That is my style recommendation for the day. It will make your brain very stylish.” I don’t do crafts. And I don’t like to spend money. So mostly I go without, and our home continues to be a barren home for hand-me-downs. At least we have a lot of books.

I think that I am still learning who I am and how I define myself. This is one of those areas where I feel very behind the curve. Thinking about my house and my style makes me feel the same way I did when I moved into my dorm room and everyone else had all these awesome gadgety dorm room things and I hadn’t even remembered to bring a rug. I could see very clearly that there was a whole world I did not understand. The question, as always, is whether I let that feeling of inferiority define me, whether I just go along with what everyone else likes, or whether I take the time to decide who I am and what I want. And whether I will have the confidence to believe that who I am and what I want are okay, even if they don’t seem to measure up to other people’s standards.

I called and visited several stores yesterday in order to get boxes. Boxes that were apparently made of gold. That is how difficult it was to find boxes yesterday. The ABC store is saving boxes for us today, and I have learned the magic trick of getting boxes from Wal-Mart. But McDonald’s, why did you need to be so difficult? Mike called McDonald’s three times asking them to save boxes for him, and every time they said he should call back later and maybe they would have some. And when he called back they’d be like, “Oh, we just threw some away.” Yes, McDonald’s. That’s why we asked you to save them for us. Don’t make Kari come and punch Ronald in the face.

And so, let me sing the praises of Taco Bell and Wendy’s. First, Taco Bell. They didn’t have very many boxes, but they generously gave of what they had. Bless you, Taco Bell. May your gordita sales increase tenfold. And Wendy’s! Wendy’s totally gets extra stars in their crown, because the manager at Wendy’s actually went and emptied out her french fry boxes so that I could have them. Also, she called me “sweetheart.” I told her she was my hero.

And why do we need so many boxes, anyway? Where did we get all of these belongings? These are the deep questions that everyone has when they are moving. What IS this thing and why do I own it? (But don’t throw it away. You’ll need it next month. I promise. That is, you’ll need it . . . if you throw it away. If you keep it, all bets are off.)

Eef Barzelay’s new CD has a song called “I Love the Unknown,” which was also on the Clem Snide CD Your Favorite Music. We are big Eef fans in this house, and I have been listening to his new CD a lot. As I was singing “I Love the Unknown” in the shower one morning, I had to laugh at myself. I am about as far from loving the unknown as any person can be, and even Eef Barzelay can’t trick me into throwing caution to the wind and taking a bus to “the place with the most allure,” wherever that might be. I like my ordered existence, and I like lists and plans, and I happen to think that’s a perfectly acceptable way to live. The unknown is a scary place, full of . . . things that are unknown. Let me get my calendar out and we can schedule some things instead. The past few weeks have been particularly bad specifically because many, many things have been up in the air.

But then, there’s the end of the song, the part that goes like this:

The doctor asked him what he was afraid of,
just what was he running from?
He said, “It’s not a fear of success, nor of closeness,
but of going through life feeling numb.”

Well, that might be a little bit Fight Club, but maybe the man does have a point there. As much as I like my ordered existence, my routine, sometimes I feel as if life is passing me by and I am not paying attention. There is always something to get through, something we must do that we would prefer not to do, and so we count the days away rather than embracing the time that we have.

I learned a lot of things from my dad: how to drive a stick shift, how to change the oil in my car, how to hammer a nail. Those are all useful, but he also taught me about life and about shaking things up. I have talked before about how he would take us out of school to have a day with him at the mall or at the fair or just on his delivery route. I certainly value those days spent with him in his truck more than I would have remembered whatever I missed that day at school. When you have a family, it’s hard to say that you love the unknown, because you are looking out for more than just yourself. But my dad would never have advocated going through life being numb. He loved fiercely, he cared about people, and he wanted more for me than feeling bogged down by the life going on around me, wishing the days away until the next milestone.

When I took my new job, I wasn’t sure that my dad would have approved. He saw how hard my mom worked as a teacher, and he did not want the same for me. But I know he would have approved of some of my reasons, including wanting to be able to spend more time with my friends and family, especially in the summer. This is my first chance to catch a breath in a while, and as the calendar of our summer stretches out in front of us, so many days left to fill, I have to admit that I don’t mind that sort of unknown quite as much. I appreciate this summer more than I did when I was used to having summers off all the time. I am going to do my best to make it count.

On my run this morning, I saw a box turtle who was sitting in the street. I watched him for a minute to see if he was going to move, but he just sat there. As turtles do. I got a little bit worried, because he was right where a tire would go, and it sounded as if there were trucks approaching. I nudged him with my foot, and he pulled all of his legs inside his shell, leaving the tip of his head sticking out. I could see the truck around a curve in the road, so I grabbed my new turtle friend (his head went in the shell) and set him by the side of the road. When I came back by, he was still on the side of the road. I am sorry for traumatizing you, Mr. Turtle, but I was trying to keep you safe. I could have brought you home to play (race) with Big Bunny, but I don’t think you would have liked that so much. (Though word on the street is that you would win in the end.)

I have a soft spot in my heart for turtles. My grandmother had two that lived in her backyard, and she marked them with nail polish - one with a K and one with a J. Whenever we went to visit, she would take us to the backyard to see if we could find the turtles. This can partly explain my passion for the tortoises at the zoo, I suppose. They’re so funny, how they walk and how the eat.

Anyway, my good deed for the day is done. I saved a turtle from destruction. If you need me for anything, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

Gentle readers, this is a post from Mike. Enjoy.

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Here’s a first. Greetings to all of Kari’s dedicated readers. As you may know, Kari tagged me yesterday on the movie post. I remember talking to her on the way home from Ben and Jerry’s Friday night trying to come up with what our favorite movies were. I did agree that one of the greatest joys we will have in raising children would be introducing them to incredible cinematic masterpieces. I do not see us showing The Wizard of Oz to our 5 year-old child. They just wouldn’t get it. They would not understand the importance of it. How it changed cinema as well as the lives of innumerable children for close to a century. The same goes for Citizen Kane. And To Kill a Mockingbird. The latter two are important works, but they need to be understood and prefaced before any viewing is done.

Have I gotten off the subject? Hang with me. The movies on our list will be monumental moments in our lives (and hopefully our children’s lives), so they cannot be shown lightly. These movies are very important to us and can’t be shown in the same way our child might watch Finding Nemo or Toy Story. We want to instill a deep respect for cinema and how cinema has an immense impact on those who value it.

It was tough coming up with this list because I have to leave off so many important films. Important in the history of cinema and important in my life as well. I don’t know if the Coen Brothers will make the list, but their movies are incredible (Raising Arizona was the first PG-13 movie I saw—I snuck into the theater with a friend). And what about the guy movies? How do I choose between Braveheart, The Matrix, and Gladiator? They can’t all be on the list because I need room for comedies and musicals. Musicals? Yeah, musicals. To without further ado:

The rules are as follows:
1. List your top ten favorite films in no particular order.
2. If you’re tagged, post your list and tag 3-5 other people.
3. Link back to the person who tagged you.
4. Give a hat tip (HT) to Dan.

• The Godfather Parts I and II: When I saw Once back in August, it dawned on me that movies can be adopted as your outlook on important areas of your life. I came up with 5 categories: God/Religion, Family, Relationships, Music, and Humanity. If I could pick one movie for each area, what would it be? The Godfather movies would represent my outlook on family. I want to be the kind of father that would do anything to protect my family, to stick up for what I believe it right. These movies are marvels to watch and study.

Dan, you are looking dapper today.

• The Princess Bride: I was very tempted to make sure Kari and I didn’t have any movies that agreed in our top ten. That way we would have 20 different movies that we just could not wait to show our kids. However, there a couple of choices that I could not leave off, no matter how much I wanted to twist the data. This is a perfect movie. The grandpa got it right when he said, “Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles.” The movie has it all. It is inconceivable how a movie could be this good.

• High Fidelity: “My desert island, all-time, top-five most memorable breakups, in chronological order, are as follows:” Most of us have them: Breakups, heartaches, meltdowns. This movie is the movie that represents my outlook on relationships. Rob’s blundering, self-centered actions that lead to some gray self-revelation about what love might be strikes a chord (where do I come up with these). And this might be Jack Black’s best role ever.

• 12 Monkeys: I love apocalyptic films. When I was making that other list back in August, I had to choose what movie would represent my view on humanity. This was one of the two movies that were in the running. (Would I choose hopeful or apocalyptic?) I love that 5 billion people died and just a handful of humans are left. There’s time-travel and scary music. Brad Pitt is amazing and not at all attractive in this roll. I’d like to put 2 Terry Gilliam works on this list, but I don’t know if it will work out. This was my all-time favorite movie for quite a number of years (you notice how all-time lists change so frequently?), but I think The Godfather could have eclipsed it. As an added bonus, let me tell you that this movie is even more enjoyable in black and white.

• Pulp Fiction: I wouldn’t show this to my children until they were much older, but I would show it to them. This is a fun movie. And it’s stylish. And it has so many layers. With its homage to great cinematic directors, its out-of-sync plot, its Tarantino dialogue and its attention to details, you can’t help but get something new from this movie each time you watch it.

• Millions: Another movie that Kari and I agree on. This movie is on that other list I mentioned earlier. This movie represents my outlook on Religion and God.

• Braveheart: I don’t know if this movie will age well. I could see it falling off the list at some point. However, for right now, this movie had an incredible impact on me. It impacted several of my friendships over the years. There is something powerful about watching this movie with your guy friends. Kind of like Gladiator and The Matrix (which could easily be on this list had I had honorable mentions).

• Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb: One of the funniest movies I have ever seen. I laugh so hard I cry when I watch this movie. “Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here! This is the War Room.” Brilliant.

• Guys and Dolls: I promised you all a musical. Marlon Brando is incredible in this film. This is a man’s musical if there is such a thing. It’s about a floating crap game and love. I mean how can you resist gamblers spontaneously bursting into song? You can’t!

I honestly don’t know what to put in the last spot. Back to the Future, The Lord of the Rings, Garden State, Brazil, A David Fincher film, a romantic comedy, Heat, The Shawshank Redemption, that movie that I chose as my outlook on humanity (the one that one out over 12 Monkeys)? After much deliberation and much sadness that this list has to end, I give you the last movie to make the list:

• Miller’s Crossing: What is the Coen Brothers’ best film? You can make a case for No Country For Old Men and for Barton Fink and possibly Fargo or The Big Lebowski, but Miller’s Crossing? No. However, I love gangster films and they do a fantastic job with their tribute to the gangster genre. I love how the Coens construct their films and feel that it truly works in this genre. This movie isn’t quotable like many of their other films, but it is beautiful to watch. Many of their go-to actors are in this film, including a brilliant performance by John Turturro. Do you remember that scene in Home Alone when Kevin decides to watch that movie his parents didn’t want him to watch? Remember that mob boss? Well, Albert Finney’s performance really reminds me of that crazy guy who gives you to the count of ten to get out of his office. He just plays the mob boss to perfection. “You ain’t got a license to kill bookies and today I ain’t sellin’. So take your flunky and dangle.”

Thanks for tagging me Kari. I have enjoyed discovering many a good film with you. I look forward to finding more movies that could possibly wind up making this list.

But Geof has asked me to do it once again.

The rules are as follows:

1. List your top ten favorite films in no particular order.
2. If you’re tagged, post your list and tag 3-5 other people.
3. Link back to the person who tagged you.
4. Give a hat tip (HT) to Dan.

Dan, may I just say, you are looking particularly lovely today. Whoever you are.

After some discussion, Mike and I determined that our definition of our favorite movies includes movies that we would be especially excited about showing our kids because they represent something about who we are. For example, I look forward to showing our kids The Wizard of Oz and The Princess Bride, but The Princess Bride shaped me in ways that The Wizard of Oz didn’t, so it goes on the list. But we’ll get to that in a minute.

Also, Mike and I have a constant debate on whether the Pride and Prejudice miniseries can be included on lists like these. I say yes, and he says, “No, it’s not cinema. It’s a miniseries.” (He really does say that. Cinema.) I have not included it on this list, but it’s there in spirit. Michael.

-About a Boy. This movie means something to me because of what it says about relationships and people in our lives. The first time I saw it, the conversation at the end deeply affected me, when Will says that if other people can make you happy, they can also make you unhappy. I remember thinking, “Yes, that is it exactly!” And then sweet Marcus does exactly what I would never do and goes out on the stage anyway, because he knows that the secret of life is that you need backup. You need those people around you who will make sacrifices for you when you need them to. I am not good at putting myself out there, and that is a lesson I need to learn just as much as Will did.

-Millions. I do not know a better movie about faith and belief and making a difference in the world.

-The (original) Star Wars Trilogy. Mike said this would not be on his list. Which made me feel like such a nerd. But I watched The Return of the Jedi over and over and over (we taped it off TV) and I read the novels and there’s just something about this story that I find so amazing. It still makes me feel like a kid to watch it. These days I can’t really watch Star Wars: A New Hope because it’s so exposition-heavy, but I don’t get tired of Empire or Jedi. For the record, since we talked about showing movies to our kids . . . our kids will watch them in this order: 4, 5, 6, Last 30 minutes of 3. We will just be pretending 1 and 2 don’t exist.

-The Lord of the Rings Trilogy. I know, everyone has this on their list. But I think about how I felt when I saw them, and I know they make the cut. The waiting in line, the first time I saw the Shire, the way it cemented my eternal love of Theoden. One of my favorite books, and while I disagree with some of Peter Jackson’s choices, his love of the material comes through, and that is enough for me.

-The Princess Bride. I feel like this movie shaped an entire generation’s sense of humor. It certainly helped shape mine. The first time I saw it, at a church lock-in, I thought, “That was strange.” But I wanted to see it again. The book is wonderful and hilarious, but this movie is something special, just the right combination of humor and sincerity.

-Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. I chose not to do the whole (original) trilogy because this is my favorite, the one I have seen the most, and the one that I would be most excited about watching as a family. The Indiana Jones mythology, the father and son relationship, and the awesomeness of the tasks at the end. I love it all.

-Dave. This was a huge movie in my family. The scene where Dave balances the budget taps into those feelings I have deep, deep down that nice people really can change the world. Since I’m so cynical about politics and people, it’s good for me to watch an unabashedly inspirational movie like this from time to time. Also, it’s hilarious. The ending drives Mike crazy because he finds it completely unbelievable (sure, the rest of the movie is totally something that could happen?) but my unabashedly inspirational self just can’t resist it.

-Sabrina. There’s, uh, a lot of Harrison Ford on this list, have you noticed? I’m not sure this movie is particularly good, but it is my go-to movie when I can’t sleep. It comforts me. We watched it a few weeks ago and I was fascinated by Linus . . . is everything he says to Sabrina a lie? When does it become the truth? Is there a moment when things change even though he doesn’t realize it? I haven’t decided yet.

-You’ve Got Mail. This is a movie that was just okay when it came out, but now I totally fall for Kathleen Kelly and the way that she must now define who she is as a woman without her mother’s store. I cry a lot more than I used to. Especially when the store closes. “We have loved being part of your lives.” I love the way that this is, in part, a movie about the way that books move us.

I hesitated quite a bit over what the last movie would be. Notting Hill? No, it doesn’t move me quite like some of the others. Little Miss Sunshine? Love it, but something kept me from including it. The Whale Rider? That’s a movie with a powerful message, but I don’t think it would be in my top ten.

And so . . . the tenth film for inclusion is . . .

-Pieces of April. I used to think the ending was abrupt, but when I watched it last Thanksgiving, I realized that it was the way that the family will remember holidays from now on: in bits and pieces. That’s how I remember my dad’s last Christmas, in snapshots. I don’t feel like an outcast in my own family, but I need to hear the message about what family means, to be reminded that we have to take advantage of that while we can. I cry watching this one now, which shouldn’t be a surprise. But it’s a good sort of cry.

My three people to tag are Mike (I will post his answers here), Melissa, and Bethany.

Hot Mess: Summer in the City is one part Sex and the City, one part The Devil Wears Prada (minus the awesome fashion), and one part high school. Emma Freeman has broken up with her boyfriend and scored a summer internship in New York City. She and her best friend Rachel are ready to hit the city for the summer, experiencing their first taste of freedom. While the internship is less exciting than Emma had hoped, she still manages to find plenty of excitement in the form of a hot coworker and a socialite roommate. Will Emma and Rachel find the love and glamor they expect? Or will they simply max out their parents’ credit cards?

I have never lived in New York, but I liked the way this book captured the feel of being there, especially the feel of being there as a stranger and a teenager. I also liked Emma, who knew that there was more to life than her high school boyfriend, but who had to be pushed into doing something about it. She had flaws, but they were believable, and her thoughts and attitudes sounded like a high schooler rather than an adult’s version of what a high schooler sounds like. I thought the book ended on a high note, but with room for more of Emma’s story. The references in this book will date it pretty quickly, which is a major drawback. While there are some stretches in the plot (the awesome apartment and ultra-rich roommate, for one), it’s a more realistic portrait of teenage life than Gossip Girl, and Emma’s sense of humor about her adventures and herself made it a good beach book for teens who dream about life in New York City.

Earlier in the school year, some of the teachers and I were joking about needing to be more positive. One of the art teachers even purchased a book at Barnes and Noble with quotes about positivity, and we tried to read them at lunchtime, but . . . the quotes were too long! They often had no meaning! Instead of being uplifting, they often depressed us.

When this book came in the mail, I read it, and I was so excited. I took it to school and we had Storytime With Kari at lunch. And this book was declared to be a great hit and exactly what we needed during the last few weeks of school. In fact, we found it so delightful that other spontaneous storytimes took place during the last week of school. This book is now famous at my school, both for the fact that it is cute and makes people smile, and also for the fact that I made adults sit and listen to me as I read it to them. I am still kind of new at that job, and I should maybe not do things like that.

I don’t know how to talk about picture books without showing some of the pictures. Here are a few reasons that we enjoyed this book.

The art teachers liked this page:

Big Bunny liked this page (in case you cannot read it, it says “International Bunny Appreciation Day”

And also she liked the face of the bunny here. Check out this bunny attitude:

Mike liked the environmental message:

But this was my favorite:

(I checked the artist’s website, because I love that picture and would love to have a print or a poster of it, but I don’t see anything at this time.)

I will be honest with you - I don’t tend to like little books of silly platitudes. But this book is a lot more than that. The message is simple, but the funny and charming illustrations make it something special. It would be perfect for a gift basket for a friend in need of some cheering up. (But don’t be surprised if you find yourself dancing spontaneously and making funny faces in the mirror.)

“Hope” is the thing with feathers —
That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —
And never stops — at all —

And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard —
And sore must be the storm —
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm —

I’ve heard it in the chillest land —
And on the strangest Sea —
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb — of Me.

Being a bit of a pessimist, I tend to be more of the, “Do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands,” school of thought. But perhaps Miss Emily is right. Perhaps I simply haven’t been listening.

Did you think maybe we would make it through this summer without any Harry Potter entries? Surely you are not quite that naive!

My plan was to reread the series this summer, but since they are packed, Mike and I have been listening to them instead. The other day, I paused the iPod and said, “A year ago we still did not know how it ended.” It took me back to those desperate feelings of needing to know how it was all going to end. To the night we saw J.K. Rowling at Carnegie Hall. To reading the book in our pajamas all day on July 21st. To the release party, complete with a fantastic setup of snacks, pizza, and my brother frantically reading in the corner, trying to finish Half-Blood Prince before midnight.

And it took me back to one of my favorite moments from the whole Deathly Hallows release experience, one that I didn’t mention at the time, but that I would like to talk about now: the day that the books came into the library.

It was just after lunch on July 11. My coworker stepped into my office, saying, “There’s a box that has Harry Potter written all over it. Should you come look at it?” I nearly tripped as I rushed over to the boxes, and, indeed, sitting right on top, there it was. Do not open before July 21.

The night before, I had dreamed that it was Harry Potter Day, and I was so happy. We hadn’t been spoiled. We were going to make it. I woke up, and, no, it wasn’t Harry Potter Day. It was just a regular old Wednesday. It technically was Harry Potter Movie Day, but Harry Potter Movie Day didn’t really mean all that much to me.

We opened the invoice and I reiterated to my coworker the importance of keeping and processing them in a secure environment, not opening the box before absolutely necessary, not reading it, not posting on the internet. All the things we’d promised in order to get the books. This was it. This was the last book. It was Right. There. It would not be an exaggeration to say that I kind of hugged the box. I was so excited. Finally, the book was within my reach. Finally, it was almost time to read it. First I hid it behind my trashcan. Then I hid it under my desk. Go ahead and imagine all of that. I’ll wait.

You back? Have you stopped laughing? All right then. I tried frantically to call Mike, who was actually watching the movie (which I did not know at the time), and therefore did not answer his phone. I debated telling some of my friends. There was the gloating factor “guess what is under my desk” aspect vs. the pressure I knew they’d give me. “Why don’t you just open it?” they’d say. “Why don’t you take it home and read it? I’d never be able to do that.” I did not need any encouragement to be weak. I was feeling very weak. I just wanted to know what was going to happen. I just wanted to know. I had so many questions. But I had given my word, I had signed all the papers, so I kept my mouth shut and the box under my desk. I tried to call Mike again. I sent him emails with LARGE CAPITAL LETTERS. I sat at my desk for a while, and I realized that I did not want to spend the next ten days with it that close to me.

I’ll be honest with you — it surprised me how hard it was to have them so close. When Half-Blood Prince came in, I had no problem being strong. I had no problem waiting to get and read it at midnight like everyone else. I didn’t even look at the back cover. With Deathly Hallows, though, my fear of spoilers made me really anxious, and it was hard to have the “solution” to that anxiety right under my desk. In my mind, the spoiler situation was elevated to a “severe threat” level, which made it much easier to think about cheating. To protect myself. Ah, justification. Let me wrap myself in your arms.

And so I locked them in a closet, both for the safety of the books and for my own sanity. I locked them in a closet as if I was trying to make a bargain with God. “If I do the right thing, could you please work it out so I don’t get spoiled? Could you please make other people do the right thing, too?” Life doesn’t work like that, I know. And bargaining with God is always a bad idea. But instead of taking the book home, breaking the law, breaking my word, I did the right thing. The other 20 copies came in on July 17th. Again, I locked them immediately in a closet. I did hold one in my hand this time, but I didn’t even crack it open to look at the title page. It felt good, to hold it in my hand. I let that be enough.

There was some discussion that week of what kind of person would intentionally spoil a book for other people. I put forth the theory that it was a power trip. I felt uniquely situated in the discussion, because, as my boss said, “I am not keeping you from the book. Your own conscience is keeping you from it.” (I told him he’d better put that in my performance evaluation: “Shows integrity even under extreme pressure.”) While I never would have spoiled it for anyone, I understood the draw of letting other people know that I had it, even if I wasn’t going to read it. As I said before, at first I couldn’t handle the pressure of people knowing, but later in the week, after the spoilers were out, I started to see things differently. When Half-Blood Prince came into my office four days before the release date, I gloated. I didn’t read it early, but I wanted them to know I had it. Since then, I have come to see that as somewhat sad. I don’t need to get my identity from having the book before other people, as if I am part of some special group and they aren’t. What would be the point of that? And so, for the most part, I managed not to tell people. I discussed the paperwork I had to sign, and perhaps people inferred that we had it, but all in all, I think I was much better behaved than when Half-Blood Prince came out. I hope it meant that I had grown a little in the two years between the two books, behaving like a reasonable adult rather than being tacky and immature.

And in the end, it worked out. I got to work on the morning of the 20th, I processed the books and got them ready for checkout the next day. (Actually processing the books was HARD. I had to TOUCH THEM and put JACKETS ON THEM and NOT READ THEM.) We had our party and there were no spoilers and Mike and I spent a frantic 21 hours reading it out loud. And all of that was wonderful, and I won’t forget it. But, for me, the moment when I saw the box was one of the most exciting experiences of the whole crazy ride, and I am incredibly proud to say that I had it and I locked it away.

(I saved one of the boxes, because I thought it was awesome. But this picture is from July 20th, the day we opened the boxes to process them. And, yes, my hands did shake a little bit. Stop laughing at me! I was kind of excited!)

On Sunday afternoon, Mike and I went and played Scrabble at the zoo. I don’t know exactly how this happened. A few years ago, we went through a crazy Scrabble phase. And now that Mike has taken up Scrabulous, we seem to be in another crazy Scrabble phase. We wanted to get out of the house, and I said, “Well, why don’t we go to the zoo?” Somehow or another, this morphed into, “Let’s go play Scrabble at the zoo.” This is the beauty of the zoo membership. You don’t have to go and look at any animals in particular. You can go hang out with the tortoises and play Scrabble. (However, if you need to call someone to settle a word dispute, you are going to have to explain yourself. Be prepared for that.)

For a while, we sat on a bench and played with the board between us, but then some zoo employees moved from a table that was set up right next to the tortoises, so we grabbed the table. We looked very official there. I was kind of terrified that we were going to be asked questions and not know the answers. Fortunately this did not happen. If it had, I would have felt compelled to make up stuff. This is how I trick people into thinking I am smart. I make up answers and say them with authority. I am a librarian. This totally works, and I advise all librarians out there to do the same.

The zoo employees for the KidZone play area were happy to see the space being used for all kinds of play. One lady stopped by a few times, confused at first. But after I said, “Well, we have a membership, so why not?” she was totally on board. And advised us on some words (she objected to one that wasn’t really a word, but I allowed it because we allow Harry Potter words in our games). And, as usual, Mike crushed and destroyed me. At least I had the tortoises to console me. I got to watch them eat. They are really really funny.

I think it would be awesome to go there regularly all summer long and become known as “the weird Scrabble people.” But perhaps never going back makes us even more mysterious. “The weird Scrabble people who never returned” has a nice ring to it, too.

The first time I saw my younger brother as a man was at my dad’s memorial service. At the last minute, and unbeknownst to me and my mom, he decided to share a few thoughts at the end of the service. As he stood there, sharing his thoughts and doing his best to honor our dad, I saw him as I had never seen him before, standing tall and communicating himself in a powerful way.

That’s not to say that he had never acted as a man before, just that I hadn’t had the opportunity to see him in that light. We are about as opposite as two siblings can be, and in our early 20s, we did not have a whole lot in common. I did not know the kind of person he was becoming, and I am grateful that that has changed in the past couple of years. We might not be very similar, but we have the same sense of humor, and I love how that comes out on holidays. And when we make fun of my mom for only eating half of whatever is in front of her. I love it when he praises the things I cook, because he will not praise it unless he means it. I like to hear his constructive criticism on recipes, too, even if it’s hard for me to hear, because he always has good thoughts on how to improve them. He gave us all reason to laugh on Christmas Day when we were creating our Miis on the Wii that he gave me and Mike. He let me call him and cry a few weeks ago when I was sad about Dad missing Mike’s graduation.

Most of us spend our 20s worrying about ourselves and discovering who we are. My brother moved back home to help my dad when my mom was sick, and he stayed at home when my dad was sick. He continues to be there for my mom in ways that I cannot. He is one of the people I know I can call when I need advice or need to talk. He has helped me through all kinds of problems, including house problems I can no longer call Dad about. (I called him just last week about a homework issue, and he called back the next day to make sure it had all worked out for me.) We have our differences, but I continue to be amazed at his generosity and compassion and intelligence. I am thankful for his presence in our lives, and I wonder sometimes if we will ever be able to repay him for all the ways he has helped us in the past few years.

And so, on Father’s Day, I want to honor my dad by saying these things. Look, Dad, your son is taking great care of us all. I know you are proud of him. I wish you were here to see it.

I finished Gaudy Night last night . . . my summer class has made reading somewhat difficult, but it will be over in a week and a half, so I expect my books read to skyrocket in July.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that one of our fellow concert-goers did not have what I thought to be proper concert etiquette. At the time, I considered quoting from Gaudy Night, but was too lazy to get the book off of the shelf. So I will quote from it now, as it is still on the couch here beside me (I don’t know where to put it . . . the rest of our books are packed. I miss you, books). I will go ahead and confess that this paragraph shapes quite a lot of what I consider to be proper concert etiquette.

He was wrapt in the motionless austerity with which all genuine musicians listen to genuine music. Harriet was musician enough to respect this aloofness; she knew well enough that the ecstatic rapture on the face of the man opposite meant only that he was hoping to be thought musical, and that the elderly lady over the way, waving her fingers to the beat, was a musical moron. She knew enough, herself, to read the sounds a little with her brains, laboriously unwinding the twined chains of melody link by link. Peter, she felt sure, could hear the whole intricate pattern, every part separately and simultaneously, each independent and equal, separate but inseparable, moving over and under and through, ravishing heart and mind together.

You guys, I just love Dorothy Sayers. Maybe she is being too judgy in this passage, but . . . “unwinding the chains of melody link by link?” That is some gorgeous stuff right there. Gaudy Night is a book that has meant a lot to me as a woman, a scholar, and a feminist, and this is one of the paragraphs that has left its mark on me. I know that I am no genuine musician, but I try to be respectful of those around me who can appreciate the intricacies of music when I am attending a live concert. And that was what I was trying to say - the woman who annoyed me with her exuberance was, according to Dorothy sayers at least, probably not even really enjoying the music, but wanted to be seen enjoying it, to be thought of as musical.

I find something different every time I read the book, and while I remember this section, it stood out to me this time. Harriet is discussing her relationship with Peter, how Peter has watched her wrestle with her demons and been respectful enough not to interfere or force himself into the situation, despite the fact that he loves her.

“Yes. I almost wish he had interfered, instead of being so horribly intelligent. It would be quite a relief to be ridden over rough-shod for a change.”

“He will never do that. That’s his weakness. He’ll never make up your mind for you. You’ll have to make your own decisions. You needn’t be afraid of losing your independence; he will always force it back on you. If you ever find any kind of repose with him, it can only be the repose of very delicate balance.”

Perhaps this paragraph left its mark, too, without me knowing it, because those are things I would say about Mike, as well. I wouldn’t say that Mike reminds me of Lord Peter in any way except this: when I have tried to abdicate certain decisions or decision-making processes, he makes it clear that he expects me to act as an equal partner. He always encourages me to think for myself and to work out my problems without trying to fix them for me. It is a delicate balance, and one that I appreciate about our relationship. He has, esentially, asked me to grow up and expected a lot from me over the past few years, and his faith in me has helped me live up to his expectations.

There are so many new and unread books on my list that sometimes I don’t have time to squeeze in the old favorites. But this was the right decision for me, to pick up this book. I am always sad when it is over. Usually I move straight on through to Busman’s Honeymoon. And I would have this time, too. Except it’s already packed up.

On Saturday, after I finished my race, Mike handed me a bottle of water. “What’d you get at the Farmer’s Market?” I asked him.

“Blueberries,” he said. “You’re making a pie this week.”

That second picture is to show you the lattice work I did there. Check me out. Also, check out the spot on the right where Mike snitched some crust. I think that means I did all right.

For a long time, I thought I didn’t really like pie, because I am not big on cooked fruit. I still wouldn’t just eat baked apples, but I am happy to discover that I do enjoy pie. I also enjoy the sense of accomplishment it gives me to make one. (Note to Mike: This does not mean I want you to go and buy more blueberries.)

Tomorrow is the last day of school. These past few weeks, full of 8th grade dances, awards ceremonies, hugs, and tears, have made me remember the last days of my own middle school experience. My 8th grade year took place before it became so fashionable to have “graduations” from everything, so we merely had an awards ceremony. I will be honest with you. I won a lot of awards that night. Mostly highest averages. I had a lot of highest averages. I won so many that one of my classmates later made some remark about wallpaper and how I was going to have plenty of it. I didn’t know him very well. I have always wondered if he actually thought that I was so much of a nerd that I would put them on my wall. (I might not have been THAT much of a nerd, but I bet I am such a nerd that I still have all of them somewhere.) While I was happy with all my certificates that proved I was the smartest, I was disappointed that I didn’t win the award for most improved on the softball team. For the record, I still happen to believe that I was the most improved. (I had nowhere to go but up, and I really shone in right field.)

The last day of 8th grade, I turned in a bunch of my reading points for candy. I had earned more points than anyone else. Of course. I did this by reading books such as A Tale of Two Cities, Wuthering Heights, The Scarlet Letter, and . . . wait for it . . . Anna Karenina. Would you like to know why I read Anna Karenina in the 8th grade? When everyone else was reading Newbery winners? Because it was worth the most points. Obviously. What a brat I must have been. I don’t remember a whole lot of Anna Karenina, and I would like to revisit it someday. But I at least understand references to it. Thanks, 8th grade Kari, for making that possible.

So, anyway, I turned in my points for candy, and at first I refused to share (the candy that I had earned by reading classics while they were reading Newbery winners). But some of the other kids made me feel so bad about the sheer volume of candy that I had earned that I offered to share with them. I actually handed one of them the bag and told him to split it up with the whole class. It was good candy, too, but I was tired of fighting and tired of always doing the wrong thing. He looked at me and handed the candy back without taking any.

And then it was time to ride the bus home, to finally leave the school where I never really fit in, the school I would not miss. As I looked out the window at my teachers waving, tears suddenly started rolling down my face. I was surprised and embarrassed to realize I was crying. I wasn’t sad to leave the school where I had been so lonely and friendless. And yet I felt a great sense of loss, as if my heart was more aware of what I was leaving behind than my mind was ready to comprehend. I would no longer experience the relative safety of my small middle school. Instead, it was time to move on to high school, to locker combinations and football games and phone calls with boys. I did not know what was ahead of me, just as I did not know why I was suddenly sad to leave any of it behind. The bus pulled away from the front of the school and the teachers started walking back in the building. I dried my eyes and opened a piece of candy.

-Chocolate milkshakes from Cookout. A student’s mom brought me a chocolate milkshake as a thank you present for helping her son. Since the air conditioning has been broken in my library, this was practically a gift of life itself.

-Iced Passion tea from Starbucks. I love this tea hot in the wintertime, but I am learning that it’s also good cold. I brought my plastic leaching Nalgene full of it today and drank it quickly. Delicious.

-Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers. Between the heat at school, the stress of not knowing exactly when we will be moving, and the class I am taking, my brain is basically fried. I wanted to read something familiar and comforting, so I picked up Gaudy Night. It’s the kind of book that makes me feel cool on a hot day, the kind of book that goes perfectly with a tall glass of iced Passion tea. It is always a pleasure to return to the world of Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane.

Last week, I had some 6th graders helping me in the media center. I worked them hard, but they had fun, too, running errands around the school, stamping books, shelving videos. As we were delivering some books out to one of the mobile classrooms, I noticed that one of the girls and I were wearing the same jeans. Arizona jeans, of course. The jeans I should be paid to advertise because I am always raving about them. I said, “Hey, we are wearing the same jeans!” She, in her quiet way, said, “I noticed that earlier.” I was all set to do my regular, “Wooooo! J.C. Penney!” routine when I saw a flash of something in her eyes, something that made me keep my mouth shut. It has been a while since I worried about what brand of jeans I was wearing, but I have not forgotten what that feels like. I don’t know what brand is important these days (I will guess that it’s not, well, Guess), but I expect it’s not Arizona. I contented myself with saying, “I like these jeans a lot!” She smiled, looking down.

They looked good on her, by the way. She had nothing whatsoever to be ashamed of. I know she’ll know that one day. I hope I helped a little bit.

I am not a horse girl. I grew up in a farming community, and many of my classmates had horses and enjoyed riding. My mom’s cousin kept horses in the field next to our house (doesn’t my childhood sound lovely?). I enjoyed taking them apples and sugar cubes, but I was kind of afraid of them. The one time I rode a horse (thank you Pioneer Girls, for giving me new and different experiences – they can also have the credit for the only time I have been ice skating), I was terrified. The horse was so big and powerful and I was too scared to stay on it just to ride around in a ring. One of my aunts gave me Misty of Chincoteague one summer, and I would have loyally said that I enjoyed it, but . . . it just didn’t do much for me. I read Black Beauty a few years later, and felt pretty much the same. I have never seen Seabiscuit. I did enjoy Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken, that movie about horse diving, but I think that was because part of it was filmed in my uncle’s house in Myrtle Beach. And also because I thought the main guy was dreamy. (Whatever happened to him, anyway?)

And so, it should not surprise you to hear that I would never have picked up this book if I hadn’t had a personal connection to it. My cousin’s wife, Annie Wedekind, is the author. My shiny new copy was delivered from Amazon last week, and I was excited to read it, but also a little apprehensive. What if the horsey stuff just didn’t do it for me? Well, let me tell you - last night I stayed up past my bedtime to finish the book. And you know how I like my sleep.

A Horse of Her Own is about Jane Ryan, who is spending the summer at Sunny Acres farm where she can ride her favorite horse, Beau, take the advanced riding class, and spend time with her best friend Robin. When things don’t go exactly as she had imagined, she struggles with training a different horse, Lancelot, with her feelings for Ben, who works in the stable, and with the question of how much she wants to fit in with the cliquish group of wealthy girls in her class.

For me, the best part of the story was Jane’s dealings with the clique she can’t be a part of. I related to her desire to be included, even as she wrestled with the question of why she would want to spend time with people who didn’t want to spend time with her. Jane’s relationship with her friend Robin was also great – they alternated between being serious about their horse riding and being silly teenage girls, which made them both likeable and believable.

As far as the horse stuff goes . . . I am not sure how it would read to someone who is a big horse person, but I thought Annie did a great job of explaining what needed to be explained and just expecting the reader to keep up with the rest. I still don’t know exactly what all of the terms mean, but I got a sense of why horses are so important to Jane and could visualize most of what was happening. I think that girls who love horse books will love this book and will relate to Jane and her desire to have a horse of her own. And I think that the rest of us can relate to Jane’s struggle to define who she is, her crush on Ben, and her fantastic relationship with her sister. Whether we love horses or not. (It did make me wish I knew how to ride just a little bit, which is probably the strongest possible praise that I can give a horse book.)

I recommend this for the teenagers and horse-lovers in your life. It’s sweet and funny and I enjoyed every minute.

When we did the great magazine cleanout of 2008, I pulled out every single EW book review that was of interest to me and wrote the titles and authors down on my To Be Read List. I noticed that EW listed as its top fiction book for the year a book called The Post-Birthday World by Lionel Shriver. It might be true that most people haven’t heard of it, but I did remember ordering it back when I worked for the public library, so I put it on hold, and over the past week, I finally got around to reading it.

The setup is this: Two couples (Lawrence and Irina; Ramsey and Jude) regularly get together on Ramsey’s birthday, July 6th. After Ramsey and Jude divorce, Lawrence and Irina continue to spend his birthday with him, mostly because of their feelings of duty and pity. One year, Ramsey’s birthday rolls around and Lawrence happens to be out of town, but encourages Irina not to neglect Ramsey. And so, Irina and Ramsey have a boozy dinner that ends at his house. As he teaches her to play snooker, she feels a powerful urge to kiss him.

And here the book diverges . . . in alternating chapters, we find out what her life would be like if she did kiss him and if she didn’t. The stories parallel in a clever manner, with opposite things taking place in each version of her life. I told Andrea about this book, and she said, “Well, that sounds like something that is right up your alley.” And I would agree, except for one thing: I kind of hate Irina. Which is a pretty big problem. Irina seems content to let things happen around her, to be treated badly by both of these two men, to refuse to make decisions for herself. Over the course of the story, I grew to like her a little bit more, but there was definitely a point at which I just wanted her to forget about both of these guys and make a new and different life for herself somewhere (anywhere) else. I chose at that point to keep reading, and I am glad I did, but this was not an easy or comfortable book to read at any point. By the end, even the characters I did like managed to do things to make me despise them.

And so, I don’t recommend this book, exactly. If you think it sounds like something you might enjoy, please do read it, because I would love to have someone with whom I could discuss it. It kept my interest, and I learned a lot about snooker, but it was kind of a downer. It was well-crafted, though, and I would be interested to read other books by Lionel Shriver. (Has anyone read We Need to Talk About Kevin?)

After reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle late last summer, Mike and I began to regularly get up on Saturday mornings and go to the Farmer’s Curb Market downtown. The winter is not the best time to go to the Farmer’s Market, but we continued to go and buy pita bread, at least, from a local bakery, and to get greenhouse vegetables from time to time. We like the sense of community there, that some of the vendors have begun to recognize us and that we always see friends from church there, doing their part to support the local economy. We even had a presentation about buying locally one Wednesday night at church, which led to some good discussion. (We’ve seen even more people from church there since then.)

Now that spring has rolled back around, I have been purchasing whatever was available in order to try it out. We have adjusted our menus a bit (just a bit) to incorporate what is available with the idea of eating more seasonally. Early spring means things like asparagus and turnips started showing up. I didn’t buy asparagus, because Mike despises asparagus (so sad), but I got some turnips (which neither of us had tried before) and prepared them using this recipe. (Except I think I used olive oil instead of butter.) Verdict? We liked them a lot. I, especially, thought that they were pretty great. This week’s big find was rhubarb, something else I’d never tried. I made a Strawberry Rhubarb Pie last night, and it was wonderful. (Is it okay for me to say that? I mean, all I did was put it together, but the rhubarb/strawberry combination was wonderful. I even lattice-topped it! It was really really wet, though. I would probably cook it a little longer next time.) We both had it again for breakfast this morning.

Speaking of strawberries, we have not bought much fresh fruit at the grocery store this winter, and I don’t know when I have enjoyed strawberry season more. When I was younger, there were always strawberries available, because we froze strawberries from my grandmother’s garden and ate them year-round. Waiting for strawberries this year, watching them start to appear at the Farmer’s Market - that was a huge treat. I made a strawberry tart last weekend that we enjoyed with friends at a cookout (using this tart crust recipe, which was highly praised), we made strawberry shortcake several times, and we enjoyed strawberries for brunch on Mother’s Day (which also featured eggs, challah, and flowers from the Farmer’s Market) and with some other friends. We have been living it up this strawberry season, is what I am saying. If our jeans are more snug than they were a month ago, I am here to tell you that it has been worth it. Strawberry season comes and goes so quickly, and you should take advantage of it while you can.

We still buy produce from the grocery store, and we weren’t able to plant a garden this year because we will be moving, but we have taken steps to eat more seasonally, and it has been a great gift to me. Each week I approach the aisles of the Farmer’s Market with anticipation, and it has given me a greater sense of appreciation for the bounty of this earth that God has given us.

It’s funny how taking the time to be mindful of things makes me a more reverent person. When I was little, my dad would, from time to time, take me and my brother out from school and give us a day with him at the mall or at the fair or in his college classes. I think he was trying to teach me about what is really important, and I am thankful, now, for those days. Taking walks in the park instead of another night on the couch gives me the chance to appreciate the trees and the squirrels and the stars. Instead of rushing home, I have a drink with some friends after school, and am given the chance to laugh until I begin to tear up. In the same vein, taking the time to think about what we are eating and where it comes from has given me the chance to appreciate the bright colors of fruits and vegetables, eggs and cheese on a Saturday morning, after years of being desensitized to them at the grocery store.