Childhood

In Front of Grandma's House

June 11, 2014

Me (and Pedro), in front of Grandma's house

There are many fine poems in which the poet looks deeply into a photograph and tries to touch the lives caught there. Here’s one by Tami Haaland, who lives in Montana. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Little Girl

She’s with Grandma in front
of Grandma’s house, backed
by a willow tree, gladiola and roses.

Who did she ever want
to please? But Grandma
seems half-pleased and annoyed.

No doubt Mother frowns
behind the lens, wants
to straighten this sassy face.

Maybe laughs, too.
Little girl with her mouth wide,
tongue out, yelling

at the camera. See her little
white purse full of treasure,
her white sandals?

She has things to do,
you can tell. Places to explore
beyond the frame,

and these women picking flowers
and taking pictures.
Why won’t they let her go?

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. “Little Girl” from When We Wake in the Night, by Tami Haaland, ©2012 WordTech Editions, Cincinnati, Ohio. Poem reprinted by permission of Tami Haaland and the publisher. Introduction copyright 2012 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

Books

Summer Rerun--Book Junkie

June 09, 2014

Note: I'm taking a more relaxed approach to blogging this summer, so occasionally I'm going to rerun a previous post. I hope you enjoy this one, from 2010. I have made a few minor edits, including updating the photos, since it last appeared, and I've added an author's note regarding the progress (or lack thereof) I'm making on my TBR piles.


I confess. I’m a book junkie. In this electronic age, I’m utterly and completely addicted to books: reading them, buying them, browsing through them in a bookstore or library. When I inhale the smell of a bookstore, especially a used bookstore, my heart flutters and adrenaline surges through me.

Libraries also give me a rush. All those books waiting to be opened—and they’re free. I know my 14-digit library card number by heart, and I adore searching the online catalog and putting books on hold. With one click of a mouse, I can feed my habit with books from libraries all over my county.

And buying books online? While it lacks the sensuality of the bookstore, online book buying gives me an additional fix: endless titles and both familiar and obscure-but-fascinating authors to explore. I can spend hours wandering through Amazon or Abe Books or Half.com. Not only is there the thrill of finding a bargain book (May Sarton’s Journal of a Solitude for a penny!), but the additional pleasure of anticipating the arrival of that book in the mail.

My addiction is such that I read at every opportunity, and in every type of surrounding. Along with more traditional places, such as doctors’ waiting rooms or the bathtub, I read while in the gas station car wash (and once while pumping gas), while in line at the drive through at the pharmacy or bank, while blow drying my hair, while nursing my baby in the middle of the night, and between halves at that baby’s football games (he’s 19 now). I once tried to read in a Jacuzzi spa, but found the jets splashed too much water on the book.

I usually read at least three books at one time—fiction, non-fiction, self-help, humor, spirituality…I’ve got a book for every mood. I read books about books (one of my favorites was aptly titled Leave Me Alone I’m Reading) and keep a log of the books I read each year. Once, I made a New Year’s resolution to read less. When I pack for a vacation, I choose what books to take as carefully as I choose my clothing.

I confess that I feed my husband’s addiction as well. Aside from the pleasure I know reading gives him, if he doesn’t have something good to read, then I won’t be able to…he’ll need conversation or meals or (ahem) “marital attention” when I want to read. (Does that make me a pusher?)

I like to blame my mother for my dilemma. I inherited my love of reading from her, but she may have just the slightest addiction problem herself: she once got a traffic ticket for reading while sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic. She had opened a book on the seat beside her, snatching sentences while the traffic remained at a standstill. The motorcycle cop who ticketed her did not approve.

Books started out as my innocent companions—my solace in a rather lonely childhood, their characters my friends and comforters. Coming home to an empty house after school wasn’t quite so bad when I could roam the fields and woods of Prince Edward Island with Anne of Green Gables or feel the wind on my face as Alec raced with the Black Stallion. Books taught me about everything from puberty to how to bake brownies. My desire to travel was first awakened by reading James Herriot’s Yorkshire.

Books have enriched my life more than I can say—but somehow, I crossed the line from relaxing hobby to addiction. For years, I kidded myself, denying I had a problem—until we recently remodeled our bedroom closet and my addiction became something I could no longer ignore. On a free-standing bookcase in our closet, I had stored my stash of purchased-but-not-yet-read books. When I moved them to make room for the new closet system, I found I had 52 unread books. That’s a whole year’s worth if I manage to read one a week!

So now I’m in rehab. I can’t buy any more books and I must curtail my library habit until I read some of the ones I actually own. I’ve sifted through the books in the closet and made the hard decision to get rid of a few. As they’ve lingered in the stack, I’ve realized that I’m just not going to read some of them. (Henry James’ The Golden Bowl comes to mind. I’ve begun that book three times and haven’t been able to make it out of the first chapter.)

One of the piles
It’s been several months since I confronted my problem. I haven’t been completely successful in reining in my book habit, but the unread books in my closet now number only 28. Hey, it’s a start.

Author's note: Since I wrote this post, things have only gotten worse. I currently have even MORE than 52 unread books on my shelves, despite participating in two Mount TBR Challenges. In 2014 I have limited my book acquisition to books received from Paperback Swap, purchased from my library's book shop or with my credit at a local used book shop. I'm still acquiring books, but at a slower rate. I don't think I'll ever come to the end of my TBR piles, but my goal is just to get them down to a manageable size so that I won't feel like a hoarder every time I enter my closet.

Backyards

Right in My Own Backyard

June 06, 2014

Some unusual things have been happening in my own back yard. This plant/tree is blooming:



Anyone know what it is? A neighbor gave us a piece trimmed from her tree (it looked like a three-pronged stick), and it’s growing leaves and blossoming. It smells nice, too.

The ginger is blooming:


So is the geranium:


And the angel wing begonia:



One of our sago palms has produced this:


A mature male Sago produces this cone every second or third year. (Though technically, this is in my front yard.)

On the downside, our dog, who is 15 years old, cut her leg badly enough to need stitches and a trip to the emergency vet. Then two days later, she came in from the backyard with a punctured foot—the vet says either a bite or an entrapment injury. She’s now on lockdown—can’t go out in the backyard without supervision—which doesn’t please her, but oh, well. She’s pretty much back to normal, and I’m taking her to have the stitches removed this morning. (I have pictures of those, too, but I’ll spare you!)

Even though I love to go exploring, it’s clear that there are plenty of everyday adventures to be had right in my own backyard.

What’s been happening in your backyard lately?

Books

She Didn't Come to Stay...

June 04, 2014

But while she was here, she had a profound influence on so many.

I heard Maya Angelou speak in Tampa a few years ago, and while I don’t remember her exact words, I remember the feeling I left with—the feeling that life was a precious gift, and we should live it to the fullest. She was funny and wise and just…amazing.

I’ve only read the first volume of her autobiography (I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings), but I have a couple more on my TBR shelf (the title of this post is a variation on the last line of her final autobiographical volume, A Song Flung Up to Heaven) and a volume of her poetry.

In remembrance of Maya Angelou, who died May 28 at age 86, here are a few of my favorite quotes:

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

“I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back.”

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

“All great artists draw from the same resource: the human heart, which tells us that we are more alike than we are unalike.”

“Easy reading is damn hard writing.”

“Some critics will write, ‘Maya Angelou is a natural writer’—which is right after being a natural heart surgeon.”

“I believe the most important single thing, beyond discipline and creativity, is daring to dare.”

 Click below to see Dr. Angelou recite her poem, “Still I Rise.”


Happiness

Choosing Happiness

June 02, 2014

I think and write a lot about the things that contribute to a happy life in general, as well as what makes me, specifically happy. Lately, I’ve been thinking about one particular factor: choosing happiness.

I know I have a good life. And as I become more mindful of that life, while doing the everyday, ordinary things that make it up—driving to the grocery store, browsing the library shelves, cooking dinner—more often I’m choosing to feel happy. Happy instead of rushed, instead of frustrated, resentful, worried, etc. Happy.

I’m not talking about pasting on a happy face when life is truly hard, or denying pain and negative feelings. I’m talking about recognizing how happy ordinary life can be. Instead of feeling neutral or hurried, instead of zoning out and not feeling anything, I choose to feel happy.

How about you?