Books

The Looking Back Game

Posted on October 12, 2013 by Kami
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Just a handful of my journals.

I play this game occasionally. It’s called, “What was I doing on this day x many years ago.”

I get out a few of my not too recent past journals and happy books and look up the month and day. Today I would look up October 12 in whatever year I held in my hands.

It’s a gambling game because the potential for happy memories is fairly high, but the risk that I’ll be reading about some low point is equally high. For that reason I have several years handy. If one years entry for that day is more than I want to delve into I can drop it like a hot potato and jump to the next entry quick and easy.

This morning I played the game with the idea that I’d find something muse-like to inspire me. Y’know, jog a great memory, remind me of a great day I could write about, or conjure people from my past. But like life tends to do, what I found instead wasn’t the thing I searched for.

Here’s a few things I found while playing this morning:

  1. I realized I have led a weird life that makes little sense to an outsider and even to an insider. 
  2. My experiences don’t fit in a box. I’m a rectangle peg in a round hole world.
  3. It’s a wonder I’m not completely nuts and committed and on heavy sedation.
  4. Forgetting is a healthy thing.
  5. Forgiving is even healthier than forgetting.
  6. There has to be a higher power operating in my life or I’d have never survived some of the roads I’ve taken.
  7. I’ve found beauty in the oddest of places and joy among ashes and destruction.
  8. I don’t see things the way most people do, which can fall on either side of the good/bad spectrum.
  9. I’m not always honest with myself even in my journals.
  10. The truth wins in staring contests every time.
  11. “Blessed” is too weak a word to describe my life so far.
  12. It’s a good thing I didn’t know about the obstacles in the road ahead.
  13. Looking back at those obstacles astounds and amazes me.
  14. I don’t want to have a clue about what’s still waiting for me up ahead.
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A page from a Happy Book.

For these reasons and dozens more, I’m extremely glad I’ve written down some of the stuff of my life. A review of the past like today’s little game makes me more determined to journal about the real, the difficult, the conversations, the laughter, the frightening and especially the love.

I particularly don’t want to forget a single person who’s been part of my days and hours. I want word snapshots of each one of them that, like a key, will unlock our shared time together in faded, but still clear nuances of smiles or tears, gestures, a certain look, words shared and sweet kindnesses.

The hard times give contrast and shadow to the softer ones and make me cherish the now, whatever that might bring. Honestly, reading about some of those struggles makes me pray all the more that I don’t have to face anything like it again. I’m done with difficult. Although, I’m pretty sure difficult isn’t done with me.

In journal writing or happy book writing, it’s not the historical details but the emotions behind those facts that really matter. As much as I’d like to forget at times, I really, really want to remember, too.

I think I’ll be a little kinder to myself today. I think I’ve earned it.

That wasn’t such a fun game as I’d hoped.

Categories: Books, Memory Lane | Tags: , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Bookmark That!

Posted on September 8, 2013 by Kami

Book lovers have their quirks. One of mine involves dog earring pages of books I own. Blasphemy, some of you may think. But to me a dog eared book is a beloved book. If I also write in the margins, or underline, or star, or highlight, then the book is even more loved.

Occasionally I can’t or don’t want to dog ear a book. Librarians get fussy and really don’t like it when you squinch those corners down. And for that I need a bookmark.

One of my favorite bookmarks shows a squished Garfield with his quintessential thought bubble, “I thought you’d never open this book again.” I think I’ve had this since college. It’s in pretty good shape.

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This next bookmark, made of leather, was a gift from my friend Kathy. She brought it back for me from a cruise she went on couple of years ago. It’s not the place or the bookmark but the person it’s from that makes it priceless.

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Just yesterday I met the author of The Rent Collector at a book signing. Camron Wright also gifted the bookmark, actually hand signed by Sang Ly, the woman whose life the book is loosely based on. You can rest assured I’ll treasure this one for ages. If you haven’t read this book yet, do so!! Find it as fast as you can, read it. Don’t put it off. You’ll thank me. What a treasure!

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Here’s a handcrafted piece of artwork by my daughter. Loaded with love in a book she gave me for my birthday.

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Pressed flowers from a home-grown garden in Minnesota made this bookmark an extra special gift.

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And this one. A gift bookmark made by one of my daughters who is also an avid reader and chocolate afficianado.

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Best one word piece of advice I ever saw in a bookmark.

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More often than not the bookmarks I use are whatever is at hand when something else demands my attention. An envelope, a sticky note, a piece of paper torn off something, a ribbon, a paper clip or even a pencil. This book, from the looks of the Christmas themed notepaper marking my place, was getting read near the holidays. I find the book it sticks out of kind of ironic, or coincidental. Not sure if I learned much from the book, but friends and most people do bring me joy.

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Marking up books so I can find stunning passages, or underlining brilliant bits of wisdom, or dog earing a page I want to find easily and quickly, are all just ways of letting a book feel the love right back at it. I find it odd that I, apparently, have a relationship with my bookmarks as well.

Here’s the last one I’ll share with you. Crafted by my daughter it captures my sentiments exactly.

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When it comes to books, I suppose I’m just a basket case. Or would that be a book case?

Categories: Books | Tags: , , | 4 Comments

The Real Beginning of It All

Posted on July 5, 2013 by Kami

“I am beginning to learn

that it is the sweet, simple things of life

which are the real ones after all.”

– Laura Ingalls Wilder

This woman, this writer of real things, of simple, ordinary days, of frontier life, of chores and one room schoolhouses of family, struck a chord in me that still echoes.

Author Laura Ingalls Wilder used her experienc...

Author Laura Ingalls Wilder  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A story of life in the woods captured my heart as seven-year-old and has held me prisoner ever since.

I made a mistake when I listed my favorite books. How could I have left off “Little House in the Big Woods“ by Laura Ingalls Wilder? That book changed my world forever. That book triggered my insatiable craving for words.

Every book since then must measure itself against this one book.

Some fall short with a thud. Others nearly reach the high standard set here. A few rarities exceed the mark.

If I could reach into the past and meet “Half-pint” I would hug the stuffing out of her. Thank you for your life. Thank you for writing it all down so well. Thank you for providing a key to countless worlds and lifetimes.

Sweet and simple. Real.

Laura Ingalls Wilder. Master storyteller. Writer. Woman extraordinaire.

Thank you.

Categories: Books, Gratitude | Tags: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Best Books Ever, At Least for This Week

Posted on July 3, 2013 by Kami

Someone asked me for a list of my favorite books. Or maybe it was, “If you were stranded on a desert island with only three books…” I don’t know. They demanded a quick answer and I had none.

Happy Children Playing Kids

(Photo credit: epSos.de)

May as well ask a mother to pick a favorite child.

Apparently, I’m just a fraud, masquerading as a literary aficionado.

And yet if someone knew nothing else about me they’d need to know that I. Love. Books.

When we pack up to move, the book boxes outnumber the kitchen boxes. Surely I have a shelf of favorites. Actually, I have categories of favorites. And not just genres. Books are favorite reads because of character development, or amazing descriptive writing, or a compelling storyline. Books are favorites because I recognized myself and my quirks in a particular character, or because the writing felt familiar and comfortable. Favorites find their way into my heart through no reasoning whatsoever. Some are such masterworks of genius I read them just to remind myself that such art and perfection exists.

My yearly goal is to read twenty-five books. (That’s two a month plus one for we math illiterates.) That’s been going on for upwards of thirty years. And some years I read much more than that. Being conservative, that’s 750 books I’ve read as an adult. As a kid and a teen I read like most people breath and I didn’t keep track of them. A book a day during the summer, perhaps? Given that impossible to estimate number, lets round it up to a thousand books I’ve read. Narrowing that down to ten favorites seems impossible.

Just as a sort of point of honor, I read all of these before they became movies, or musicals, or whatever else they’ve morphed into.

Yet, in the spirit of answering last night’s book club question, here is a list of a few of my favorite books, in no particular order. (If they have a star, it’d be in my “deserted island” backpack.)

  • To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee*
  • The Thirteenth Tale – Diane Setterfield
  • Les Miserables – Victor Hugo*
  • The Book Thief  -Markus Zusak* (Surprising narrator)
  • Last of the Mohicans – James Fenimore Cooper*
  • The Time Traveler’s Wife  – Audrey Niffenegger
  • Charlotte’s Web – E. B. White
  • The Shadow of the Wind – Carlos Ruiz Zafon (The best first lines of a novel ever!)
  • Out of Africa – Isak Dinesen*
  • Ender’s Game  – Orson Scott Card
  • Matilda – Roald Dahl*
  • The Whistling Season – Ivan Doig* (Stunning!)
  • The Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck (Yup Mr. Beck, your favorite author made the list, aren’t you a proud teacher!)
  • Ella Minnow Pea – Mark Dunn
  • Treasure Island – Robert Louis Stevenson
  • A River Runs Through It – Norman McLean* (Better than a hike in the woods)
  • A Tale of Two Cities – Charles Dickens*
  • Banner in the Sky – James Ramsey Ullman
  • A Prayer for Owen Meany – John Irving
  • Life of Pi – Yann Martel
  • Little Women – Louisa May Alcott
  • Caleb’s Crossing – Geraldine Brooks
  • The Scarlet Letter – Nathaniel Hawthorne
  • Talk Before Sleep – Elizabeth Berg (Beautifully heartbreaking)
  • Crime and Punishment – Fyodor Dostoevsky
  • The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe – C.S. Lewis
  • A Tale of Two Cities – Charles Dickens
  • Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe – Fannie Flagg (Towanda!)
library shelves

(Photo credit: jvoss)

I feel like I’ve left hundreds of my beloved children behind. I also realize after reviewing my list that it’s all fiction. I do read non-fiction, they just don’t fall into my favorites lists apparently.

Simply reading the synopsis of each book will entertain you, I’m certain of it. Pick one or two that you haven’t ever read then get back to me about what you thought. I’d love a dialogue like that.

I ramped up my reading goal this year to thirty-six books. That seems reasonable. Three great reads a month. Okay, maybe they won’t all be great. But the more I read, I figure, the more likely I’ll find some real gems to cherish. I’ve read eighteen so far, so given that it’s the beginning of July, I’m right on track.

If you have a favorite you think I need to read or you don’t see here, I’d love to know about it. Please leave a comment so I can enjoy  and share the treasures you’ve found among the world of reading.

I’m always looking for another favorite.

Categories: Books | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

My Big Yellow Songbook

Posted on June 13, 2013 by Kami

One particular music book held a special place on the piano as I was growing up.

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I called it MY big yellow songbook. Of course, I had to share, but it felt like mine.

I loved that book.

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Mom would play the tunes on the piano while I sang along as best I could. I couldn’t pick a favorite song because each spoke to a different part of who I was or who I planned on becoming.

There were songs about visiting Grandpa’s farm, riding in an airplane, roller-skating, puppies and fluffy bunnies. These were wholesome lesson-filled songs about manners, songs of the seasons and of holidays, of family, extended family, nature, songs about things that young children love to see and do.

The train song got the most play time because we’d sing it on the way to either Grandparent’s homes when we saw a train, which seemed fairly frequent.

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Making the songs even more entertaining were accompanying illustrations of brightly colored cherub faced children with shiny cheeks. A little girl rocks her dolly, children dressed for Halloween, a grandmother with her granddaughter on her lap reading a book, two kids on a pony racing a train, a giraffe and an elephant at the zoo.

My siblings and I loved that book to shreds. We colored in it, wrote in it, traced over the notes, wrote our names. The cover came loose, pages became ragged and worn, torn, and slowly went missing.

If there was anything left of that beloved music book by time Mom and Dad’s house fire took its toll, there was nothing after that. The piano was a loss, as was all of Mom’s music books and half the house.

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Sixteen years ago a 50th Anniversary Collector’s Edition of “My Picture Book of Songs” came out and I got my hands on one. I felt I’d found buried treasure, won the lottery and hit the jackpot (sorry for the clichés) all at once. I gently turned the pages and felt a rush of nostalgia as my childhood swooped into the room and caught me up in a whirlwind of memory and delight.

Oh my!!

I had sung those songs as best as I could remember to my own children as they were growing up. With the new edition I could share the pictures with them, too. I could also share the songs I had forgotten.

I’m sure that Alene Dalton, the illustrator; Myriel Ashton, who wrote the music; and Erla Young, the lyric writer had no idea the impact their book had on so many children and families. “My Picture Book of Songs” was originally written as preschool book for children and their teachers during World War II. MA Donohue published it in 1947.

Now, 66 years later, their book is part of my two-year-old granddaughter’s life. She adores the “choo choo” song among many others. Her eyes sparkle with joy as we look at the pages and share a sweet melody, a moment of timelessness.

Likewise, my own eyes sparkle, but mine are filled with tears and laughter and wonder.

Categories: Books, Music | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Proof That Humans Can Work Magic

Posted on June 3, 2013 by Kami

I used to try to wiggle my nose to make something magical happen. I couldn’t wiggle my nose, so naturally, no magic. Then I tried holding my arms folded in front of me and blinking my eyes to make magic. Didn’t have much luck with that one either.

Magic words like “Alakazam!” and “Open Sesame!” and “Bibbity Bobbity Boo” didn’t have any effect, much to my chagrin.

I resorted to mind control. Thinking until it hurt my brain, I’d try to move a spoon, or make the salt shaker float. I’d stare at a pitcher of water and will it with my eyes to pour. No luck.

No magic.

Nada.

Then I discovered books.

“A book is made from a tree. It is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called “leaves”) imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time ― proof that humans can work magic.”

– Carl Sagan

January 10, 2013 - Antique Books

(Photo credit: eric.langhorst)

Carl Sagan always intrigued me with his “billions and billions” talk. And now I find, with this quote that he was magical too, talking to me across time, from his past to my present. Letting me know that I, too, am a magician after all.

After discovering books I decided I could make that kind of magic if I practiced enough.

So now, I write. That’s my magic.

It might not always be magical, but it’s working right now.

Categories: Books, Communication | Tags: , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Forgetting, Remembering, Wondering

Posted on May 17, 2013 by Kami
PortalPhilosophers

Some really smart thinkers.

Have you ever wondered why we can’t remember something incredibly important, like a close relative’s name when you need to introduce them to someone, but yet you can never forget some of the most hideous, stupid, inane, mind-squinching things?

The question circles around in my head constantly the past few days.

Why, why, why can’t I annihilate gross images, scary things, disgusting stuff from my memory banks?

Why, why, why can’t I remember wonderful people, details from a red-letter day, words that hover at the edge of my brain?

Is it the shock of a particular thought or word or image that embeds it more permanently? Does the vile and vulgar register on gray matter in a more potent formula of chemical reactions? Are happy, joyfilled, pleasant thoughts less powerful, less meaningful, less memorable for a reason?

The brain, the mind, and consciousness fascinate me.

I read a book once called Sophie’s World, which in story form explained many philosophies. It seems like it might have addressed this very question. But of course, now that I want to recall those details, I can’t.

Seems it covered Marx, Socrates, Kierkegaard, Kant, Democritus, Darwin, Plato, St. Augustine, Hume, Spinoza, Floyd, Descartes, Locke, Berkeley and a few others. It’s been at least fifteen years since I read it, so it’s miraculous I remember any of this.

I’ll have to scare up a copy of the book. I loaned my out and never got it back. When I’ve gotten through it and found an answer or two, I’ll get back to you.

Did, or will this book help me with my question? I have no idea. But it has come to mind as I’ve thought about the remembering and forgetting issue. So I’m kind of going with it. Seems like it might have opened my eyes to new ways of thinking about and viewing the world and life in general.  Somehow it feels like it might help me understand my remembering and forgetting. Who knows. Like I said, I’ll find a copy and dig in and see what I find.

head anatomy lateral view superficial details

head anatomy lateral view superficial details (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Most likely I need an anatomy book, or a neuroscience book. That’d probably be more helpful, but I’m less likely to understand what I’m reading.

In the meantime, I’ll keep wondering.

And remembering. Ack!

And forgetting. Eesh!

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I Can Never Get Enough

Posted on April 25, 2013 by Kami

The Daily Post from WordPress, offered up a writing prompt that I couldn’t resist. “Tell us about a book you can read again and again without getting bored — what is it that speaks to you?”

Some books never lose their ability to instill a sense of wonder. When you own two or more copies of the same book that’s a big clue that it’s a keeper, a novel I want to read again and again and again.

The Whistling Season by Ivan Doig is just such a marvel. His prose rolls, dances, sings, pirouettes, lilts, surprises, soars and weaves magic in the air. Every page presents a fresh perspective, a nuance never thought of, the use of a word custom designed for his sentences.

Cover of "The Whistling Season"

Cover of The Whistling Season

His descriptions and explanations don’t overshadow or standout or get in the way like some writer’s “big words” tend to do. No, in The Whistling Season you’ll find yourself transported to the time and place, sights, scents and sounds of the very world he presents. Mr. Doig is a magician with words, deft, precise, entertaining and awe-inspiring.

Characters in this novel become your neighbors, your friends, your relations. You find yourself caring more deeply than you ever thought possible about a person on paper. Your heart will race, you’ll break out in a sweat, you’ll want to close the windows to shut out the weather blowing from the leaves of the book.You’ll feel as if you’re on that horse, crouched behind that outcropping, walking through that field, sitting in that very classroom.  Even more, you’ll want to wrap your arms around these people and protect them from the heartaches, the struggles, the meanness, the chill, the noise and the progression of time. You’ll have to hold yourself back from cheering, restrain your tears and keep  yourself from singing along.

Rereading The Whistling Season lets me relive a life I never actually lived. I’m transported and entranced any time I read a even a short passage from its jewel-laden pages.

If you’ve ever wondered what excellent writing looks like, feels like and sounds like, here is your chance to find out. You’ll be charmed, captivated and  bound up in the very seams of this book.

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What Are You Reading?

Posted on April 15, 2013 by Kami
My Mark Twain collection

Someone else’s Mark Twain collection. Sigh. I’m a bit jealous.  (Photo credit: terryballard)

Here’s another elementary school find, lovingly posted above the library doors. Being the book addict that I am you can understand my liking for this quote.

“The man who does not read good books

has no advantage over the man who can’t read them.”

– Mark Twain

Of course, Mark Twain would say something like this since he was an author, a brilliant humorist, a curmudgeon and a bit egocentric.

American writer Mark Twain (1835-1910) in 1909

The author, Mr. Twain, looking grouchier than usual for this photo, probably because he had nothing good to read that day.

I’m always a little taken aback, speechless actually, when someone tells me they don’t read books. The reason has never been that they can’t read. It’s that they have no interest in reading.

I stand there, mouth hanging open as if they’ve just transformed into an alien life form as I watched. How can one not read books? That’s like saying you don’t breathe oxygen, or eat food, or that you’ve given up sleep! At least it is for me.

Torture for me would be to put me somewhere with nothing, and I mean nothing, to read. I can entertain myself, if I have to, with the back of a cereal box, product labels, a newspaper, recipes, lists, rules, captions, advertisements. I just need words to read!! I can’t go very long without them.

But I prefer a good book. Literature. Thought provoking, inspired, well written. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before in past blog posts, at least a dozen times or more. For which I apologize. I’m a little obsessed. I’m sorry.

Lately I’ve been reading “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks,” which is eye-opening and surprising and wonderful and sad all in one. I’ve got a list of lighthearted novels to pick from after that. I need something to lift my spirits, make me laugh and shine some light into the darkness. After that I’m thinking of tackling “Don Quixote,” but I’m not sure. That may have to wait until summer.

Are you reading anything good?

Care to share with me?  Fiction or non-fiction. I’m always looking for my next good read!

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Confessions of An Unrepentant Addict

Posted on February 10, 2013 by Kami

Hello…   “hello.”

My name is Kami…  “hi, Kami.”

I.. am… a book snob…    “Amen sister, tell it.”

Shelf of Used Books

(Photo credit: TheDarkThing)

It’s true.  I’ve been inhaling books since before I could crawl, at least I’m pretty sure of it. Every memory in my life seems to have one thing in common.  There is a book involved somehow.

Here’s what clued me in to my “problem:”

My hairstylist, (yup, you Jill) asked me for a book recommendation.

Easy! I’m thinking.  Then she adds a few restrictions.

Nothing depressing

Nothing deep

Nothing I have to think about once I’m done

No mystery

No worry

No drama

Nothing difficult

Something light, entertaining,

Like a sitcom.

That puts a bit of a challenge on the request.

I left an hour later having given her nothing but some cash for the lovely hairstyle.

I had failed at giving a book recommendation! How could I live with myself?

The closest I came to her requirements was a Young Adult book called “Faith and the Electric Dogs.” But it had been a long time since I’d read it.  It was probably too much of something.

Oh, the shame!

Dang it! Why hadn’t I suggested “Hunger Games?”

I had resisted reading those when EVERYBODY was drooling all over themselves reading them.  I was not going follow along blindly like those hoards of crazed lunatics reading “Twilight Books,” no matter how much my most respected bibliophiles recommended it.

About two years after the rush ended I gave in and read the first one.  Then I was like a kid three days after Halloween who’d vowed to make the candy last until at least Christmas.  You got it; I devoured all three of those books. Barely ripped the wrappers off for the speed I was trying to take them in.

Afterwards I felt like a book glutton. I had binged on the literary equivalent of fries, burgers and shakes. It was time for crunchy veggies and clear filtered water and home-baked wheat bread. I needed some classics; Hardy or Tolstoy or Steinbeck or even Dostoevsky to set the world back on balance.

Here’s the thing

I worked for a writer as a typist. (Back in the day, yes, in the dark ages before personal computers were in every pocket and on every flat surface.) This writer was a professor at the university I attended, but wrote under a pen name so as not to put the job at risk.  How would writing put a professor’s job at risk? Well, the novel was a Harlequin or Silhouette romance novel.  I use the word novel very, very loosely.

After submission the manuscript came back to the professor with a rejection form-letter, which included the basic equations for creating a book for their company. The heroine must be x,y,z but not d,e,f. The hero must have a,b,c but not j,k,l. The plot must….the story can’t….the characters need to….  It was so exacting that we considered trying to write a computer program that would write the novels.  They probably do use a computer program now.  Why waste real man hours on that kind of formulaic book?

I probably just offended everyone in the known world. May as well keep going…

But before you all judge me harshly hear me out.  I’ve read westerns, in fact, I love me a good Louis L’amour or Zane Grey once in a while.  I’ve read Michener and liked it. A mystery occasionally is good for variety.  I dig into memoire from time to time. I peruse non-fiction with some regularity.  And, I count historical fiction as part of my ongoing educational pursuit. I even check out a NY Times bestseller from the library on occasion. I even imbibe in Science Fiction if it’s well done.

I don’t always confess to reading them on my Goodreads account though.

Would a chocolatier confess to eating Hershey’s when his palate has the Swiss and Dutch equivalents of nirvana to compare?  Would an affineur, a cheese expert, admit to imbibing in processed cheese on a burger? Would a vintner chug a box of ten-dollar wine and then brag about it?

Not likely, but it’s possible.

When the words of language masters have danced through your head, played on the fields of your mind and painted landscapes across your memory, nothing else fills the need anymore.  Once you’ve had the good stuff, the literary caviar, then flat characters and simple plots with predictable endings or gratuitous anything just doesn’t cut it anymore.

I need the straight lines, the pure stuff, the real talent.

Yes, I am a book snob. I admit it.

And I don’t care if I ever get over it.

Categories: Books | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

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