Letter to Myself

Dear self,

I know you’ve been struggling lately, so I just wanted to send you a little note to remind you of some things.

Sweetheart, you’re doing OK. I know you feel sometimes like you fall so short of what you want to be, but that’s because you have your eyes afar off—and that’s a good thing. You are carrying around with you an ideal of patience, intuitive kindness—yes, that dratted angel mother you roll your eyes about when someone refers to her in church—but it’s not wrong that you do. She’s a good thing to aspire to, and you know that her particular qualities (serenity, mercy) are things you especially need and long for. But you’ve got to quit beating yourself up for the ways you fall short. You’ve got to take each situation one at a time and then, if you think you’ve handled it wrong, apologize and move forward. Contrary to popular interpretation in the church, it’s NOT true that each time you fall short, all your previous shortcomings return to your shoulders and you are suddenly unforgiven of them again. God doesn’t care about the past—only about where you are this very minute, and which way you’re facing.

I know you’ve been forgetting, so let me just remind you that you do a lot of things pretty darn well. Your kids have come to expect and even take for granted that they will read scriptures with you and pray with you every morning. They would think it a travesty if you missed family home evening two weeks in a row. They are read to from soul-building and heart-softening great books daily. They talk animatedly about their days when they get home, knowing they’ll be listened to with interest and love. In this home that you’ve created, they hear beautiful music often, and experience quiet often as well. The physical space is relatively orderly, and so is the schedule. Each child has had many opportunities to explore and improve his talents. Every single one knows how to repent and how you feel about the atonement.

Are these the works of a failure mother?

You’re doing OK. Why won’t you let yourself feel it? As soon as you get good at feeling at peace about your own pace of spiritual and personal progress, you will find that your children pick up on it too, and your home will be even better for the sense of acceptance and peace here. What would happen if, for just one week, you concentrated on accepting everyone and everything, but YOURSELF especially and first of all, as being already OK?

Give it a try.

Love, me.

Shakespeare with my boy

The past six weeks have been crazy, I tell you. We’ve been going, going, going. I could tell you about all of them (cabin, Yellowstone, Durango) but I’ll spare you. For now, let me tell you what I did this week.

B turned 12 this spring and thus was entitled to the Deluxe Vacation Alone With Mom. His older brother benefitted from the fact that I had a sister living in Boston the summer he was 12 and we actually got to fly there. But sister lives in Utah now (hurray!) so we didn’t have anyone cool (free) to visit far away, and besides, B isn’t a big fan of airline travel. So, I had my mind open to ideas from the cosmos of what to do with B this summer, and when I saw how much he loved being involved with his class production of “Macbeth” (which I put in quotes on purpose because it didn’t have much at all to do with the real play and was actually a spoof) and then noticed that the Utah Shakespearean Festival was featuring the Scottish play this year, I knew we had a plan.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but tickets to those plays down there are dang expensive. I splurged and got tickets both to Macbeth and Much Ado About Nothing—because we might as well do a thorough job of enjoying Shakespeare and Much Ado is actually one of my favorites (love that sexual tension). And I knew a long evening of Macbeth might not solidify Shakespeare as being worthwhile to an energetic 12-year-old, but a good comedy might.

So on Thursday morning we got the little ones off to school (yes, they’ve been in school a few weeks now; I know: sick and wrong) and filled the car with snacks and were off. It’s about a four hour drive from our house to Cedar City, but we took our time. We stopped off in Cove Fort and did the little tour, which B hadn’t remembered from the last time we did it. It was the PERFECT day for a drive and a picnic, which we had under the giant shade trees at Cove Fort. (I think that would be a fun place to serve a mission, by the way. Those missionaries serve for six months and live in their own RVs.)

We got into Cedar City in time to take a little snooze/TV surf before dinner. B was in heaven to discover that there were cable stations that show sports ALL THE TIME. He also got a little too interested (IMO) in “The Sweet Life of Zach and Cody.” He takes after me and his dad in that the lack of TV around here makes him awfully susceptible to zoning out in front of the tube when he’s on vacation.

Cedar City, I’m pleased to announce, has a Café Rio, which happens to be one of B’s favorite restaurants as well as mine. We were careful to order large so that we could have leftovers for lunch the next day.

Then it was time for the greenshow and our first play, Macbeth. It was, as I had suspected, awfully long. Not my favorite. But at least B learned that it actually is a tragedy. In his school version, many of the best lines (from the witches) had been left out, so I made sure he caught them. Good acting all around but, you know, it was Macbeth. We sweetened the experience a little by splurging on official Shakespeare Festival tarts, which are, I believe, always worth it.

Next morning we lay around a while, then took a little outing to a nearby park to get some sunlight and exercise. After a snooze and our leftovers, we drove to St. George for Baskin Robbins and a swimming outing with cousins. (I keep mentioning the food—that’s because we’re awfully stingy and almost never buy treats at home. I wanted this to be a really special outing in as many ways as possible.) Throughout our drive to St. George and our drive to and from Cedar City, we listened to some great books on cd, which was in itself one of our favorite things. We heard some Greek myths (very popular around our house since Percy Jackson), some Sherlock Holmes mysteries, and some Empire Strikes Back.

We got back in time to order pizza in our room (more TV) and then hit the greenshow and Much Ado. It was a great production; my only complaint was that the same actress played Beatrice who had played Lady Macbeth. She was a good LM, but I did not like her as Beatrice—although she did a fine job. Benedick (David Ivers) was great.

On Saturday we headed home, but, not wanting the fun to end too soon, stopped in Provo to see The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. It was a perfect movie for a 12-year-old and a great way to prolong the adventure just a little longer.

The best thing about the whole trip was that I didn’t get sick at all—no migraines (they tend to come on vacation for some reason) or anything. All in all, it couldn’t have been more delightful. B is a pleasant, grateful, easy-to-please boy and always has been. For that reason, he sometimes gets less attention than others, and it was so nice to focus on him for a few days. He goes off to scout camp tomorrow and then starts middle school shortly after that, and I know his life will be a whirlwind from here on out. I’m so grateful for the chance to hold on to him for a few days.

Book Report

I keep promising I'll report my reading monthly because these book reports get so darn LONG. But you all know how reliable any sort of a regular blogging commitment would be from me. So here we are again with a way-too-long report. Sorry. Asterisks indicate that I especially enjoyed them.

Fiction:
A Gate at the Stairs by Lorrie Moore, about a college-age girl who becomes a nanny. I know there are a lot of people who adore Lorrie Moore. And I have to say that her voice is enchanting, and her writing is full of little insights and tidbits of humor that are a delight. But I'm not sure that long fiction is her forte. I felt the book lacked narrative arc, that it was more just a place to put voice. The main character did nothing, really. I think Lorrie Moore is more a poet (or maybe short fiction-writer?) than a novelist.

The Convalescent by Jessica Anthony. Can't remember why I picked it up--someone said it was hilarious. It's about a hairy Hungarian midget--really. I actually couldn't get past the first three chapters or so, so I can't say much more than that.

The Soloist by Mark Salzman. I read this because I absolutely love Salzman's other book, Lying Awake; it's one of my all-time favorites. This one was interesting, but not in the same league as the other. In this one, a cellist sits on the trial of a man who killed his guru because of a riddle. Worth a read.

*The Ghost Writer by Philip Roth. Believe it or not, this was my first time reading Philip Roth. In this one, a writer meets his mentor in a cabin in the middle of the woods. Interesting twists of imagination and reality.

Too Much Happiness, short fiction by Alice Munro. Although I enjoyed these stories quite a bit (she's my type of writer--heavy on character), I actually couldn't finish the very last one, the title story (which seemed more like a novella). The rest were very enjoyable.

*English Creek by Ivan Doig. I really enjoyed this sweet, slow-moving rural story. Sort of a "River Runs Through It" sort of thing, and a coming-of-age story. Cowboys, family dynamics.

The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood. An intriguing dystopian tale of "gardeners" who want to preserve species during a plague which kills off people and plants. Fascinating and a little dark, as all Atwood is. I actually listened to this on my mp3 player and I recommend doing it this way because they actually included music tracks when the group participates in hymns. Interesting.

On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwen. A little bit explicit for me, but I stuck it out. It was an extremely interesting account of one wedding night (you might remember he did a similar thing in Saturday) which encompasses all of the couple's past and future in it. That idea, alone, made this book worth reading to me. I love moments that are frozen and yet telling like that (the poet in me).

*Stones for Ibarra by Harriet Doerr. This reminded me of Death Comes for the Archbishop, in a way. Episodic little vignettes of life for a couple who moves to rural Mexico. I really enjoyed it.

The Seamstress by Frances de Pontes Peebles. A long, involved tale about a female Brazilian bandit in the 1930's. The history and setting were fascinating. I enjoyed listening to it but am not sure I could have sat still to read it all. Maybe.

The Marriage Bureau for Rich People by Farahad Zama. The jacket said it was Pride and Prejudice in India and I say, well, sort of. Yeah, there was some matchmaking, and a surprising marriage for the poor but kind and smart girl to the rich man. And there were some quirky characters. But I think it's sad that the editors felt they had to retain such poor writing in order to keep the voice (I'm assuming that's what the problem was). You might like this if you liked The Ladies #1 Detective Agency--same gentle narrative, colorful setting and characters, only this time in India.

The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens. This is an unfinished book, but I listened to it so that I could more appreciate Drood (below). I got the recording from LibriVox and was delighted with it, unfinished as it was.

Drood by Simmons. This was a little dark and a little long for me, but it made OK listening. Fictionalized account of the friendship between Wilkie Collins and Charles Dickens, and the situations that led to Dicken's writing of Drood and his death. Centers mostly around Collins's drug addiction.

*Dispensation: Latter-Day Fiction, ed. Angela Hallstrom. What can I say? Fantastic, and an important addition to LDS literature. I'd like to see it used as a textbook in classes. Some of the stories weren't my favorites, but others knocked my socks off. Angela's own story is among the best of the best.

Crow Lake by Mary Lawson. Very slow, gentle story about a family in rural Canada in which the parents died. Deep on character and family dynamics.

*The Light of the Day by Darren Cozzins. I lucked out on this one--it's a collection of short stories that I got to proof-read for the publisher (Zarahemla). It's just coming out now, and well worth picking up. Cozzins is, as my friend puts it, "Yet another LDS guy writing about older, rural, white LDS guys." But he does it so well.

The Swan Thieves by Elizabeth Kostova. I really liked Kostova's other book (The Historian) and this one came highly recommended but, alas, I found it to be about three times too long. It's a sort of mystery having to do with artists and their obsessions. I know several people who LOVED this, though, so it's probably just me.

The Turtle Catcher by Nicole Helget. I couldn't finish it. It seemed as if the really awful stuff (woman with a sexual deformity accuses a mentally-handicapped boy) probably got over in the first couple of chapters, but it just didn't get better enough to redeem itself and I quit.

The Double Bind by Chris Bohjalian. The twist ending of this story about a post-traumatic girl involved with a homeless guy, and its entwining with The Great Gatsby, made it a worthwhile read for me, even though I felt there were some extremely cheap shots and betrayals of the reader's trust.

The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid. The idea of this book was more interesting than the actual rendering. Told in second person, it is the story of a young Muslim who goes to America for school and work, then returns to Pakistan. An interesting, quick read, which didn't quite pull off the sense of ominousness it was striving for, I thought.

Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show (audio). A delightful audio experience, read by several different narrators. Very enjoyable.

*Belong to Me by Marisa de los Santos. A rich, filling novel that intertwines the stories of a young couple trying to conceive, a woman whose friend is dying of cancer, and a teenage boy looking for his father. I loved the characters, and the descriptions (particularly the scenes with the dying friend) were rich and full of emotion. Beautiful book.

*The Sweet By and By by Todd Johnson. I can't believe a guy wrote this. If you liked The Help, I think you'd like this. It's about Lorraine, a matronly black woman who works at a rest home, and the old white ladies she takes care of.

The Condition by Jennifer Haigh. An interwoven story about a family in which each child has a condition--one is homosexual, one has Turner's syndrome, and one has ADHD--and how they come to accept and deal with these things. Pretty good.

YA/Children's
42 Miles by Tracie Vaughn Zimmer. A sweet little novel in verse about a girl whose parents are divorced. Delightful read for an afternoon. I really enjoy novels in verse.

Schooled by Gordon Korman. YA about a boy who grew up in a commune, homeschooled by his grandmother, but who has to enter society and attend high school. Clever, interesting characters, but some sloppy writing, which might be just a symptom of an author who has published many, many books (WAY too many adverbs).

Ida B. by K. Hannigan. A fluffly little feel-good book about a homeschooled girl who has to return to school while her mother fights cancer (I know--feel good? but it is).

The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Selznick. The idea of it, the gimmick of it (a novel that is more than half pictures) makes it a quick read and keeps you going. I know some people loved it but I felt it was rather empty, just a series of plot events. The pictures that were actual stills were fascinating, though. (Loosely about the 1920s inventor and movie director Melies.)

When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead. Sharon Creech meets Wrinkle in Time. Interesting, fun read.

Non-fiction:
*What the Dog Saw, essays by Malcolm Gladwell. Most were originally published in The New Yorker. Very entertaining. One that still sticks in my memory was about the history of oral contraception, and a look at why the Catholic church's resistance to it as being "unnatural" is sort of ironic because its effect on a woman's body is actually more natural than a modern woman's regular cycle is.

Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman. This was supposedly fiction, but was really just musings about time and possibilities, so I've filed it in non-fiction. I couldn't finish it, but I imagine it would be fascinating to a certain kind of person who loves to muse about time.

The Liar's Club by Mary Karr. Memoir is always just a little too long for me; I always feel like, "OK, I get it, let's move along." This one was no exception, but was an enjoyable read, if reading about the daughter of an alcoholic mother can be enjoyable.

A New Hunger, poetry by Laure-Anne Bosselaar. I came across her because she is the wife of the guy I took a poetry workshop from last year (Kurt Brown). She speaks (writes in) English as a second (more like eighth) language, and I think that gives her a little quirk that's interesting. My favorite of hers wasn't in this collection--she read it aloud at a reading. It was about English itself, and how it seems to someone who is learning it.

Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert. I actually enjoyed Eat, Pray, Love quite a bit, but this one just dragged for me. It was less a memoir than musings on the history and sociology of marriage in general, only not as fascinating and intellectual as Malcolm Gladwell would have made it.

I am Scout by Charles J. Shields. This is a biography of Harper Lee meant for Young Adult audiences. I chose this one instead of his longer one for adults because biographies are always too long for me (like memoir). I'm hoping I would have liked the adult one better, because this one was very sloppily written.

Marley and Me by John Grogan. An example of why I'm no longer in my ward book group. I just can't finish books like this. Cute, episodic, probably delightful for somebody.

*Little Heathens by Mildred Armstrong Kalish. OK, here's another cute, episodic book that I actually adored. What's the difference? I don't know. This one is a memoir of a family growing up in the depression. The details fascinated me.

*Dance with Them, the latest Segullah anthology. Very good, of course. Some of those essays had me crying.

Children of a Lesser God by Medoff. A play about what it's like to be deaf. Very interesting, but dated.

Some of my favorite commercials

You gotta see the first to appreciate the second.