What I'm reading

What?

What?

I'm silent on my blog for a mother-loving WEEK (the longest break since I committed to writing frequently, over two years ago) and then I plop a post about "What I'm reading" down here?

Um, yeah.

So you might get the feeling I don't want to talk about my life right now. And you'd be right.

I'm struggling.

I'm whining, whinging, stuck, avoiding and generally being a cranky person and I really really don't want to bore you with that.

I have a post I started to write a few weeks ago called "Wrestling the Black Dog" and there's a single sentence in it: "It's that time of year again, when the days shorten and so does my concentration, my capacity for joy, and my temper. Depression"

And then I stopped.

I'm being good at stopping and bad at going, at doing.

And what I have done my whole life when I am stopped, stuck, and withdrawing from life is read.

I can't talk about my feelings anymore right now. (What little I've let out here is making me uncomfortable enough. I am really not OK with how not OK I am. Because I'm a mom and this has the potential to affect not just me, but the kids. Not OK.) But I CAN talk about what I'm reading.

So here goes:

At Thanksgiving dinner with my family this year, the teens (17 year-old Aaron & 14 year-old Greta) were talking about a book they were reading: Paper Towns by John Green. It sounded really wonderful. A YA novel that was smart and literate.

I have an affection for good YA books, and finally a reasonable excuse for reading them: vetting for future reading by my soon-to-be-teen boys. (And also I will confess: I harbor a secret desire to maybe write one some day.)

So I picked it up. And it was good. More than just good. Smart, funny, literate; a pleasure to read yet deep, full of soul, lots of things to ponder. A coming of age story, of course, but so much more.

John Green's main characters tend to think too much - like me and most of the people I like - and are really interesting to spend time with. 

So then I grabbed another John Green book, his latest: The Fault in Our Stars.

Wow.

wowwowwowwow

This is the kind of book that makes you want to stand up on a mountain top or soapbox and shout: "READ THIS BOOK!" to everyone you see. (Well, it makes me feel that way, anyway.)

After I read it I found it to be on a lot of people's "Best of 2012" lists. And not just in YA, but for fiction in general. Best NOVEL of the year lists. And yes, it deserves that place.

I know I will be reading it again. And again. It's one of THOSE. Characters you fall in love with, who then break your heart, which you willingly hand to them, and let them do what they will.

It's a rip-your-heart-out-but-also-fill-it-to-the-brim story about a 16 year-old girl who will be dying of cancer.

It is moving and touching without ever being trite, mushy, sacharin or maudlin. The storytelling is taut as a bowstring and each sentence finds its target perfectly - zing!

The language sings.

You would think a book full of teenagers wise in the ways of pain and loss and facing their immanent mortality would be heavy beyond belief; and yet this book shimmers with light.

And it's a perfect antidote to my unlovely attraction towards a good wallow, the mighty pull of  self-pity in these times of darkness. Let's just say I needed this.

I am not going to describe the plot one iota, because it should be experienced as the story unfolds.

I will say it's the story of a girl. And a boy. And some other girls and boys. And their families (parents who are neither monsters nor superheroes; all very real, very human).  It's about love. And being alive, truly alive. And courage. And fear. And dying.

And it's also about a book, and that book's author, who is important to the main characters -- because that's how John Green rolls. His books are always also about the books his characters are obsessed with, which I - a book lover - find delightful (like I said, it's literary, literate YA fiction).

And I will say: READ IT! You won't be sorry.

(OK, coming down from the mountain, stepping off my soapbox now.)

Finally, I will leave you with a quote from the book, whet your appetite a tiny bit (and hopefully I'll be back soon with some more words of my own)...

“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

Talismans and Distractions

A pendant from my friend, hanging from Mom's beads

It takes a lot to get though a day in the hospital with a loved one.

And thus, even though I am, for the most part, a rational being, not terribly prone to magical thinking, I am employing a lot of talismans. And distractions.

Talismans for comfort, and to indulge that small part of me who still clings to magic. Because... why not? What could it hurt?

And distractions because I would like to retrain to my last shreds of sanity. And those dreadful few days in the ICU, sitting in the preternaturally noisy hush, watching a machine breathe for my mom? Were whatever is the polar opposite of awesome. Hence the books, magazines, snacks, telephone, and screens large and small.

The talismans? Jewelry, most of it given to me by dear friends, that I can see, touch; feel giving me strength as I sit. And wait.

First a bracelet of faceted stones from my friend Rachel who lost her wonderful parents way too soon. As their only child capable of caring for them (her brother is autistic), she knows more than any other close friend, what it means to be a caretaking daughter.

Then a wonderful necklace made up from a "Super Mom" pendant my dear Empress Alexandra gave me last year when she was my roommate at BlogHer, strung on beads that were once my mom's. Purple beads, our favorite color.

Finally another bracelet: sparkly plum-colored glass beads, with a flattened silvery bean in the middle, a perfect worry stone conveniently encircling on my wrist. This is one of sixteen nearly identical bracelets.

I gave one to each of my fellow Listen to Your Mother NYC cast members just before we began our show. It reminds me of my non-caregiver self, she who moves through the larger world and will do so again, one day soon.

May they work their magic and keep my mother (and me) safe.

Holding Mom's hand again

As for the much needed distractions: I played a lot of games on my iPhone. A million thanks to my Scramble and Words-With-Friends friends.

I brought with me about the only two books I could tolerate in this situation: Let's Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson (The Bloggess) and Rosanne Cash's Composed; both memoirs, by the way, as that's how I roll these days. And also? I have meaningful connections to each of these authors, and somehow that made me want their words with me, let me feel like I was sitting with a friend, not a stranger, as I was reading them (or in the case of Rosanne, re-reading).

And hearing their words in THEIR voices inside my head as I read, instead of my own, also makes me feel less alone.

Jenny's book is with me because it is hysterically funny and also raw and real at the same time. And I think reading a book by someone more neurotic and over-the-top than me makes me feel calm and together in comparison. I know Jenny, have hung out with her at blog conferences (she's in that funny category of fond acquaintances who feel like close friends to me because I am privy to their innermost thoughts via reading their blogs) and have given and received numerous hugs from her.

She is a generous and compassionate woman, just the right person to sit with me by my mother's bedside. (She also gave my blog its first big boost by linking to my From Autist to Artist" post in one of her Sunday wrap-ups two years ago, and for that I am forever grateful.)

As to my connection with Rosanne, it is more tangential and tenuous, but I still feel it. Besides the fact that my sort-of-step brother (it's complicated) has toured with her band at times, and that I am friendly with a couple of friends of hers, we also met face to face once. Her book was actually released ON my 50th birthday and I chose to go to a reading/performance/signing that night. 

As someone who has gone through the illnesses and the loss of so many of her loved ones, and written about it so soulfully and eloquently, I have found much comfort in reading her book yet again this week.

And Jenny and Rosanne are both Twitter friends. Which is the perfect lead in to my final distraction, which is also so much more than a distraction, is actually a tremendous support and source of strength. And that is social media.

Through Twitter and Facebook (and this blog) I have never felt alone on this journey with my mom, not even for a moment, not even in those darkest hours when her strength was at a nadir, and I thought I might lose her.

Finally, if you're here for an actual update on Mom's actual condition: As of today, Thursday, she is much improved. My brother (her step-son) Bruce came in yesterday to lend support, and he took the evening shift, so I could pick up my kids, have a family dinner. 

Yesterday afternoon, Mom moved from ICU to a step-down unit, and, if all continues to go according to plan, will be in a regular "medicine bed" tomorrow and then on to rehab, working on walking again. Because she still has that broken hip, remember?

So there will be a lot more hospital days in her and my future. But with the right talismans and distractions  - and my wonderful community of friends and family, both physical and virtual - I will make it through.

Monday Listicles: Books! Books! Books!

I haven't participated in Stasha’s Monday Listicles in a loooong loooong time. But this week's topic is near and dear to my heart, so I had to jump in. This week, Stasha herself asked us to write a list about... books.  

That's it: Books! Anything about books.  So... Easy - I love books!

Also? Not so easy - I love books - so I can think of 10,000 things to say about them, how can I narrow that down to ten.

And is this a list of MY favorite books? My kids' favorite books? Books I've really enjoyed, even if they're trashy? Or books I think are IMPORTANT?  Or... or... (Yes, I AM capable of over-complicating anything, thank you.)

In the end? I decided to go with, simply: 10 books that I love. (Even though it is guaranteed that as soon as I hit the publish button on this post I will hit myself upside the head with a "Oy! How could I have left THAT book off the list!) So without further ado:

Varda's List of Ten Books That I Love (or are important to me in some way) in no particular order:

1.  Just Above My Head, by James Baldwin

This last novel of his is, in my opinion, vastly underrated, and one of my favorite novels. It's gloriously shaggy. And it has one of my favorite 1st lines: "The damn'd blood burst..."



 2.  No Place On Earth by Christa Wolf

One that I can guarantee 99.9% of you have never heard of. The first line: "The wicked spoor left in time’s wake as it flees us."

3.  An American Childhood by Annie Dillard

I love Annie Dillard. She is one of my very favorite writers on the planet. I once found hardcover copies of this book on cheap remainder somewhere and bought 5 so I could give them away to friends.

4.  A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin.
These were favorite books of mine as a child (then a trilogy, now a longer series) and still are wondrous tales. Ursula Le Guin is an amazing writer.

5.  White Noise by Don Delillo

No description really necessary. Much lauded. A wonderful novel. Unfortunately the first Delillo I ever read, and nothing else ever measured up.

6.  Wave Without a Shore by  C.J. Cherryh 

Science Fiction. I love it. And C.J. Cherryh is an amazing writer, one of my favorites. I can't even begin to describe this book, a strange one. But it makes you think and think and think; and that's what science fiction does, at its best. And I just found out that she's a blogger and calls her blog Wave Without A Shore, so this must be one of her favorites too.

And now, some important books written by writers who are all on the autism spectrum. How important these are to me is hard to explain, except to say I read them all when Jacob was young and much less expressive of his thoughts and feelings than he is now, when once I feared I would never catch even a glimpse into his inner life.

Now, he is nowhere near as articulate as these folks - all adults with aspergers and thus not with Jake's specific language processing issues - but still, every day I am moving closer and closer to him. It is wonderful, and deeply appreciated.

But when I read these books, Jake was still so much a cypher to me. Hearing these authors talk about their experiences as autistic children in the confusing and cacophonous world has been invaluable to my early burgeoning understandings of my son: 

7.  Songs of the Gorilla Nation by Dawn Prince-Hughes

This is a beautiful and important book about autism, written by an autist who became a primatologist and began to understand people though gorillas. Incredible writing.

8.  Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger's by John Elder Robison

Wonderful and richly detailed memoir of John Elder Robison's life both before and after his diagnosis of Asperger's. And much of his life takes places in Amherst, my old college town!

9.  Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammet

Another wonderful memoir by an autistic author. Daniel is a math savant with major synesthesia who has memorized Pi to an amazing length.

  

10. Thinking in Pictures by Temple Grandin

The mother of all autism memoirs. Temple is probably the most well known autists on the planet, and she is an amazing woman.  I met her once, and remember her asking the person standing next to me if he preferred her to look at or listen to him because she was having trouble doing both.


OK, I'm done - let's call it a night!  What are some of YOUR favorite books?

Nice try, kid!

We have a great new babysitter, Amy, that has come into our life recently, as I needed some extra help in my post-surgical recovery period.  We all like her a lot, and she has now become one of our regular sometime sitters.

Amy is a graduate student: smart, cute, petite, 22, cute. 

Have I mentioned she is really cute?

As she only sits from time to time, and was mostly working afternoons to help out with Jacob when I was just out of my surgery and could not care for him at all physically, she had never put Ethan to bed.

Well, there's a first time for everything.

The other night my husband and I actually went out in the evening, a rather rare occurrence.  We braved the latest snowstorm to hear the wonderful Peggy Orenstein read from her marvelous new book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter, at our local bookstore.

(Full disclosure: Peggy is a facebook & twitter friend of mine, and has a "professional relationship" with my husband, having interviewed and quoted him in an article of hers on female superheros.)

Since we were actually already out of the house, alone & together, my husband and I decided to make a "real date" of it and have dinner out at a local diner before heading home.

This meant that Amy got to put Ethan to bed, and on this particular night he really needed a shower.

When we got home, we got this report from her:

Ethan in the bathroom, naked, about to get into the shower: “Amy, you have to take your clothes off, too.”

Amy: distractedly “Um, what?”

Ethan: “Amy, you have to take your clothes off.”

Amy: “WHAT? No.”

Ethan: “Yes, it’s the house rule. When I take a bath or shower and take my clothes off? You have to take your clothes off, too.”

Amy “Uh, no, I really don’t think so, kid… Why do you think I have to take off my clothes?”

Ethan: ”Well… I’ve never seen a naked woman before.”

(Have I mentioned she is really cute?)

Amy: “And you’re not going to see one tonight.  Now, get in the shower.”

Nice try, kid!

(And thank goodness Amy has a really good sense of humor.)

(And yes, Ethan and I had ourselves a little chat about concepts like "appropriate" and "respectful."  And yes I worked very hard to suppress my smirk during said conversation.)

This post was based on the prompt “Describe the last thing that made you laugh really hard.” from Mama Kat’s writers workshop.

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Varda's Radioactive Reading List for Yuet

Today was test day number two for me: repeat bloodwork and a HIDA scan of my gall bladder. This is the one where they inject a bit of radioactive tracer into my vein and watch what happens inside my gall bladder.  Ethan is excited by the idea that I *might* just start to develop mutant superpowers afterward, like the characters in his beloved cartoon shows do.

What?  It could happen?  (Remember who I'm married to.  Spider-Man, right?)

Anyway, I have not been the happiest camper these last couple of days.  I've been edgy and cranky, not my usual self.  I have had less patience with the kids at a time when they are needing extra-kind-Mommy, and so I'm not very happy with the parent I'm being.

Ethan, little sponge that he is, is really picking up on the heightened anxiety floating freely about our home right now.  He has been moody, cranky, a little anxious himself.

And for Ethan?  This delightfully translates into extra obnoxious.  When anxious his impulse control, dubious at the best of times, becomes completely non-existent.

If I tell him to stop doing something because it is annoying me?  He will compulsively do it over and over giggling all the while.  And though I know he is not trying to be evil, that it's his anxiety pushing him into this, my reptilian brain reacts not well.

And Jacob?  When Ethan is bouncing off the walls?  Thinks everything about it is funny, and laughs.  Maniacally.  In Ethan's face.  Guess how much Ethan likes that?  Yup.

So you can see how we're a lovely combo right now.  Deep breaths required.

So, this morning after I brought Ethan to school, I stayed for the beginning of the PA meeting then stepped out after the principal's report to head off to doctorville.  Then I had a happy surprise: a moment with a dear friend I have just not had a chance to see hardly at all this fall.

I got a quick hug and a big smile; the 3 minute update.  Just what I needed.  She wished me luck in my scans today, I told her I would be fine because I had my book with me. (Leaving it home was my miserable fail on Monday, although I did catch up on a thousand trashy magazines worth of gossip about celebrities I didn't care about and fashion I would never in a zillion years wear.)

My friend's eyes lit up; she got all excited the way only a reader will: "what-are-you-reading-how-do-you-like-it?"  She works in the school system, and so her vacations correspond with the kids.  Thus the snuggly week between Christmas & New Year is her big reading week.

When I told her the three books I am currently in the middle* of,  I swear she squealed. "I want to read all of those. You have to do a reading list post."  

And this friend?  When she talks and commands requests?  You listen and say yes.  Hence the title of this post, which she also demanded suggested. 

Also?  I am a reader and I love books.  (You all knew I was a reader, right?  Is there a writer who is not?  Doubtful.)  So I have been thinking about writing about reading for some time.  And it has perfectly coalesced to be now.

Thus I am starting to write this post sitting in the waiting room of the imaging center, as there seems to be a substantial delay in my scan start.  And I have figured out something... writing is even a better distraction from the anxiety of waiting than reading.

Even if my thumbs are starting to ache.  (And have I mentioned I want an iPad?  YES, I WANT AN iPAD.  Just saying.  You know.  In case anyone has an extra $600 sitting around and wants to buy me a belated Chanukkah present. Would be terrific for Jake, too.)

Sitting next to me in the waiting room, there's an old man loudly discussing how to fill out the intake forms with his slightly less elderly wife.   He is 90 and frail and now I am missing my Dad so achingly much.  Being here without him feels so very odd, still not right.

I'm the patient this time?  Really?  Well OK, if you say so.

The old couple are misinterpreting and answering a lot of questions wrong, and it takes every ounce of self control in my body to not sidle over and help them.  But not today.  I'm minding my own business, yes I am.

I'm not listening to the young woman making arrangements to settle back into her life here after having lived abroad for some years.  She's trying to renew her very expired driver's license and also to get tenants out of her condo so she can move back in. (People, if you don't want the world knowing the details of your private life?  Don't discuss them loudly on your cell phone in waiting rooms.)

The room abounds in lovely distraction.  Sigh.  Have I mentioned I have to fast for this test again today?  I am getting so hungry the plump arm of the woman sitting next to me is starting to look good.  Or the potted plant in the corner.

Distractions, yes, some days my ADD is wonderful useful.  Because folks?  I really don't want to think about why I'm here.

So back to the topic at hand: what am I reading?

Well, the book I brought with me is "Lit" the latest book by the wonderful memoirist Mary Karr.  Having been primarily and voraciously a fiction reader my whole life, I am finding myself increasingly drawn to memoir as my current writing is obviously mining that vein.

This is a powerful book, and I am happily still close to the beginning, just digging in for a good meal.  To quote the back cover blurb (because it's been a long day and I'm feeling tired, so taking a tiny lazy cheat here), Lit is "about getting drunk and getting sober; becoming a mother by letting go of a mother; learning to write by learning to live."  Yup, that's the basics.

I love how in spite of the harrowing facts of her life, she keeps a biting sense of humor about everything.  How she begins by running from knowledge about herself, but obviously evolves to embrace it.  How she reflects constantly on the process of writing, moving from poetry to memoir.

Here's my favorite quote so far: "Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air, a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit into the palm of your hand.  But it could blow everybody's head off."

On my bedroom nightstand, you would find The Mind's Eye.  No one makes neurobiology more interesting and personal than Oliver Sacks.  He was the conduit through which most of the world was originally introduced to the amazing autist Temple Grandin.

This book is yet his most personal, as he is a patient & subject as well as the doctor & observer.  In it he documents his growing vision problems due to ocular cancer, leading to blindness in one eye and the accompanying loss of stereoscopic vision.  He also talks about his face blindness, a fascinating condition that many people on the autism spectrum share.

It is dense and intense writing.  It makes my brain tick and click and spin in very good ways.  But if I try to read it when I'm too tired?  I realize I'm reading the same paragraph over and over, not making enough sense.  But when I'm fresh?  Wonderful stuff.
 
Also, in my bathroom (AKA the Library) is the incredible Rosanne Cash memoir Composed.  This is a re-read for me, a delicious one.  I had devoured it when it came out this summer (on my 50th birthday, no less) it being one of those "can't put it down" books.

And now I have the decided pleasure of coming back to it and taking my time. I know where it is going so I don't have to rush through.  I can savor, roll the words around in my mouth and images around in my mind for a while, like tasting a good aged wine. Maybe a Cahors; complex, leathery but delicate, hints of flowers and fruit but lots of earth too. 

This is a great book for bloggers, as it clearly swims in our rivers.  Rosanne is a dyed in the wool storyteller with prodigious talents.  A few critics have called it rambling.  I am a vocal fan of rambling; I say to hell with straightforward.  Some folks confuse a lyrical and fluid, organic flow with chaos and lack of structure.  Don't listen to them.  This book moves like a river; jump in, let it take you for a ride.

Yes, there are stories she chooses not to tell.  We all have those stories.  That hers is such a public life just raises the stakes for her.  As any blogger knows, this is not just her story, it's her life, and because she is a mother, it's her children's lives being laid out here. What is told is so lovely and full, emotionally rich and giving of herself, only a greedy fool would call her on what she holds back.

At the core of this book are motherhood, parental loss and her creative process.  Could anything be more tailor made for me to both enjoy and relate to? 

Finally, I have also just finished a children's book that I am really looking forward to Ethan being ready for.  It's for a slightly older kid, or a more precocious 8 year old reader than he.  This book was brought to my attention by my wonderful book-loving friend Jill.

Jill is a children's book editor and writer who keeps a (terrific, if sporadic) blog about children's literature and what she and her kids are reading, and also about what she's writing, as she is in the middle of a writing MFA.

The book is The Wednesday Wars, and it is fabulous.  It takes place on Long Island in the late 1960s, which is also the time and place of my own childhood, and the author, Gary D. Schmidt gets it just right (as he was born in Hicksville, New York, so he should).

It's the story of Holling Hoodhood, the only Presbyterian in his seventh grade class.  It takes place over a school year and is about his relationship with a special teacher, his family, a girl, Shakespeare, friendship, the Vietnam War, loyalty, kindness...

I don't want to call it a "coming of age" story because that makes people think cliche, and this is anything but.  But there is growing up and coming to truths in there, without ever any heavy handedness for even a moment.  The book is deep as the ocean and yet full of light.  Buy it for a 10 to 12 year old boy you know. But read it first yourself, as you will really enjoy this funny and deeply moving novel.

OK, enough books.  Enough blog.

Tomorrow I will talk to my doctors, get the results from today's tests, strategize our game plan for going forward.

Tomorrow I will eat more skinless chicken and pita bread while dreaming of blue cheese and chocolate truffles.

And now, dear friends, I must sleep.  


*writing this on my Droid, auto-correct tried to make that "muddle of" which also feels about right.

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