Books, Books, And More Books

This past September and October I had to come face to face with my addiction to books. There would be little space for book shelves in our new home. What to do?

I was getting good at clearing out the kitchen of uneccessary gadgets. Did I need four or five table cloths, Bill’s mother’s fancy china and gorgeous chrystal glasses that we never used because they were so fragile? I cut my wardrobe back radically. All the gardening tools except for a trowel and pruning shears had to find homes along with all the flower pots, bags of potting soil, and fertilizer. I had no problem selling, donating, and gifting those things away. The purging was going well and everytime I decided to discard something, I felt lighter.

But I still had the books to do. I started with the large collection of poetry books that took up at least 7 of a 10 shelf bookcase which I would also have to find a new home for. There sat Robert Frost, Mary Oliver, Jane Kenyon, Gregory Orr and a host of other well known and not so well known poets.

Nonfiction books, covering a vast range of subjects from nature, memoir, self-help, Buddhism, along with favorites like Terry Tempest Williams and Annie Dillard, took up more space than anything else in additional bookcases. Since I did’t read much fiction, there weren’t many novels.

Being an artist I had a healthy collection of art books that had served as inspiration for most of my life. Included were instruction books on beading, especially French Beaded Flowers, and books filled with gorgeous photos of real flowers that I thought I would one day figure out how to mimic with beads.

Were there cookbooks, you ask? How could I live without the seventy-five or so texts that had fed us since we got married back in 1965. Get rid of Julia Child? And what about all the new Paleo cookbooks that I’ve been using for the last couple of years?

Somehow I did find a way to part with many of them. I gave them to family, friends, and donated the rest to the local library for their annual spring book sale. I learned a lot about my reading habits and found loads of books I had bought and never read. There were books that I hadn’t liked but kept anyway. I started by getting rid of those and continued to purge until the last minute. Those that were left are in the built-in book cases in the living room, bookcases in my studio and bedrooms.

Keeping a library on my kindle doesn’t help. I’ve never liked reading books on a “device.” I love to hold real books in my hands, turn real paper pages, and feel the weight of the writings I hold in my hand.

I’ve made a few rules for myself to help me through my recovery: I give myself time most day to rest and read after lunch for an hour or so. I’ll not push through a book that isn’t my cup of tea. If it’s boring or too painful to read, I won’t bother. When I buy a new book, I ask myself if it’s one I’ll need to keep. It’s okay if I need to own a book so I can mark it up, make notes in the margins, or underline passages that speak to me. I won’t buy new books unless I get rid of one for each one I bring home. Once I finish reading the books I haven’t read yet, I’ll hopefully start going to the library. Will I ever  completely recover from this addiction of mine?  I don’t know.  But I figure this one is better than addictions to booze and drugs.

I’ve read the following books in the last month or so.  They are all good reads and are now on their way to the library book sale:  Finding Magic, A Spiritual Memoir, by Sally Quinn, The Winter People, a ghost story, by Jennifer McMahon, Pachinko, a novel by National Book Award Finalist, Min Jin Lee, and The Keeper of Lost Things, a whimsical novel by Ruth Hogan.

I’m currently working my way through Sister Joan Chittister’s, The Gift of Years: Growing Older Gracefully. I can’t get enough of this marvelous book that is guiding me each day through the hard work of aging. This one will stay on the shelf next to my bed forever.

Are you addicted to books?

The Fabulous Gaithersburg Book Festival

 

Betty Hafner, Seema Reza and myself.

All I can say is, WOW!
I’m home and thrilled that I was chosen to participate in the 8th Annual Gaithersburg Book Festival.

Here in Charlottesville we have the annual Virginia Festival of the Book, a four-day program of the Virginia Foundation for the Humanities. It’s a lovely event that brings in book-people from all over the country, including authors, those in the process of writing a book, those who aspire to become writers, and those who  read voraciously. I attend every year and it’s where I first met the woman who became my publicist, Caitlin Hamilton Summie, who was here as part of a panel discussing the role of publicists in the book-marketing process.

Me, Mayor Jud Ashman, and Betty Hafner

But the Gaithersburg Book Festival is a celebration of a different stripe. Set up in tents in the park surrounding City Hall, it is a one day event run by the city of Gaithersburg, in Maryland, and a host of local volunteers of all ages, ethnicities, and backgrounds, from kids to elders. Mayor Jud Ashman, also the Founder and Chair of the festival, was there greeting and welcoming everyone. It was wonderful! I felt like I was part of a huge family celebration with attendees, authors, and those who did all of the work to bring the festival to fruition. It was an amazing event illustrating deep love and appreciation for books and those who write them

I wasn’t able to stay all day as we had to get back to C’ville for the show, Death of a Salesman, which Bill directed for Live Arts. My sweet man missed opening night on Friday to accompany me and lend me his support. What more can this woman ask for proof of true love?!?

Had I been able to stay around until the end of the day, one of things I would have loved to attend among many others, was a MULTILINGUAL STORY TIME, that ran all day long. For twenty minutes children of all ages could listen to stories read to them in Spanish, Portuguese, Farsi, Amharic, French, and English.

The panel that I participated in was moderated by Larry Matthews, also an author. It was a wonderful opportunity to sit with two other woman writers, Betty Hafner and Seema Reza, who have also written memoirs and to talk about the why, how, and importance of telling personal stories.

I’m told that last years festival was held on a day of torrential rain and was attended by 15,000 people. This years attendance on a gray, cool day, was expected to be between 22,000 to 25,000 with a rough guess of 23,000 people there at the time I was given these figures.

I’m thinking of going back next year just for the fun of it!!

Writing While Sick With The Flu

Woodland Phlox blooming in my garden now.

Last week I said I’d be away and wouldn’t be posting a blog today. I’m supposed to be in a quiet location about an hour from here at a five day insight dialogue meditation retreat. Unfortunately I came down with the flu the day before I was supposed to leave and have been in bed ever since. I don’t do flu shots, but this dance with this nasty bug has me wondering if I should get one next fall when they are once again offered.

Except for a nasty cold after the first of the year, a UTI several weeks ago on a Saturday that took me to the ER, I’ve had a healthy winter. The hospital has a new system where you if you need to go to the ER you log in on line before you leave your home. They will tell you when to be there. I called at 3 PM and was told to be there at 5:30.  I expected immediate treatment, but sat in the waiting room until 9:30, filled with folks, young and old with the flu and the very nasty Norovirus.   I know that is where both Bill and I picked up this bug that has had both of us in bed for days.

While Bill is feeling much better and has slipped out for groceries, he still finds a need to take care of himself and not overdo. I was told of someone who had this bug for 3 weeks, because he went back out into the world too early and got sick again. I was told I’d be welcome at the retreat even a few days late, but though I am feeling somewhat better, I’ll take no chances and just stay put for the next few days. The retreat is over on Wednesday. No way am I going to make it.

For me it’s been five days of misery, yet despite my fight with a fever, a constant barking cough, a burning sore throat, and extreme dizziness, my head has been filled to the brim with writing ideas.  On Saturday, I decided to put two nonfiction books aside that I’ve been reading. The first was, Dreamland: The true Tale of America’s Opiate Epidemic, by Sam Quinones, which is hard enough to read when you’re feeling well. I’m not at all sure that I will ever finish it. It’s just too damned depressing. The second one that I truly love and will absolutely finish is, The Power of Off: The Mindful Way to Stay Sane in a Virtual World, by Nancy Collier. Who needs nonfiction when you can’t stand up straight, walk across a room without weaving back and forth like a drunk, and can’t breathe?

Both of those books are about addiction and though I don’t and never will take opiates, being addicted to the internet and the iPhone is something I admit to and resonate with.  You’ll hear more about this in future posts. I find America’s addiction to all things technical an alarming addiction and a difficult one to break.

After putting those two books aside, I picked up Christina Baker Kline’s, new novel, A Piece Of The World. I loved her book, Orphan Train, and heard her talk at the Virginia Festival of the Book just a few short weeks ago. Her use of language, descriptive passages, and narrative based on hours of research into Andrew Wyeth’s relationship with Christina Olson, the woman in his most admired painting, Christina’s World is phenomenal. I’ve only just begun this book and my eyes get tired easily, so I read for short stretches. But her beautiful words tumble through my mind as I cat nap between putting the book down and picking it up again.

Yesterday, feeling better than I have in a few days, but still a bit fuzzy headed, I picked up, Natasha Trethewey’s book of poems, Native Guard. It won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 2007. I heard her talk about her work and poetry at a journaling conference I attended last May. The child of a racially mixed marriage, her poems “confront the racial legacy of her native Deep South.” Like Kline’s words, Trethewey’s verse is beautifully written, phenomenally descriptive of both place and emotion, leaving no doubt as to where you are and exactly what is happening.

With those two books tucked under the covers with me, I became inspired. It was the first time in a long while that I felt that I absolutely had to write something right then and there,  as often happens when I read the words of exquisite writers, like these to women.

And realizing that April is National Poetry Month, I got it in my head to write a poem a day for the rest of the month. I missed April Fool’s day, because I was so sick, but maybe I can write two poems another day to make up for missing the first day of this new month. I immediately wrote the following poem.

Abed With The Flu

Four days in my sick bed
I sleep and read the time away
Sun wakes  falls asleep again
The half-moon lends light to the dark
Fever comes and goes
First I’m cold then sweaty
The world stumbles along
Outside my door

My cough sounding dog-like
Brings flem to the surface
Encouraging my own song
Like these words
Stories I will tell again another day

 

Have you ever had the urge to write when you were sick or otherwise engaged?

Finding A Calling And Seeing It Through

” A calling is what you have when you look back at your life and make sense of what it’s been trying to teach you …”    Geoff Goines

 

IMG_0013I am called to put my thoughts down on paper every day.  But it’s not always easy. Sometimes life gets in the way, leaving little time to focus and keep myself inspired. Other times my inner critic sounds off, telling me that what I’ve just written is crap and I ought to find something else to do with my life.

In the process of writing my memoir there were a number of times I almost quit altogether. It was difficult, intense work and I often didn’t want to face or write about some of the grimmest days of my life. Yet I wanted to share my story as a way to help others who were considering being caretakers to their parents. With the help of a writing coach and encouragement from other writers, I kept going and finished it. In mid-September my book will be a reality and the dream I had of bringing it into the world will be accomplished.

These days when it’s hard to fit writing time into my overloaded schedule or I simply don’t feel like sitting down in front of my computer and getting to work, I think of two individuals I recently met who work day jobs, write at the same time, and feel that what they are doing will bring them to a more satisfying place in there lives. They have their own dreams. They also have the courage and hutzpah to keep at it without knowing whether or not their dreams will become reality.

I met the first one, a cab driver, in May during my visit to Chicago. When I hopped into his cab in front of the hotel I was staying in, he immediately asked if I was going to the airport. He sounded somewhat disappointed when I told him I needed to go to McCormick Place, the city’s huge convention center only a twenty minute ride away. He knew that Book Expo America was going on there, and asked if I was a writer. When I said yes, he said that he too is a writer and began telling me a little bit about the book he is working on. When I asked him how he found time to write, he told me that when he can take passengers to the airport and drops them off, he goes to the end of the taxi line and waits for his next fare. It could sometimes be up to an hour of uninterrupted time. That is when he pulls out his notebook and begins work on his book, a philosophical self-help treatise filled with ways to live a happy life directed at young people. I was impressed and inspired by this gray-haired, African-American man, originally from the Sudan, who needs to work, but also has dreams of publishing his book. I was especially impressed that he called himself a writer, when many of us don’t, unless we’ve officially published a book. As he did twenty years ago when he decided to come to America for a better life, he has taken action in an effort to bring his calling to fruition.

The second writer, a stewardess on a recent flight I was on is also working toward putting a book together. She was at the end of an exhausting four day stint up and down the east coast taking care of and serving passengers. She was anxious to get home where she would have the next five days off to clean house, shop, and do laundry. As I listened to her story of what she and the rest of the flight crew had been through during the past few days, I felt glad that I had never considered that line of work. I thought back to the times I watched myself and other passengers take out our frustrations on flight crew members because we had been delayed and would miss our next connections. This flight was no exception, since we were an hour late getting off the ground.

Once in the air and after the passengers had been served, she sat down and pulled out a red spiral bound notebook. She closed her eyes for a moment and then began writing. She wrote for about twenty minutes before she tucked the notebook back into her bag in order to get us ready to land. Once on the ground as we waited for the doors to open, I asked her if she was a writer. “Yes,” she responded with a smile and told me she had three notebooks filled with stories that she hoped one day would become a book. And,”Yes,” many of them had been written during those fleeting moments when she was on the job. I didn’t have time to ask her any more questions before I left the plane, but I was impressed by the way she was moving forward to hopefully bring her dream to reality.

I just finished reading, The Art of Work, A Proven Path to Discovering What You Were Meant to Do, by Jeff Goins. The cab driver and the stewardess could have stepped out of the pages of this inspiring book which explores the ideas of calling, vocation, and the challenges we all face as we search for a way to live a more purposeful and authentic life.

The description on the back cover of this book states: “Life seldom unfolds the way we hope or plan. The twists, surprises, and setbacks leave us feeling stuck with no option left but to play it safe—to conform to what’s expected of us. But what if theres was more to life than this?”

When we are called to plant a garden how can we make it flourish?

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My Book Addiction and Reviews

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In case I haven’t told you before now, I am a bookaholic. I’m also a sugarholic, but that’s another story. However, there is something that the two have in common. The sweetness of both reading and savoring a piece of chocolate draws me in. I have a very difficult time leaving them behind. The more I read good books or eat sweets, the more I want them. I work hard on my sugar addiction, trying to control my cravings. But I can’t seem to control my hunger for books, and since it isn’t affecting my life negatively, I don’t worry about it much.

Even as a kid, I loved books. The best days were those when I went to the library and chose two or three new ones to bring home. I lived inside their covers, following stories that I was sure were written just for me. These days, though, I want to own the book I’m reading in case I want to make notes in the margins. Books are companions that I want to keep nearby. If the book and I don’t connect then it goes in the box that I send off to the library book sale or give it to someone who might like it.

For the last couple of years my actual reading time was minimal, due to work on my own book and the plethora of other things I had to do. But the the stack of books by my bedside and on the bookcase across the room just kept growing taller. This past spring when my memoir was well on it’s way to publication, I slowly began taking one book at time and opening its pages, bathing in stories and language. At first I felt guilty for not “working.” Surely I should be doing laundry, filing away the stacks of papers in my studio, or unpacking a few boxes that still haven’t been emptied since our move here six years ago. But then I remembered that part of a writer’s work is to read.

Back when I was writing mostly poetry, the easiest way for me to get moving with my writing was to pick up a poetry book and read for at least thirty minutes if not an hour. At the end of that time, I’d be so inspired by the power of words and how they were put together, that I’d sit and write for hours. These days are no different. I get inspired by reading prose, whether it be fiction or nonfiction. And the stack of books I mentioned above is slowly, yes, slowly dwindling. I guess the slowness is because I keep adding one or two whenever I see ones that I MUST read. And there are plenty of those. The two books I’ve reviewed below are those that just recently took their places on the stack.

FASTEST THINGS ON WINGS, Rescuing Hummingbirds in Hollywood, by Terry Masear, is a goodie. It is a thriller. Not in the sense that is has murderers or spies in it, but in the sense that I have always loved those tiny winged creatures, and wanted to know more about them. I was thrilled to learn about the mysterious lives of these pinky-sized wonders. This book, however, goes beyond the facts about one particular bird.  It also tells the story of a compassionate woman who gave her life over to saving the lives of thousands of hummingbirds. It’s about her special relationships with those who spent time recovering from near death under her care. I call it a “Thriller/Memoir.” I don’t think those who love nature, memoir, and especially birds, should miss this one. It’s a delight.

THINGS UNSAID, by Diana Y. Paul, is a novel that could be a memoir. It is the universal story of a dysfunctional family, how they tear each other apart, and how if not stopped, their instability could bleed down through generations to come. It is a story of the conflicts between a set of elderly parents, their three grown children, and their granddaughters. All of them soaking in the sour brine of relationships gone bad. In today’s world of Baby Boomers taking over the care of their aging parents, it’s a thoughtful tale we can all  learn from. Do we give our all to those who brought us into the world despite their toxic behaviors? Or do we need to let them go their own way in order to preserve our own lives and those of our children? Every caretaker story is different, but this one holds a bit of everything that could go wrong and then some. Highly recommended to me by several other She Writes Press authors, I found it hard to put down.

I’m still choosing which book to begin next. I used to split up my days reading two to three books at a time, but I can’t seem to do that anymore. My brain is telling me I can’t multitask anymore. So now only one book at a time has to do. At the moment I’m being drawn to The Art of Work, A Proven Path to Discovering What You Were Meant To Do, by Jeff Goins. I think that being in my seventies, it’s high time I figure out what I want to do with my life. 🙂