Finally! A book worth recommending!

The Naming, by Alison Croggon, was a recent library booksale score. (25 cents for a hardcover? Don’t mind if I do.) I picked it up this last week to shake the taste of A Spot of Bother, by Mark Haddon out of my mouth. (Such whining! Such self-consumption! Everyone was only concerned with their own little world, letting the rest of their family spin out of control without any regard. A review for another day.)
Maerad, the protagonist of The Naming, grew up in slavery. When she is unexpectedly found by a travelling Bard, her life is changed when he recognizes the gift in her. I’m still in the middle, so by rights, I shouldn’t be reviewing at all. A mild sort of fantasy, full of the standard fight between good and evil, this book is not for young children, but would be appropriate for 14-17. I’m not big into books that disguise social commentary as utopian fiction, so the description of how the land surrounding the school has no need of policing because after all, if the people aren’t hungry, they won’t steal (or murder or rape, apparently.) Nice thought, but not realistic. Not all criminals perpetrate crime out of need.* But that aside (something I would want to talk about with my child, if they read it) it’s been an enjoyable read, with relatable and beleivable characters. Even better? There are three more books, all already released.

*An odd aside. I have read Thomas More’s Utopia. The concept of stealing being eliminated by elimanating poverty is straight from Book 1 of Utopia. However, I would be cautious as an author stealing ideas from a work that is believed to have been largely satirical. (It is unlikely that the high Chancellor believed in married and women priests, euthanasia, or easy divorce.) Woot.

If I could blog and drive, I would be the most popular blogger in the universe. I kid you not. On my way home from work just today, I wrote out a blog post in my mind that would have had the most tinsel-tongued of you speechless. It was funny, it was sad, it was clever – I laughed, I cried…I came home and got the mail, climbed the stairs, put away the dishes, made some dinner and sat down to puzzle out the lace pattern that currently is dogging my every step. And I completely forgot the glorious verbiage I was going to offer my loyal readers.

Sadly, I do the same thing when I’m half asleep. I have the most incredible insights into the human condition, and then I fall asleep and dream that my nephew is pulling apart the Thankgiving turkey with his bare hands and that all 3 of my siblings and I have been deployed to the Middle East together. (Seriously, these are my dreams. This is why I struggle to stay sane. You would too, if these were your subconscious’s best shots.) If only I would get up and blog instead drifting off to sleep.

But see, I don’t. So you’re stuck with this version of me. Tired, cranky from another day spent arguing over email with a developer whose office is literally adjacent to mine but who (while he answers email) is never actually present in it, and seriously considering a life of sugary treats and Dr. Pepper. I’m not as clever, but I do write more.

This past Thanksgiving is the second where I was the only child of four to be present for the meal. As a person who never aspired to be an only child, I would like to say that I was slightly depressed about it. Not that I’m sure that Emy wouldn’t have given up her Indonesian food in Memphis if she and Matt could have been present, and that I’m sure that the food was better than anything the Army served my brother, even if General Mc.Chry.stal did show up, and even if Rueben did find some castaway asparagus and boil it to eat with soy sauce. Mel and Brock and company came when they could, in time for leftovers and the last of the cranberry wine. I’m not blaming any of them. Mom and Dad, in typical generousity, filled the house by inviting a young family from church with their four kids. The boys kept Dad running, up and down the stairs, in and out of the living room, while the rest of us talked and I knitted.

We also filled the void with new dishes. Mom hates to make the same food every year, so she tried a squash and apple dish with rosemary and thyme. I offered Dad a bite, after which his plate returned from the buffet without any. Mom ate all of hers, and I considered mine, before offering my candid opinion, that it was a bit pretentious. Good thing my mom loves me. :-) Of course, this brought all cannons out on my Cranberry Walnut Pumpkin pie, which I thought was a delightful addition to the Pumpkin Pie family, but which, by all rights, could easily also be classified as pretentious. Except that it was delicious as well, which I think quite redeemed it. That and the fact that I had also brought a plain pumpkin pie. ;-)

Anyway. Sisters and brother mine, let’s have this be the last year I’m an only child at the Thanksgiving table. There’s too much love in our household for one person to handle alone. And I miss you.

(P.S. Crazywomancreek – I do not in fact have your correct email address. Mine is charis.rose at hot.mail dot com (without all the extra periods. That should find me on facebook, sorry I’ve been so long about it, it’s been a crazy couple of months.)

See, it’s Thanksgiving and I used a lyric from the Cranberries as a title. How clever am I?

I have been knitting a little, working on writing out my first pattern, prepping it for test knitting and then (eventually) for sale. I’ve also been working on the Sleeves in Your Pi for my mom. Between that and my other abundant projects, I have still been neglecting the reading.

I really am having the worst book slump. I’m in the middle of Love Walked In, which came highly praised, but quickly degenerated into trite chick lit. Cornelia is a coffee shop manager, obsessed with old movies and Cary Grant, and falls quickly, lightly, and shallowly in love with Martin, an emotionally distant but charming business man. Meanwhile, Clare, Martin’s daughter whom he never sees, finds herself struggling with her mother’s mental illness, which finally degenerates to the point that Vivianna simply up and leaves her daughter on the side of the road. Clare comes to find her father and ends up staying with Cornelia over Christmas. Teo, Cornelia’s brother-in-law (whom we later learn has been abandoned by his wife) comes for the holidays and forms an impromptu family with Cornelia and Clare. You see where this is going, right? It’s even worse than it sounds. Well-written, yet fraught with exactly the person you want out of the picture dying and the glowing knight-in-shining-armor being both emotionally and romantically available and all sorts of complex guardianship issues blithely smoothed over.  (By the way, your sister’s ex? NOT AN OPTION!!) Gag me with a spoon.

Thanksgiving was a nice break from work, although I’m the only one of the four who made it home for dinner. Seriously, guys. Being an only child is not cool. Let’s get that worked on. Mel and Brock came by later, though, and Mom and Dad had invited another family from church (with 3 small boys and a baby girl) for dinner, so we weren’t a tiny crowd, anyway. :-)

I have nothing particularly interesting to offer, so I’m off to knit a little more before figuring out the grocery list for the week. Loves to all.

What disturbed me the most about Prep (besides the rather unnecessary graphic parts) is how relatable I found it. I really enjoyed the articulation of that awkward social situation where you know all about someone, but don’t actually know them at all, and all the drama that can create on a small campus with a lot of community rules. (Christian college anyone?) Lee is so conscious of her own private conventions, when she is or isn’t allowed to initiate conversations with other students who might be more popular than she is, who she’s allowed to be comfortable with.

This book is a nice counterpoint to Tom Wolfe’s I Am Charlotte Simmons, but unfortunately with some of the same issues. Stereotypes abound, and our protagonist Lee is painfully lacking in self-awareness, and seems to purposefully relegate herself to the sidelines. At least this is actually written by a woman.

That being said, some of the content (the graphic scenes with the almost-boyfriend, the entire nature of their relationship, where he takes complete advantage of her and she literally just lays there like a doormat and allows it) is seriously disturbing. I would hope that when we get to the end Lee stands up and realizes that her value, just like her classmates, whether they realize it or not, is not tied to her family’s ability to spend money like water.

I guess, in her own way, she does, but it seems like a watery finish to a bold novel. I’m still deciding what I think.

It would be oversimplifying to blame my lack of posts on my job. I have, it’s true, been crazy busy at work, but nothing unmanageable (remember the semester I taught Latin an hour away while holding down a forty-hour-a-week retail job? I blogged through that, right?) I have been knitting up a storm, which really does take away from my reading. And I have been suffering a book slump. Nothing sounds good to read, I start things and leave them in the growing stack next to my bed, mixed in with the multiple sizes of knitting needles, wild balls of yarn and the glasses of water which are waiting to be used as weapons in any future alien invasion à la Signs. This is a six-week slump, if you include my brother’s leave, and it’s not looking pretty for the 100 books before the end of the year. I’m solidly at 75, but I don’t see a way to fit 25 books into the next 6-7 weeks of 2009.

I have, however, knit three berets, two cowls, a hat, and two socks (not a pair). I have started a sweet shawl/sweater for my mom, nearly finished Asher’s baby blanket (don’t even say it) and finished a pair of socks that has sat in my basket for several years. I remember how in college it was possible to ascertain my stress level by the amount of knitting I was doing. I look like I’m dealing with insane levels of stress right now.

So, to conclude this short post:

Books read so far this year – 75
Books I should have read so far this year – 88ish
Hope of finishing this challenge – Dwindling.
Books bought at library sale during $5 for grocery bag blowout (I went back, Mom. I had to.) – 20, but not all for me. Wait until you see what I found for Asher.
Time spent knitting in meetings at work – easily 8 hours
Time spent discussing/debating/defending knitting during meetings instead of playing with an I.phone or checking email on a laptop like the majority of my coworkers – also easily 8 hours

I should write a post on the benefits of knitting during a meeting. Seriously.

*Been pondering this for a couple of days. Today just seemed like a good day to share. I love you, B. I’m praying.*

I’ve been thinking about grief lately. Not an uncommon theme in most lives, I expect, at least on some level. For me, this is the season of grief, stretching from the depths of autumn to the springtime. Figuratively and literally.

Recently, in the yearly struggle with the after-effects of loss, I was struck by the verse in the beatitudes about grief.

“Blessed are those who mourn,
For they shall be comforted.” Matthew 5.4

I re-read the beatitudes and was struck by the fact that the promises in the beautitudes don’t really seem to be about here on earth.  The kingdom of heaven, inheriting the earth, seeing God, being called sons of God – not really the here and now’s strong points, are they? And even being filled and obtaining mercy aren’t things that you can count on in this life.

When I was younger, I remember clearly a sermon about the Beatitudes where the pastor said that we should all strive to have the qualities described in them, even if we had to work on them one at a time. I looked at the list and thought “Poor in spirit? Not even sure what that means. Mourn? Meek? Merciful? Pure in heart? Persecuted? I’ll have to settle with hungering and thirsting after righteousness.”

I guess I’m saying that I never really considered mourning as a part of my future, but what I’m learning is that mourning is a part of everyone’s future.

I know that when we read this passage, we most often focus on mourning because of sin, and that our comfort in that regard comes from the redemption offered us.  But the more of this life I see, the more I realize that this is closely related to the kind of mourning more of us are doing.

I mourn the deaths of people I love every day. Whether you see it or not. Whether you think it’s acceptable or not. Whether you think I should be finished with that or not. Five years is not that long. Or ten, for that matter. Or fifty, I suspect. When I mourn their deaths, I am not just mourning the loss of my close friend or a joyous little one whose parents will never see her grow up. I am mourning the curse of sin on this world that has caused us this pain of separation. 

When I read Jesus’s words in Matthew 5, I accept not only that I will be blessed for this mourning, but also that true comfort, true relief may not, will not be mine until heaven.

I was thinking about this particularly because sometimes when you see the scars of grief on someone you love your heart breaks all over again. You recognize the wounds that have torn your heart with guilt and horror and loneliness and you want with all your heart to reach out and heal them. And you can’t. For the rest of their earthly life, they too will bear the scars of loss that eventually all of us acquire, some of us younger than others.

When you watch someone grieve, don’t judge them. Don’t analyze their personal gestures of sorrow, small or large. Someday that will be you, and we will extend the same courtesy to you. 

Even when years have passed, and by your emotional reasoning their grief should have concluded, maybe all your grieving friend needs is a little more time.  A little more understanding. A little more of your ungrudging acceptance. They are not trying to make you suffer through their messiness.  Don’t judge where they are. Just give them a little more time.

I know I’ve been AWOL for the last couple of weeks. I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to finish reading even one book this month. I have been knitting (naturally) because that is something that you can do while watching your siblings play the same game five times in rapid succession. Also, it is easier to abandon my knitting when my nephew decides to take a break from snuggling with his uncle Rueben to drool on me.

Droooooool.

I know. He doesn’t really sit still long enough for me to get a solid shot. That’s him wearing the little girly beret I knit last week, but on him it looks like a super-masculine Rastafarian hat, right?

Today is Rueben’s last day of leave. I’m heading home after work to demand one more hug before  he heads back to a country where 14 more of our guys died on Monday. Fourteen. These are the thoughts that make me a praying girl.  Sorry I haven’t been around, but I have been on the road 12 hours in the last two weeks, taken two days off of work (and put in my full forty hour work week each week anyway) and been wrapped up in family while we can. I will be back soon. Don’t give up on me.

I think this is the first day in a week (or more) that I have not felt sick. Maybe this is because I let myself sleep in until 6:30, maybe this is because I’m actually better, maybe this is because I’ve just decided not to be stressed out today. Who knows.

I finished Glass of Time yesterday. I was surprised by the reviews on goodreads, because they appeared to (in a large part) think that it did not live up to The Meaning of Night. I think that the two as a matched set are so much better than Night all by itself, which is overdone, overwrought and in need of an editor. Edward Glyver is an unsympathetic character whom you’re not sure if you want to strangle or support. When everything comes crashing down at the end of the book, you feel sure that it was what everyone deserved, but if you’re a secret romantic, like me, you kind of wish that just one character got a happy ending.

The Glass of Time we meet Esperanza Gorst, sent on a “great task” and inserted as a lady’s maid to the infamous Lady Tansor, nee Emily Carteret. Some of the plot points are a little obvious to anyone – the identity of Esperanza, Randolph Duport’s love story. On the other hand, some of Cox’s subtleties are glorious and truly masterful – the naming of both Esperanza and Perseus Duport, the introductions of people from the past without seeming overwhelming. I just know that I enjoyed this book so much more than the last. There is a satisfaction to the conclusion of this book that was just lacking in the last one.

Just a note about the author. Cox wrote The Meaning of Night after a diagnosis of cancer that could potentially leave him blind. He followed his dream to publish a novel that he had been marinating for thirty years. This second book is his conclusion to it, published in paperback shortly before his death this past March. So I guess that in some ways, the more solid conclusion found in this sequel is fitting.

I’m highly recommending this book to gothic novel fans.

Today is a day of good things. I believe this.

In church, we read the entirety of the book of Esther in celebration of Purim. As one of my Sunday School kids pointed out, Esther was willing to sacrifice her life for her people just as Jesus was willing to give up His. What a great book of the Bible.

I was asked to be a part of a new ministry at the church, on the ground level of bringing something I care a lot about (adoption and family services) to our church.

I got to talk to one of the ladies at church I would really like to be friends with. Her son is in my Sunday School class and she assisted today. Got a chance to talk to her and am excited because she is just as cool as I thought.

I finished my book this morning (I will post about it later) and it was eighty times more satisfying than its prequel.

Now, I am going to go clean my apartment. Woot!

I know I’m in danger of losing a large portion of my readership. To you, I apologize for this continuing knitting ramble. I apologize. I’m obsessed, and not quite sure what I’m doing. As I stated the other night in my facebook status, I’m intimidated by my own design, a little. I think I could probably make it a lot better if I frogged it all the way again and started over, but I think instead I will finish this one as is and knit a second one to nail down the finer points, like using this on the edges of my wheat pattern to keep the ladders at bay.

Do you want pictures? Will you ask nicely? Will you promise not to steal my ideas and run to press with them? (I’m cracking up over here, in case you’re wondering.) It’s a vest, perhaps a sweater, if I’m in the mood for muddling sleeves on. (Can you just pick up stitches and knit sleeves out? Because I HATE seaming.)

The wheat lace inset.

Don't judge the shape, it looks more dramatic than I think it will come out in the end.

I have never knitted anything like this, so knitting the design from my head might turn out to be a massive mistake, but I haven’t woven in the ends as I go (a trick of a lazy knitter who hates to do it all in one go at the end) to keep my options for frogging the entire project open. What do you guys think? Maybe, if you’re super nice in the comments, the second one I have to knit will land on your doorstep. (No promises, folks, no promises.)