Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

There’s some serious upheaval going on, folks. In addition to church being canceled–and all church events–school events were canceled on Thursday. Which meant that the play my 5th grader has been diligently rehearsing for, that was supposed to run for TWO nights, only ran for one…and only her Grandma got to see it. My 7th grader had a band concert on Wednesday, so my mother-in-law took my fifth grader to her play and saw it while the rest of the family went to see the 7th grader, planning on seeing the play on Thursday. Except. She was also supposed to compete in the state FPS meet–canceled. And since she missed the school performance of her play because of an ill-timed stomach flu, my poor (and very sensitive by nature) 5th grader has had a rough week. And NOW school isn’t canceled, exactly, but the students are dismissed for two weeks. (Although I assume there will be reevaluation then, and I have no idea how that will go.) There will be no library visits, because HEY, the libraries are closed, and no preschool for my 5-year-old, and yowsers. Strange times.

Anyway. Despite the upheaval, I’m still finishing books–mostly audiobooks, but still–and yesterday morning I finished listening to Eva Ibbotson’s The Abominables, which was published posthumously. It’s got a bit of hybrid feel to it, in my opinion; it isn’t quite as given over to absurdities as her other middle grade novels, and yet it doesn’t have much in common with her dramatic youth fiction. There are absurdities, of course–the title creatures are yetis driven (by the encroaching tourism industry) to seek refuge on an English country estate. To get there they must travel in the back of a lorry across part of Asia and most of Europe, and they and their human allies manage to involve themselves with a cruel sultan, a bemused bull, and a tipsy St. Bernard (among others). When the end of their journey is in sight, however, they find themselves up against a level of cruelty they have never imagined, and while much of the resulting message is relayed with Ibbotson’s trademark comic flair, there are some poignantly serious moments as well. Whether its slightly different feel is because it was written at a different time in her career, or whether Ibbotson hadn’t been satisfied (or finished?) with it when she died (published posthumously, remember) I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that The Abominables is both funny and serious–not to mention a little bit strange–and fans of Ibbotson’s, at least, won’t want to miss it.

Henry Holt and Company was kind enough to send me an ARE of Happiness: The Crooked Little Road to Semi-Ever After back in April of 2017, and in my (never-ending) quest to move through my piles of books, I finished it on Monday. And–wow.

Wow.

If you’ve ever born a child, you know that there are certain books that you absolutely SHOULD NOT read pregnant, not because they aren’t powerful and incredibly worthwhile, but because some vicarious emotional journeys should only be undertaken when you’re in an emotionally stable place yourself.
Happiness is most definitely one of those books. It’s well-written and gripping and draws you into Heather and her family’s world–the world of a family whose oldest child, a child somewhere between toddler and preschooler, needs and ultimately receives a bone marrow transplant. Gracie needs this transplant because she is born with a condition that her doctors can’t actually manage to diagnose, a condition where her red blood cells deteriorate and she needs a blood transfusion every 3-4 weeks. In the meantime, Gracie’s father, who initially told Heather that he wasn’t prepared to actually be a father in any real sense, undergoes an unexpected (to him) emotional transformation, becoming (once again) a vital part of Heather and Gracie’s lives. As a reader, you share those lives in a painful way, from newborn blood transfusions (it is NO JOKE to get a needle into those tiny veins) to pre- and post-transplant drugs and their side effects. They watch other children in the transplant unit struggle; they are very much aware when some of them die. It is a complex emotional journey that held me spellbound–and would have sent me over the edge when I was pregnant or caring for a newborn of my own, because what if? WHAT IF?

In my current stage of life, however–my youngest being 5–I am comfortably past the newborn worries (while entering into the adolescent ones). I found Heather Harpham’s memoir to be compulsively readable and entirely engrossing without being personally stressful. (The only aspect of it that I struggled with was her increasing use of the F-word. I appreciate that she was under a kind of strain that I have yet to even imagine, but I still find it personally jarring.) If you are safely past the pregnancy and newborn stage of life, this is a memoir you will never, ever forget. If you’re not, well–you may want to put it on a TBR list for the future.

I actually didn’t check Birdie out of the library; my 5th grader did. (Her elementary school library, that is.) Since it’s a relatively short verse novel by an author I’ve enjoyed (Eileen Spinelli), I asked her if I could read it as well. She did have to renew it last week, but I had a relatively open night last night, and so I settled down on the love seat to redeem myself. I even managed to finish it AND get into bed at a decent hour!

Like my daughter, I quite enjoyed it. Eileen Spinelli writes simply but movingly about real situations that kids struggle with; in this case, Birdie’s mother is dating again, three years after Birdie’s firefighting father died in a fire. It seems like everyone else in Birdie’s life is dating as well, and she isn’t sure how to deal with it all. To say more would ruin the experience of seeing Birdie’s life through her eyes, so I’ll just let you pick up this gentle treat yourself. In the meantime, my 5th grader can (finally!) return it to her school library.

Just as soon as she gets over her stomach flu.

That’s how I feel about Professor Chandra Follows His Bliss, folks. I won a copy in a Shelf Awareness giveaway last January (remember the catching up I’m STILL doing?) and read it just over a year later; I’ve been sitting on the review because I haven’t been sure how to sum it up. A list, maybe?

Pros:
There are funny bits. And there is genuine caring, if almost always expressed awkwardly. There is also the thread of a family that I did want to follow.

Cons:
None of these characters are as likable as I want them to be. The new age-y attitudes frequently annoyed me (as they did Chandra, some of the time), and if the whole lot of people in the book had been honest and attempted to be kind, well–there’d be less story. I also felt like Chandra’s memories of constant work and his memories of young father moments didn’t always jive with each other OR his children’s attitudes toward him later on.

Ultimately, this was not so much my thing, and yet there were parts I enjoyed and parts I got quite a kick out of. If tales of dysfunctional families (all of whose family members make their share of truly poor decisions) are your thing, than this should be right up your alley. If you want to be able to truly like your characters, than it depends on how forgiving you are.*

*I’d avoid the audio unless accent mistakes don’t bother you, by the way. Possibly ALL of the American characters were from California or Colorado, and yet they were rendered in a New York-ish accent. It was painful.

I’m sure my legions of faithful readers noticed that I missed BOTH of the two-odd-days-in-a-row that leap year brought us; weekends are hard, you know? And I’ve been working right along on my basement, cleaning out and organizing the big girls’ bedroom so that–eventually–my son won’t have to share with his younger sister. The getting rid of things is the most satisfying, but there’s much more organizing than actual tossing. (Thanks to my grandparents for the thrifty/packrat/borderline hoarder genes.)

Anyway. Tonight I finished listening to Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, which is the March book for the new book group I’ve more or less joined. To start with, DON’T listen to this book. I wasn’t going to make it through any other way, but the latter part deals with specifics of logotherapy, which Frankl developed, and clinical psychiatric terms and explanations do not lend themselves to an auditory approach. I listened to bits of it three and four and five times, trying to parse out the terms and their meanings in context. Maybe those who are not at all visually oriented would be fine, but the lack of the visual most definitely hindered my comprehension. (Then, too, it’s been a couple of decades since my brain was in optimal shape for this sort of reading. It gets a different kind of exercise now.)

Anyway. Essentially, in Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl uses his experiences in the Nazi concentration camps to explain and support his brainchild, logotherapy, which postulates that human beings are most motivated by a search for meaning. Finding meaning in suffering will therefore help us through the suffering, inspiring us to “suffer well”. Much of his approach rang true to me, and I appreciated the (relative) accessibility of it. (The fact that I was able to grasp it via an auditory experience, without any visual whatsoever, is proof of that.) This is not the sort of book I usually pick up, but I’m glad to have read it; it’s been on my radar in a “someday I’ll get to that” sort of way for a very long time. Be aware that this is not a memoir, but rather a book to be shelved in the social sciences section of a bookstore; that said, since a goodly portion of the book draws on Frankl’s experiences in the camps, it feels like a cousin to memoir. Ultimately, its central assertion is both valuable and relevant in today’s world, and I’m going to be thinking about it–on and off–for a long time to come.

I finished Jerry Craft’s New Kid–this year’s Newbery medalist–last night, and I almost couldn’t believe how much I loved it. Seriously! Reading it was sheer delight. One of my favorite things about it was its portrayal of such a broad spectrum of racial interactions. Not the simplistic and ugly ones, because that’s not what the book is for; instead, Craft shows us what it’s like for Jordan in a not-so-diverse school, with the teachers (those of color and those NOT of color), with the other African-American students, with the white students, with students of different ethnicities, and with one girl who comes across as just plain WEIRD. (Because there are those kids in every school, right? I love that Craft allows us insight into her, too.) There are miscommunications, innocent actions mistaken for something else, NOT innocent actions that get ignored or overlooked, and all kinds of attitudes from all kinds of people.

This makes it sound like social commentary, doesn’t it? I suppose New Kid IS that, but it’s so much, much more. Craft’s story is for every kid who has ever felt different, who has ever not fit in, and who has ever wished that he or she was somewhere else. It’s compulsively readable and a story that kids are going to gobble up while adults crack up over the chapter names and their accompanying art. (I’m not kidding, either. I’d read this book for those alone.) It brought to mind the endless conversations my friend Kim and I had in junior high and high school, trying to convince people that no, we weren’t related, and yes, two people can have red hair and not be related, and YES, we are two different people (this to a boy who saw us walking together and blurted out that he thought we were the SAME person). It’s incredibly relatable, entertainingly drawn, and ought to appeal to just about everyone. Go, people. Go read this book, and give it to your kids, and talk about it, because while many Newbery winners are criticized for being the kinds of books that adults like but kids don’t, THIS ISN’T ONE OF THEM.

Today was likely the coldest day we’ll see this week–possibly the coldest day we’ll see until fall–and so I decreed it a soup day. What soup to have, though? We’re low on milk, so that was out as an ingredient (unless I wanted to shop, which I most emphatically didn’t), and ditto for potatoes. I scrolled through quite a number of recipes on my Soup board before hitting upon this 20-Minute Cheesy Chicken Enchilada Soup and deciding it would fit the bill nicely. True, we ended up going topping-less, but it was still a satisfying bowlful. I did add a can of corn to bulk up the veggies; I also made the linked recipe for homemade enchilada sauce, using two tablespoons of chili powder instead of 4 (we’re wimps, and I didn’t want to take any chances) and then one of smoked paprika to help make up for it. If you’re looking for a nice, easy soup to add to your repertoire, this is definitely a keeper. (Even my second girlie, who throws the word spicy around as easily as a ping pong ball, gave it a thumbs middle. This was high praise for her and this flavor profile.) If any of you still have a cold day or two in your forecast–make soup!

Crunch is the third book by Leslie Connor that I’ve read–thus far–and while it doesn’t have the same KIND of feels as All Rise for the Honorable Perry T. Cook, it’s got its OWN kind, and I loved them, too. Imagine a family of three teenagers and 5-year-old twins whose parents are on an anniversary trip; imagine those parents suddenly stranded by a fuel crisis, there being no gas to be had; and imagine those teenagers left to take care of the household, each other, and the family’s side bike repair business. During a FUEL CRISIS. I wasn’t alive for the energy crunch of the 70s, so perhaps that’s why this had a slightly mythic feel for me; the family’s endeavors, difficulties, and triumphs were enthralling.

Of course, that makes Crunch sound like an epic, full of drama and pathos–and it’s not. There are athletic chickens, a sheep named Gloria Cloud, a neighbor who hovers somewhere between villainy, heroics, and just plain weirdness, and a smelly billy goat with an unintentionally altruistic streak. (Also some fabulous wordplay, including the phrase “hitchbiker”.) This is a story full of humor, frustrations, victories, and a healthy dose of making do, and who doesn’t love a book like that? (And, yes, some drama and pathos, too. It’s just plain good, folks.) You should all go grab a copy and read it–while I return my library copy and put another book by Leslie Connor on hold. It’ll be a party! In the meantime, goodnight all.

Don’t stay up too late reading.

At about the same time I was starting Forget Me Not, I also started listening to Deborah Wiles’ A Long Line of Cakes. Interestingly enough, they BOTH involve daughters who long to settle into their new homes, make friends, and stay put, but whose parents are serial movers, so to speak. They both dread leaving again, and it hangs over their heads like a visible cloud of doom.

The similarities end there, however, and that was a good thing for my state of mind. Whereas Calli’s mother in Forget Me Not is an all-too-plausible product of her previous experiences and her need to be with someone, Emma Lane Cake’s parents are loving, present, and living the life of itinerant bakers (citizens of the world!); they never go to the same town twice. When they reach Halleluia, Mississippi, however, odd moments of familiarity and knowing vie with a determination not to suffer (again) the misery of uprooting herself and parting from a best friend, and Emma is torn. This time, however, Emma isn’t the only one putting down roots; her brothers become attached in a different way than they have before, and her father’s plans and actions feel suddenly contradictory. Add Ruby Lavender to the mix–not to mention a host of other characters from Wiles’ Aurora County novels–and Emma finally might have a recipe for staying put.

I really enjoyed this one, but then, I enjoy all of Wiles’ books, so what can I say? My 10-year-old has been enjoying the Aurora County novels as well, so this one’s getting passed on to her; if you have a middle elementary schooler (or older) that’s into quirky tales of small town southern life, don’t miss these!

Tonight’s activity with the young women in our congregation involved a great deal of walking back and forth and standing around–which means that my feet are throbbing and so I’m writing this review before I do my last bit of exercising for the night instead of after. I just had to sit for a bit, you know?

Anyway. I finished reading Ellie Terry’s Forget Me Not the night before last; I was going to do an extra review last night, but sadly, I didn’t get to it. (Which means that even after this review I’m at least 5 books behind.) On the other hand, I’m getting to it now, and YOU should get to this book ASAP. Because it’s beautiful.

It’s only fair to admit that it’s a bit painfully beautiful, actually. Calli’s mother tells her to hide her tics and not tell anyone at school about her Tourette syndrome, which (of course) backfires horribly. Even more painful for me, however, is Calli’s mother’s need to be dating someone; every time a relationship goes south, she uproots her daughter and moves somewhere else. Calli hates it (as would I). When they move to St. George, Calli meets a different kind of friend than she’s ever had before. Jinsong is also in uncharted territory, and he makes some very poor choices before he starts to figure things out. How that figuring out happens–and what happens next–makes for a beautiful and poignant read. Forget Me Not is mostly a verse novel (which only makes it more beautiful), and it shouldn’t take you long. (Unless you keep putting it down because other things keep yanking at your attention.) Honestly, this book ought to be read and discussed in late elementary grades, middle schools, and junior highs everywhere; if I were teaching in any of those, I’d use it as part of a unit on compassion. Since I’m not, well…I’m highly recommending it to you.