i am overcome by my harry potter obsession at inexplicable times

Last night I was minding my own business on Pinterest.  Okay, that's a lie.  The whole point of Pinterest is that you're minding everyone else's business--but mostly people want their Pinterest business minded, so it's not a bad thing to do.  And someone pinned some piece of HP information that drew me to an their entire board of Potter deliciousness.  And then I lost an hour of my life.

Then I got to thinking about Wordle and how I've never made a beautiful wordle thing, and how my office would never be complete until I had a Harry Potter themed Wordle gracing its walls.  So I worked on it and worked on it and worked some more (and lost hours more of my life), and I think if I can get it to print the way that I want, I'll have something spectacular to show for it eventually.  Here's what it's going to look like maybe unless I change it again.

 

(I hope that doesn't publish as tiny as it looks in this composing screen.  Sorry if it is.)

an open letter to the pioneer woman

Dear P-Dub (I can call you P-Dub, right?  I mean, we're friends and all now),

I should warn you that I used to do these open letters all the time (or once a week for about a month), but they became kind of dangerous.  See I really just do them for laughs, never expecting that the addressee will ever actually read them, but it turns out this here internet-thingy is a public forum, and sometimes moving truck companies and basic cable television networks will stumble across my amusing little letters, and weird stuff occasionally follows.  Once I began to understand the might of the open letter, I sent them into semi-retirement, only using them in safe and controlled conditions.  I've always known that the time might once again be right to send an open letter out into the world, but no offense, I didn't anticipate that it would be for you.  The open letter is my secret final weapon against the one person who I hope to lure into friendship (and marriage) through the blog.  But I'm not going to devote that letter to FHDM until I'm sure I'm ready for us to happen because as I think I mentioned a few sentences back, the open letter is a powerful tool with unexpected and far-reaching effects.  But now that you and I are friends I'm not afraid to send this open letter out into the internet-void.  I mean I'm assuming you were going to look me up and start following the blog anyway now that we've met, right?

Thanks times a million for coming to the Arkansas Literary Festival on Saturday!  It was kind of the best work-related thing that's ever happened to me.  I tend to avoid Lit Fest because it's so busy and chaotic, and all the people make me crazy.  And honestly, if I'm not working, I don't really dig hanging out at the library.  It's a great place, but I feel like I spend enough time there without devoting leisure time to it.  But you were totes worth the crowd and chaos and hanging out where I work without getting paid.  Even the line waiting with the rabid PW fans was mildly awesome. 

To tell the truth, I'm the reason you were invited in the first place.  I've been a fan for a couple of years now, and when you were on the cookbook tour (was that 2009?), I may have become a little obsessed with talking about you at work.  It helped that I won a $75 amazon gift card in one of your Geography quizzes (Kansas City, if memory serves).  The cool thing about the folks I work with is that I'm the young, hip, fun girl, so anything that I like, they buy into--not that it was a hard sell.  They fell right in love with you too, and because I had brought you onto the radar of my boss (maybe you met her today?  Lisa, but not the Lisa who moderated your session), she suggested you to Mr. Lit Fest, and the rest is history--or the beginning of our awesome friendship.  I don't typically use the word awesome so much.  Forgive me.

You already know the highlights of the day as you were there hanging out with me and stuff, but let me take you through the good times you missed out on.  I worked the Book Fiesta in the morning before you got there (remember I told you about making the salsa and getting it on my shirt?), so everyone else got there at various stages, but by a few minutes after noon we were ready to head for the line.  We were in a pretty decent spot too.

I realized that I'd left my camera upstairs not long after we got into line, so while Martha was taking the twins one at a time to change their diapers on the lawn in the little garden area outside where we were waiting, I ran back up to my desk to get my camera.  I asked if she would reenact the lawn diaper changes for me once I got back, but she apparently didn't want her babies' private business enshrined here on my blog.  Go figure.

In that brief time while I was gone, the line was growing and growing.  Some sweet lady behind us offered to take our picture all together since someone was getting left out of all the ones we were taking ourselves.  I know it's confusing, but Martha's holding Jackson, who's really Amy's baby.  That's Luke you can see in the stroller, but sweet Calla got cut off--but of course, you remember what she looks like anyway.

In addition to the diaper changes, the twins had to eat lunch in line--the sacrifices those babies made to meet you are impressive, huh?  Trust me that nothing should ever come between Luke and his eating schedule.  The boys likes his food.

The vestibule where we waited was airless and sticky with all those warm bodies, so I was quite ready to get inside the Darragh Center which I hoped would be pleasantly cool.  You may recall it was not.  We were melting in there too, so I speculated then about how many paper towels or tissues you were using to soak up the sweat from your armpits and wondered if you had enough to share.  If I'd gotten to ask my question during the session, that's what it would have been. 

Oh look, Calla's in this one--but now Luke is in the stroller.  I think he was asleep by this point maybe.

I was trying to take a picture of Calla who was down the row being really cute when my camera batteries died.  Can you believe the horror?!?  What would I do if we couldn't have a our picture made together later?  I had not come prepared for that possibility.  Luckily Nichole had.  She gave me new batteries and saved my life.

 (Thanks, Nichole!)

Jackson waited until he was inside and sitting down to eat, but out of respect for Amy, I'm not going to show you that picture (though thanks to the Hooter Hider/Modest Mommy/nursing bib it's a perfectly respectable photo). 

Hey!  There you are.  Of course, you'll remember this part.  You really did a fantastic job, and you appeared completely undaunted during the whole laptop/slideshow debacle, so despite whatever you feel about your lack of strength as a public speaker, I thought you handled yourself like a pro.  And I'm sure it didn't hurt that you're so beloved that we all were just giddy with seeing you and hearing you and getting to laugh with you in person, and no one in the audience cared about the a/v issues.


Later while we were standing in line waiting for book-signing, Nichole said, "wasn't she just like you thought she'd be?"  I had to agree.  Your warmth and genuineness and humor were exactly as I'd pictured them.  I guess everyone else thought so too since we waited and waited and waited for the line to wind around for us to see you.  Poor pregnant Monica just had to sit down, so we actually had a folding camp chair that she sat in and moved and scooted as the line meandered.  The babies held up like champs through all the waiting.  Both boys took naps and Calla only got a little fussy.

And then, at long last, we made the last corner and saw you, wearing those boots you've talked about so often, sporting the haircut you got last week (is it creepy that people know so much about your life sometimes?), and charming the socks off everyone whose book you signed.  It was interesting to hear the sorts of things people brought up to talk about with you as they had their moment:  homeschooling, being from Oklahoma, favorite recipes.  I could tell that everyone felt as I did, that she'd known you long before she handed your her book to sign and that like me, she'd considered carefully what to say in her brief time with you to make a connection--to help you know her in some small way as she knows you.  Everyone might as well have said, "Hi, Ree.  I think you're great, and more importantly we're alike.  If I lived down the gravel road from you, we'd be friends, great friends, inseparable.  Instead let's be long-distance friends.  You won't regret it.  After all, all those things you say, those funny things that happen to you, those foods that you love, I do all those things too.  We're alike, you see."  But saying that would come off just a shade stalkerish and desperate, so instead we honed in one one detail, one thing to tell you that would make us special, make us important to you, if only for a moment, because you're important to us.  And you delivered for us, listening to those snippets and details, responding with your sweet smile and appropriate questions, and acting for all the world as though you had all the time in the world to talk to us.

When my moment came, it was no different.  I was grateful to Lee Ann (the Lit Fest girl who was opening the books and handing them to you) for telling you that I worked at the library so I could act like I was a little more special, a little more in-the-know than all the other folks who had passed through the line.  I got to confess to you that I had salsa on my shirt, a splatter from earlier in the day when I had made your restaurant-style salsa (best salsa ever) for the Book Fiesta in the children's department.  We got to bond for a moment on the perfection that is your salsa, and I felt the residual glow of your admiration for the cute babies in our group. 

If there was one thing we could have done differently that would have made the moment pure, over-the-top perfection, we would have all crowded around you for a group picture.  It would have been a lot like that first picture up at the top (but with Luke and Calla out of the stroller) and with you as our new friend right in the middle.  When I think back on the day, that's how I want to remember it, that's the picture I see in my heart. 

From all of us who have had those moments with you, thanks.  Thanks for being everything we imagined you would be:  the ordinary girl who loves butter and hates laundry, who delights in her kids and feels nervous about her weight, who does embarrassing things and owns up to them, who finds beauty in quiet everyday moments of family, food, and friends.  Thank you for giving us your attention, for treating us like long-lost friends or new friends you'd been waiting to meet, just as eagerly as we'd been waiting to meet you.

Thanks for it all,

Ellen (your new best friend)

P.S.  I didn't tell Amy or Martha or Monica about that second extra conversation we had as I saw you on your way out.  They don't know how we talked about our fall Getaway and the Lodge.  So once you figure out the details of how that might work, let me know.  I can't wait to tell them.

P. P. S. I'm sorry it took me so long to get this posted.  I got it mostly finished on Sunday, but then internet vanished from our home until today.  It's not because I wasn't giddily excited about reliving our day together.  Don't let my technological issues come between us.  Please.

P. P. P. S. To anyone reading this who doesn't know about Pioneer Woman and her amazing-ness, get out from under your rock and go here.  You won't be sorry.  Promise.

perfection, bliss, or why every good thing begins and ends with my moma

Have I ever told you, imaginary readers, about my moma?  Probably not.  So let me fix that now . . . you see, I'm sort of a fan.  In fact, folks reading about her here might think I was embellishing or exaggerating her awesomeness, but truly I'm not.  She's just as great as she seems here.  And the Popster?  Well, he's not too shabby himself.  So please indulge me as I sing their praises.  After all, it's not like I do it all the time.

As the youngest kid in my family, I'm the only one of us who ever lived at home with my moma and the Popster without siblings.  My senior year of high school when Joshua was at UK and after Michelle had moved away (Shane had been long gone for years), I was a mostly only child in our old Kentucky home out in the country.  That was kind of a lonely year as I adjusted to life without Michelle (don't tell her, but I hated having our room to myself) and because my moma and the Popster were heavily involved in renovating our new Kentucky home in town where we would move just a month after I graduated.  I was pretty useless to the remodeling process, and probably too selfish and lazy to help much anyway.

After we moved, Joshua was home for the summer, so that one doesn't count, but for the next four summers, I would come home from school and be an only child for three glorious months.  I quickly learned to love it.  We were a happy little trio.  I never really went through one of those rebellious teenage phases where my parents were lame morons who wouldn't let me have any fun.  I don't mean to imply that life was always perfect or that we lived like some sort of idyllic scene from a 50s sitcom.  We argued, I'm sure because I like to argue.  I'll assume I was stubborn and loud and lazy and messy (as I'm still those things now), but when I remember that time, I mostly just remember us being happy, having fun, and laughing. 

There are countless little memories that we still talk about that are just for the three or us--or sometimes the three of us and Grams, who I'm closer to than most of the other grandkids just because I had those summers at home with her after Gramps died.  That's when I became her favorite (but don't tell her I said that because she doesn't like to admit it).  All that time spent together is why I can still crack her up (or my moma and the Popster) by mentioning the maple syrup in her sandal or the cake that flipped out of the fridge.  I could tell you either of those stories, and you'd barely crack a smile, but being there for them . . . I wouldn't trade them for anything.  All the stories aren't funny, but we still love them.  If I remind my moma of the summer that I officially learned to cook and took on the project of keeping the refrigerator clean and organized, she'll do that squinty smile and say, "didn't we have fun?"

There's one story that was seriously un-funny at the time but sort of illustrates what our life was like (and which has long since become just another funny thing we say).  One summer day, after a weekend where the other kids had been home to visit, my moma told me that I was less funny when the other kids were around.  In her words, it was like I wasn't even trying.  I got my feelings hurt big-time, and it's probably one of the maddest and meanest times I've had with her.  She hadn't meant it as the insult I took it as--she really was wondering why I didn't entertain the troops in the same way that I tickled her and the Popster.  It was practically a compliment to how hilarious and fun she found me on my own, but it still stung (because I'm a giant baby) that she thought I was less hilarious and fun when the siblings were around.  And to be honest with ten years' worth of maturity, I can probably say that I wasn't as funny when the other kids were home because I was jealous and selfish and probably just wanted them to leave me alone with my happy family of three (but of course, I don't feel that way now and everyone adores me and thinks I'm hilarious without even trying).

So now that you know the ridiculously long and unnecessary history of my life as an only child, let me get to the point (or at least nearer the point).  Although it happens rarely these days, I love to go home when no one else is going to be there, so that I can get the olds to myself and soak up all the spoiling attention.  Since Grams moved to Arkansas last year, my moma and the Popster have made the trip to see us all down here so much more frequently that it's been harder to find a weekend when they're actually at home.  Last fall, I was hungry for my old Kentucky home but between their trips here, Pointer's birthday in Virginia and teaching my four-year-olds on Sundays, we just couldn't make it work, but I vowed then that the second I was done teaching after the winter quarter, I was coming home for a weekend for just me.  As it approached, I felt too selfish to actually go through with that, so I invited the sibs and their crews to meet me there, but luckily, no one did.

So nearly two weeks ago now, I spent a lazy, agenda-less weekend with my two favorite people in the world.  Friday night as I was making my way to them, they were coming home from Frankfort where my moma had a work training all day.  I had talked to her during our drives, and because they had to stop by the grocery somewhere along their way, it seemed like I might actually beat them there by a few minutes, but as I've never given back my key to the house, that wasn't going to be a deal.  I don't know if the Popster sped up or I slowed down, but as I was pulling up to the house and preparing to make the left turn in the driveway, I saw I would have to wait for a car to go by first.  Then as the car slowed down, I realized that it was them, and that we basically arrived at the driveway at the exact same time.  We couldn't have planned that or repeated it in a million tries.  And I think it was a sign of great things to come. 

When I went upstairs to bed on Friday night, I wasn't quite ready for sleep, so I thought I needed to read for just a few minutes to make me tired.  I have, over the years, stored tons of books under the bed in my old room.  We've gone through and weeded before, and they're mostly things that both my moma and I have read and reread over the years, so I chose something I hadn't read since high school probably and read at least two pages before I fell asleep.  Saturday morning I told her that I was finally ready to let go of at least part of the books taking up all that space, so we vaguely said we'd go through them sometime.

But that was too much like work for the Saturday we had planned.  Instead we watched movies and forced the Popster to endure as many girly ones as he could stand.  We worked on putting together the hardest jigsaw puzzle ever--in the shape of a dolphin, no less.  And we talked and talked and talked some more.  I love hearing about the goings-on in our little town.  I love that it's a small enough place that even though I haven't lived there for ten years, I can still remember who she's talking about.  She had been to the funeral home earlier that week, which is always the place to go to see folks you haven't in a while.  Thanks to facebook, I keep tabs on more people from high school than I used to, so I sometimes know the gossip before she does these days, but talking to my moma about the latest Clinton news will always be one of the best things about being home.

The movie/puzzle marathon stretched into the evening, when we finally took a break to eat dinner.  I hadn't wanted my moma to fuss over cooking the whole time I was home, but she still managed to ensure that we had one of my all-time favorites:  pork chops from Nicky's, the oldest and most legendary barbecue establishment in town (and yes, our town of roughly 1600 people supports at least three barbecue restaurants--don't ask me how).  Nicky's pork chops are huge and delicious and perfect, and I had been craving one for months.  Also she made me a pie--one that wouldn't completely derail all my healthy-eating choices.

On Sunday afternoon, we finally got around to that book-purge.  I was overwhelmed to discover that she had started a book annex under Joshua's bed because mine was full.  I couldn't let go of everything, but we got rid of over half of them, so we're back to just storing them just under my bed.  There were a few that I couldn't remember well enough to know if I wanted to send them away or not, so I came home with five or six books that I devoured in about four days, and that little kick of obsessive behavior helped me to figure out Lent, as faithful readers may recall.

In the book-purging process, I was reminded of what else lives under my bed:  the four plastic tubs that contain our baby afghans and baby books and special outfits and mementos of our childhoods.  So we went through my box and oohed and aahed over tiny clothes that I remember only from pictures, the afghan that my moma knitted for me (that's prettier than the other kids' afghans), and the baby book that was more filled-in than my moma feared.  There were cards that had accompanied gifts from my birth and first couple of birthdays.  I especially loved two different letters written by one of my great-aunts, who I generally consider both from stories I've heard and my own memories to be one of the meanest women ever.  The letters were both so sweet and full of little snippets about my beloved great-grandmother that for a moment anyway, I could concede that the lady wasn't pure evil.  My box also contained report cards and school awards and a few saved art projects and stories, which I found both charming and embarrassing.  One of the funniest moments was when I came across a certificate I had gotten for honor roll or perfect attendance or something that entitled me to a free kids' meal at Druther's, which went out of business so long ago I'd all but forgotten it existed. (Special note to Shane:  the Druther's certificate was the story I wanted to tell you last night.)

Eventually I had to tear myself away from my moma and the Popster (and the dolphin puzzle that we didn't have time to finish) to come back to the dreary reality of work, but everyday, ordinary perfection of spending relaxing, uninterrupted time with them has been a balm that makes the days a little easier.  That's just the nature of our relationship.  I'm a better person for how they raised me, but I'm a happier person just because they exist.  Just imagine what a rotten grump I would be without them.

sometimes i'm surprised by the things i care about

A couple of weeks ago I was minding my own business when cousin, scholar, theologian, #1 blog fan left me a voicemail wondering if Al Green should really be included on any list of the top five greatest love songs.  Apparently everyone on the radio asserted that he should, and CST1BF disagreed, or at least thought he should disagree.  At that time, he requested my thoughts on this category of music.  My immediate response was to write it off.  I'm quite terrible at such lists, and I don't especially favor love songs.  But then I started thinking about it, and I couldn't stop until I'd done some research and some list making of my own.

I think greatest lists are difficult for me for a couple of reasons.  First I'm not objective enough to separate my personal favorites from any sort of empirical standard of excellence.  And even if I give up on that and just go for detailing my favorites, I'm still fairly horrible at picking favorites partly because I'm indecisive, partly because I always have a nagging feeling I'm leaving out something important I haven't even thought of, and partly because I suspect that those items that don't get picked for my list will feel sad and neglected and left out, and I just can't live with that on my conscience.  But CST1BF keeps nagging, and I hate to see my research go to waste, so here I am posting about great love songs.

The interwebs provided a jumping off point with several lists from various sources, but it soon became clear that my idea of a good love song didn't necessarily mesh with the lists, and I began to see the need for categories, so that's how this will be organized.  There will be some overlap, and several songs that could appear in multiple categories, but I'll stick 'em where I think they belong.  Also CST1BF asked me for a list of five, so I'm claiming all these lists have five songs in them whether they actually do or not.  I can't cut any more, so you'll get the number you get.  I'm going to attempt to link all my selections to youtube versions.  I'm quite certain based on my experience in the research process that some of the videos that people have made to accompany the songs will be fairly horrible, but I wanted you to hear the songs in question, so please just listen and don't judge the song by the video.  One final warning before I start naming names:  any term such as great, greatest, best, etc. that may be used is strictly my opinion which I admit isn't worth much at all.

5 Best Country Love Songs

I may have mentioned previously that I was raised on country music in my rural upbringing, and for many years in my youth it was my preferred genre.  These days I don't particularly have a favorite genre, and I don't currently listen to country music, but what I do know about current country tells me that nothing's come along lately that could topple any of these songs:

"Something that We Do" Clint Black:  Robyn does an extremely awesome Clint Black impersonation, but I've never seen her try this song.  Maybe I don't want to because I really love it in a serious way, and her impression is far from serious, unless you count being seriously hilarious.  Under normal circumstances I would, but not when it comes to this song.

"Where've You Been" Kathy Mattea:  I sometimes have mixed feelings about story songs, but this song makes me cry.  It's so sweet.

"I Believe in You" Don Williams:  This song doesn't need me to say anything about it.  That's how phenomenal it is.  I kinda wanted to include the Don Williams song "You're My Best Friend" too, but I thought that might be overkill.

"I Will Always Love You" Dolly Parton:  Say whatever you will about Whitney, you will never convince me that her version can touch this one.  Dolly owns this song.  She wrote it about Porter Wagoner (HI!), and that's sort of precious enough, but then in Best Little Whorehouse when she sings it to Ed Earl, it's heartbreakingly perfect.  As you'll see in these lists, I prefer my love songs to be a bit more happily ever after, but I'll make an exception for this song any time.

"It Was" Chely Wright:  I feel like people are going to question this choice, but I love this song.  It's so strong, maybe even forceful.  And in the music video (which I've been careful to link to here), she cries the most gorgeous tears imaginable.

"One Friend" Dan Seals:  To be clear, the word love does not appear anywhere in the lyrics of this song, but it's an achingly beautiful description of love, and I'll dare anyone to say otherwise.


5 Best 80s Love Songs

Though country music ruled where I'm from, pop music of the 80s is an intrinsic part of the soundtrack of my childhood as well, thank in no small part to having teenage siblings during those years.  There are probably tons of songs from this decade that can stand on their own on any great love song list without qualification, but I think sometimes the complete 80s-ness of their sound holds certain songs back, but I can't stop loving them anyway.  Here are my five favorites that scream 80s.

"Time After Time" Cyndi Lauper: I'll be the first to admit that I don't 100% get the words of this song, but I still love it and think it's beautiful.  So there.

"Crazy for You" Madonna: I'm not necessarily a huge Madonna fan, but I'm crazy for this song.

"Eternal Flame" The Bangles:  Do you remember that episode of Gilmore Girls from season 1 when they go to a Bangles concert?  And they sing this song?  If Madeleine and Louise weren't interrupting with all their drama, it would have been perfect.


"Faithfully" Journey:  These days Glee has made Journey such a thing that I almost left them off the list, but my affection for Journey (thanks to my moma's slight obsession with Steve Perry) is so long and far-reaching that I knew I couldn't leave them out.  And I've always liked "Faithfully"more than "Open Arms," which is probably the more obvious Journey choice.

"Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" Starship:  We used to tape episodes of Friday Night Videos, and my moma still has some of those VHS tapes at her house, which are enjoyable as much for the vintage commercials as the videos.  But I can remember this video from that era, and this song still stirs warm, fuzzy memories from my childhood.


5 Most Overplayed Love Songs that I Love Anyway

I almost called this list guilty pleasures, but I don't think I should feel any guilt or shame for loving these songs.  I think that most of these are songs you hear quite a lot because they are so great, but since familiarity breeds contempt, it's easy to discount them simply because they're everywhere.  The ubiquitous nature of several of them makes it feel like putting them in the actual "greatest" list is a cop-out.  Thus I've created this "overplayed" list.  And don't worry--despite my secret love of Peter Cetera's voice "You're the Inspiration" will not be appearing here as a favorite.  Even I have my limits.


"Your Song" Elton John:  I've always loved this song, but I'll admit that Moulin Rouge intensified my feelings towards it.

"Can't Help Falling in Love with You" Elvis:  He is the King, after all, so of course, he needed some representation here, and I think this is his best love song.

"Bridge Over Troubled Water" Simon & Garfunkel:  When other people sing this song, it's the worst kind of cheese, but I do have a vast affection for the original version.

"I'll Be There" Jackson Five:  Michael Jackson was a brilliantly talented man.  Crazy as all get-out, but talented.

"Maybe I'm Amazed" Paul McCartney: Yummy, yummy song.


5 Great Love Song Duets
I originally only had four lists, but they kept growing longer and longer, and I began to notice that they were starting to choke on duets, so I culled a few from those other lists for this special category.

"Endless Love" Lionel Richie & Diana Ross:  This song could just as easily fit in the overplayed list, but it's brilliance as a duet even outshines the fact that it's played out. (I first linked to a live version where Lionel had an especially impressive afro, but the sound on it was tinny, so I chose instead a series of Disney clips set to this song.  It's precious.)

"I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me)"  Aretha Franklin & George Michael:  I love this unlikely pairing, and I love this song.

"After All" Peter Cetera & Cher:  Peter Cetera is the voice of 80s love songs, so feel proud that I was able to get him down to just one mention ("Glory of Love" was on the 80s list until really close to the end).  This duet is the reason I own the movie Chances Are (on VHS).

"Always" Atlantic Starr:  Of course, the most famous rendition of this duet was by Peeps Paige and Becky at Fall Getaway 2007, but my love for this song goes back to the original Atlantic Starr version. (Finding a decent video of this one was more difficult than picking the songs themselves.)


"Nobody Loves Me Like You Do" Anne Murray & Dave Loggins:  This was my moma and the Popster's wedding song, so even if it was awful it would remind me of the blessing that their love has been to our family for the past couple of decades.  But Anne Murray's voice is so delicious, and the song is far from awful.  

My Vision of the 5 Greatest Love Songs
Categories aside, these are the best of the best (of the best, SIR!) for me.

"The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" Roberta Flack:  Let the record show that I do possess at least a little objectivity, which is to say I didn't just flip through my own music collection and pick songs I own or listen to constantly.  I know this song and like it, but definitely don't own it or count it as a favorite, but I think objectively it's a tremendous combination of powerful lyrics and a hauntingly romantic melody.

"You've Got a Friend" James Taylor: (I specifically chose this video for JT's long flowing hair.)  I'm beginning to see how these choice I'm making say a lot about what I think is important in love.  This is definitely one of those cases.


"Love Never Fails" Brandon Heath:  This is the newest song on the list, and it's possibly a bit chancy to place a song that's only three years old among so many others that have stood the test of time, but its inclusion demonstrates the power that this song has for me.  The lyrics are just beautiful and perfect.

"I Love You for Sentimental Reasons" Nat King Cole:  This man's voice was made for love songs.  "When I Fall in Love" lands on all sorts of greatest love song lists, but I think this one is a better love song.


"I Will" The Beatles:  I had a bit of work narrowing down the list to just one Beatles song, but this one is my favorite of their love songs.  Feel free to argue the case of your preferred Beatles tune below.

"God Only Knows" The Beach Boys:  I am not above admitting that this song came to my attention primarily because it's played during the closing credits of Love Actually.  I've been sort of surprised how many movie connections these songs have for me.

Well, the good news for CST1BF is that I didn't include Al Green.  The bad news is that it took me over two weeks to still not be able to fully answer the question.

silent gratitude isn't much use to anyone

I'd like to take credit for the title of this post, but I stole it from G.B. Stern.  Thanks, Gladys, for letting me borrow your words.

But in the spirit of being useful and because I complain way too much, it seems like an appropriate moment to proclaim some thankfulness.  Lots of my facebook friends have been doing daily thankfulness statuses for the whole month.  I didn't, not because I'm ungrateful but because I'm lazy.  I did quite by accident mention something for which I was thankful on Monday morning, so I've followed up with that the past couple of days. Let's start there, shall we?  Please pardon the third person pronouns.  It's facebook's fault.

Ellen is thankful  . . .

" . . .for her Monday mornings which ease her back into work mode as gently as possible."  I don't have to go to work until 11 on Mondays because it's my late night.  I love that schedule of getting to sleep a bit late or having time to get some other things done in the mornings.  Plus it gets my late night out of the way early in the week, so it's not hanging over my head.  Of course, I'm usually so grouchy about having to go back to work, I don't fully appreciate these benefits, but this week I did.  


" . . . that the zombies in her dream weren't too aggressive."  Okay, that one's just silly, but when I woke up from a rather unsettling dream Tuesday morning and hopped right on the internet as is my custom, the lingering creepiness of the dream was soon overshadowed by the relief that it hadn't been grosser or more horrifying.  


" . . . that she gets to spend a few nights away from the yippy dog next door."  Poor yippy dog next door.  How I hate her.  Apparently Mr. Next Door rescued her from some terrible treatment, and he had her for months before she could make sound.  I felt all sorts of sadness for her when she was an abused dog who couldn't bark.  Such a tragic little figure, she was.  And then her comfort and confidence grew, and she was healed enough to bark. every. morning.of. my. life.  Now I feel all sorts of sadness for myself.  But I'll be spending the next four nights at Shane's, so her yippiness will be someone else's Thanksgiving blessing.

And now for some previously unpublished thoughts on gratitude:


I'm thankful . . .


 . . . for a ten day free preview of the HBO channels going on now.  I've filled our DVR with movies, watched a couple on demand, and have done a bit of work to catch up on all the past year or more of not watching movies.  For the holiday weekend, we are actually getting a free preview of the top tier package which includes access to all the premium channels, but the DVR is full, and I'll be a bit too busy basking in the warm bosom of my family to worry about it.  


 . . . for the interwebs.  I will proclaim, with no concern for how lame it makes me, that the internet makes my life better in countless ways.  And since my infrequent and often unreadable posts come to you via internet, imaginary readers, I'm sure you join me in my gratitude.


 . . . for my four-year-old Bible class.  My little children are precious and funny and even the ones who don't listen and make me work up a sweat are so sweet and charming.  I could tell you loads of stories that seem hilarious and special to me but would probably just bore you and go nowhere.  But trust me that the dozen and a half or so preschoolers who hang out with me on Sundays are the best part of most of my weeks.


 . . . for pajama pants.  I'm thankful for the rest of my clothes too, most of the time, but I'm always overwhelmed with gratitude when I can put on my pajama pants.


 . . . for Peeps and Meeps and Weeps.  Friends so precious and dear that miles and years cannot ease the hold they have on my heart.


 . . . for cell-phone alarm clock capabilities that allow me to never have to wake up to a blaring alarm again.  Nothing ruins a morning like a startlingly loud honking noise.  "Linus and Lucy" is ever so much nicer.

. . .  for chocolate-covered pretzels.  How they complete my life.
 
 . . . for her.  And him.

Seriously.  Don't they look like the sweetest, best parents anywhere ever?  They so are.



  . . . and for her (and her again) and her and her and her and her

. . . and for him and him and him (and him again even with that face) and her

. . . and for him and him and him and her and him and him and him

  . . . and for him and her and her and her and him and her (and for the her inside that striped sweater that we wouldn't meet for another five months) and him and her and him and her and him.

. . . for traditions that hold on even when they become crowded and noisy and logistically unsound.  And for the love and understanding that allow those traditions to be reevaluated and adapted into ever more good times.  For last times and first times.  For nostalgia and anticipation.  For family and every special thing that the word evokes.


 . . . for you, dear readers.  For being here and reading this and making all my Google Analytics dreams come true.


Love & stuff,
ellen

the vacation diary: days ten through seventeen

Yes, I'm really still doing this.  I need to finish something in my life, and here's where I've taken my stand.  Judge away.  I have taken the liberty of combining the last eight days of vacation because honestly I remember very little at this point.

Highlights:

Day 10:  Most of my nearest and dearest departed for their homes on Labor Day.  Ring got to travel back with Michelle's crew instead of her own and spent a night at Nana's without her parents--the first time she's done that.  Pinkie and Thumb (and Susan) looked sad and uncertain about it all as they drove away without her, but I think it worked out fine (or if it didn't, no one mentioned it to me).  We did a bit more family hanging out on Monday and shared our Christmas cabin research with some of the aunts and cousins, where it was met with excitement.  After the last car had rolled out heading towards Kentucky, I headed home to become a vacation slug once more.  I'm pretty sure the Gilmore Girls were heavily involved.

Day 11:  It's all a blur of tv and internet and living in a cave of laziness, which means it was a successful day. 

Day 12:  I resolved on facebook to do at least one useful thing on Wednesday, but it took a while to get there with my standard morning of sleep, tv, and internet.  Jess was home on Wednesday, but she went somewhere in the afternoon.  I forget where.  I was messing around on facebook and saw that Lisa had posted a photo of the first carpet tiles going down in our department, and I got really excited to see it in person.  I had some holds to pick up anyway, so I went to the library.  I got to see the progress being made on the renovation, and I ended up working for about an hour and a half.  I had also forgotten to fill in my vacation on my timesheet, so it was handy that I had the impulse to go in.  By the time I wrapped things up at work, I had to book it home to pick up Jess to head to church.  That felt like a normal Wednesday.  I continued work on the little baby hat while at church.  Jess had heard at work that Tropical Smoothie was having some sort of special that week in the evenings, so we went there and discovered that the special was in the afternoons, but I enjoyed our time there, nonetheless. 

Day 13:  The night before I made a plan with Jess to go to lunch and then to paint pottery.  Then I overslept because obeying alarms is for people who have to work.  We eventually made it to lunch--and missed any lunch crowd we might have encountered, if I'd gotten up on time--at Senor Tequila.  When we got to Firefly, Jess decided she would just watch me paint instead of painting herself.  I was working on a project that will eventually be a gift for a person who might read this, so I won't say more than that for now.  We didn't really have much of a deadline, but Jess was meeting some folks to go to a boxing class at 6:15, so we just needed to be home in time for her to change and drive back across the river.  Unfortunately, our late start combined with the fact that I'm the slowest pottery painter in the world meant that I really had to hustle at the end, and then various unfortunate traffic patterns around the greater Little Rock area almost made her late again, but she made it eventually.

Day 14:  I don't recall anything that happened early in the day on Friday, but the main event was my triumphant return to the movies.  I hadn't been to see a movie in the theater in forever.  I seriously can't remember the last time, but I'm decently certain it was in 2009.  Rob, Smon, Hailsey, and I went to see The Switch, and it turned out to be pretty good thing.  We had sort of stopped going to the movies for a while because it seemed like we were only seeing really bad ones, so it was kind of special for us all to see one that we didn't hate.  Jason Bateman redeemed himself with Robyn, who was still carrying a grudge from The Ex.  I'm glad they made up because I love Jason Bateman.  We laughed and had a good time and felt delighted that our good movie drought was over.  Everyone came over to my messy house afterward to talk about teaching school and lazy vacations and stuff.

Day 15:  Jess worked most of the day, so I did even less than normal.  At some point either on Thursday or Saturday I watched The Ugly Truth, which I had checked out from the library.  It was okay, I guess.  Nothing to write home about certainly.  I know there was a situation (because it's recorded on facebook) where I was having to choose between hunger and laziness.  I resolved it by venturing out into the world for some drive-through fast food.  I was also hankering something sweet and needed to to buy a birthday card.  I ended up going to Walgreens.  After some aimless wandering from cookies to candy to Halloween candy and back again, I decided that what I really wanted was s'mores, so I gathered up the materials for that.  Buying graham crackers at Walgreens is the least economical decision I made during the whole vacation.

Day 16:  Laziness was put on hold so that I could get to church way early, keep nursery, and teach four-year-olds again.  I fell in love with a beautiful little toddler named Christian, who really wanted his mother but settled for snuggling with me and occasionally crying gorgeous tears.  When I got to Bible class, I discovered that Christian's mother was the lead teacher who'd been out of town the first week.  While I was sitting in the floor with my four-year-olds, telling/reading the story of David and Goliath, I noticed that my back started hurting in a weird spot.  By the time class was over, it was getting difficult to ignore.  By the time we ate lunch at Cracker Barrel, I was in serious need of a bed.  I spent the afternoon alternating between the bed and couch in search of a comfortable position.  Shane had finally given me Gilmore Girls season 6, so I had some distraction from the pain.  I decided to forgo two car rides and an hour in a pew, and after trying every possible position in the floor, I found a relative amount of ease in the recliner.  Eventually I staggered to bed and slept uncomfortably.

Day 17:  Monday was meant to have been my first day back at work, but when I woke up, my back still hated me--though perhaps less than it hated me on Sunday.  I decided to give it one more day of resting to see if it would shape up.  Plus our department was closed for one final day on Monday to put things back in place after the great carpet upheaval.  I might have been able to handle sitting calmly at a desk in a comfortable chair, but I knew my back had no business pushing carts or lifting stacks of books, and I knew if I was mixed up in all that work stuff, I'd do something stupid.  So I stayed at home.  But since the laziness was sanctioned by my sore back, I felt even less guilt about my slug-like tendencies than I did when I was actually on vacation, which is why I finished season 6 of the Gilmore Girls in just over 24 hours and still got a full night's sleep.  At this point in the vacation, there was no more food left in the house--and cooking wasn't high on my list of priorities anyway, so I think I ordered pizza Monday night while Jess was at work.

And on Tuesday, I faced the music and went back to work--with a mostly pain-free back.  I still don't know what was up with that.  I'd like to be able to tell you that I went back to work rested and energized and eager to dive back into satisfying and important work.  But mostly I showed up and survived and started counting down the days to the next vacation.  I know you are too, imaginary readers.

Food consumed:  Aunt Donna made sloppy joes on Monday.  I hadn't tried one in years, as they have always been high on the list of things I don't eat, but I decided to give them another chance--since the reintroduction of sweet potatoes went so well last year, I've known that my taste buds had changed.  I actually enjoyed it, so the official list of foods I hate is down to just three, I think:  fish and cowboy beans and grits.  Actually there are probably more things on the list, but those are the three that I always remember.  At home during the week, I ate leftover spaghetti and leftover brownies and leftover pineapple cheese dip.  I'm pretty sure chips and salsa and pepperonis and crackers were consumed.  I might have eaten ice cream, and I think I made grilled cheese a time or two.  I can't remember what the name of the smoothie was that I had on Wednesday, but it definitely had orange and pineapple and strawberry and maybe banana.  I also had a sandwich there, but I don't remember what kind.  I had my usual fajita nachos with no beans at Senor Tequila and discovered that their fruit punch can't compare to Mexico Chiquito's.  Friday we ate at Great Wraps before the movie, where I reunited with the best curly fries in the world.  We also ate movie popcorn, which is a rare treat for me.  That night I went to Walgreens, I had a hamburger from Hardee's and microwaved s'mores, which were just what I wanted.  At Cracker Barrel on Day 16, they brought me green beans instead of cabbage, and the cabbage was important enough that I had to have it too, so I ended up with an extra vegetable to go along with my chicken tenderloins, so I ate a bunch and still got to take home chicken, green beans, cabbage, hash brown casserole, and biscuits, but I think I ate all the carrots the first go round.  Extra leftovers came in handy during the back drama.  For the second time, I had a spinach, bacon, alfredo pizza from Dominos, and it was a delight.  Please do not consider this an exhaustive list, but you get the idea.

Bright spots:
Day 10:  family time
Day 11:  Gilmore Girls
Day 12:  smoothie
Day 13:  pottery painting
Day 14:  Robyn, Smonica, Hailey (who hasn't earned her place in the middle, even in a list)
Day 15:  s'mores
Day 16:  sweet, pretty little babies who snuggle
Day 17:  Gilmore Girls

Thus ended the chronicle of the least interesting vacation ever taken.  You're welcome.

the big wiener

I mentioned in my nametag post that Shane had the highest streak for the month at that time on ESPN's Streak for the Cash.  He had a streak of 25 that ended on the 18th or 19th or so, and he's been waiting for the month to end to see if anyone else could beat that number.  As of Thursday evening there was a guy with an active streak of 23 wins.  He had to win 3 games on Friday to beat Shane, but with the number of match-ups available for picking each day, that wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.  The other guy made a pick on the front nine of a golf match that was played Friday morning.  I was at home working on the pain in my neck with a heating pad before heading in to work an hour late, so I periodically checked the progress of the match.  After the first few holes, it really looked like it was going to go our way, but then it got much closer, and I'm fairly certain the tension wasn't good for my neck.  Right about the time I was going to have to go in to work with the whole thing unresolved, they finished the ninth hole, and my brother unofficially won $100,000.  With the 23 win streaker stopped at 23, there was no one else with an active streak high enough to get to 26 by midnight, so we were safe.  And I use the term "we" very loosely.  So Shane's got a phone interview with someone from ESPN sometimes next week, and I really hope they're going to give him a big cardboard check because I love big cardboard checks.

The idea of him winning the money has been a possibility in our lives since he hit about 20 or 21 wins around the 11th or so, but it's still very surreal.  There was still so much month left for something else to happen, and (I think he'll forgive me for saying this) Shane's just not a lucky guy.  He's deserving and one of the few genuinely good people that I know, and I couldn't be more pleased that he's had this stroke of luck.  But it's surprising, nonetheless.  I'll keep you posted here on how much he actually gets and what he blows it on . . . though knowing Shane, he'll probably spend it wisely.  But I hope not too wisely.

$100,000 is not the game changer that the hundreds of millions that the Popster is going to win in the lottery some day, but if you, imaginary reader, suddenly found yourself the recipient of such a windfall, what would you do?

soulmates #2

Friends of the blog will recall that I recently declared my intention to marry FHDM, just as soon as we meet (and fall in love).  The next day I embarked on a series enumerating my reasons which continues today.

Since I read Blue Like Jazz several years ago, I've known that FHDM is a funny guy.  And I've known for way longer than that, that I prefer to be around people who amuse me.  But when reading his blog last week, I realized why he's the perfect kind of funny.  FHDM wrote a post promoting a nation-wide yard sale fundraiser to raise money for The Mentoring Project (which is a totally worthy cause, and you should have a yard sale and give them the money).  Anyone who's read much by FHDM will know that the mentoring concept and helping the fatherless is near and dear to his heart, but the post is hilarious and full of irreverence.  I know that irreverent humor makes some people uncomfortable, but it's my bread and butter.

A couple of years ago, my friend Mo, who has a deeply tender heart and is an innate people pleaser, was called to task by the guy she was dating at that time for mildly poking fun at him.  The situation was ridiculous.  Clearly the guy had some major sensitivity issues because he proceeded to try and make my friend feel horrible for it.  Apparently, in his family they don't "make jokes about things that might be true."  Luckily, she's now happily and newly married to someone who will make a joke at just about anything.  But in our little group of friends, "making jokes about things that might be true" became one of our standard bits--because it's exactly the kind of people we are.  And I don't think it's a flaw for us to be those people.  Our jokes and teasing and calling each other on stuff is a byproduct of close relationships and appreciation for each other.  It's cliche, but we kid because we love. 

A couple years prior to that incident, my friend Martha made this precious, heartfelt statement to me and a couple of other friends.  She was talking about the nature of our long friendship and how though other friends may have come in and out of her life, we were core.  It was sweet and emotional, and Martha may or may not have teared up, and I mocked it.  Or at least that's how everyone remembers it and retells the story.  I'm the girl that mocked core. 

Saying inappropriate or at least inappropriately timed things to get a laugh is my default setting.  Mocking, as it turns out, is my love language.  It's not necessarily a good thing, but by and large, it works for me.  And I'm not trying to imply that FHDM is the horrible person that I am, but you can't read some of his writing without getting the idea that it's okay to laugh sometimes, especially at situations that aren't laughable.

It just struck me today that FHDM and I are both the kind of people who make jokes about things that might be true.  And I figure when people like that find each other, they ought to stick together.

soulmates #1

So far no one thinks I'm crazy for wanting to marry FHDM though we've never met, but it did occur to me that people might assume that I was making the decision to marry him lightly or in haste.  I only gave that one reason, and though plain-speaking is quite high on my list of admirable traits in others, it is perhaps not enough, by itself to cement a lifelong relationship.  I didn't want you to think I don't have many reasons, imaginary readers.  I'm starting the "soulmates" series today so you can feel just as confident as I in my choice.  Also once FHDM starts reading my blog, he can see the proof that we should be together and most of the work will already be done.  I kind of need him to be on board for this to work out, especially because I don't want to live in Portland.  I need for him to like me enough to move cross-country for me.  (Are you reading this, FHDM?  I'm not saying we have to live in Little Rock, but something in the Central Time Zone would be preferable.  We can talk about it.)  

Today I was reading stuff that FHDM had written on his blog back in 2008 because reading archived blog posts completes me, and I feel it's important for me to get to know FHDM if we're going to spend the rest of our lives together.  And in this post dated December 9, 2008, FHDM reveals that he played the tuba in high school.  Maybe I knew this already.  Maybe he's mentioned it in one of his books, but I definitely didn't remember until today.  Maybe it was an insignificant detail before I knew we were going to get married, but now in light of our soulmate-ness, it certainly falls under the category of big freakin' deal.

Because, dear friends, I played the tuba in high school.

Let that sink in for a minute . . .

Is your mind blown?

I'll be back with more later, but I really think today's post makes my point for me.

Love and stuff,
the future Mrs. FHDM

the year in books: the book drought

****Lame blogger's note:  In the "mission accomplished" post from last Monday, I mentioned that my Lost-obsession had led to the neglect of several half-finished post drafts.  Presented here is the first of what should be many survivors, finally rescued from neglect and allowed to see the light of day. ****

I feel completely lame that I haven't read anything since that tiny little Twilight parody a month ago.

I feel even lamer that blogger lost the two or three paragraphs I wrote the other night on this topic and only kept that lame first sentence, and I know I'll never be able to recreate them as gloriously as the original writing. I remember that I blamed blog-reading for taking away some of the urgency from my need to read.  And I made other excuses and justifications.  I have been reading the Daily Bible (except for the part where I told you how behind I am), and I read some picture books in storytimes a couple weeks ago.
But reading so little (I've completed only two books since January 1 though I've started more than that) is completely unlike me.  Over the past couple of years, I have been reading less and less, and though I can pinpoint the things that are taking up more of my time, I don't exactly know why I'm choosing to devote less time to books. I'm not blaming Jess, but reading at home is harder than it used to be.  When I lived alone, I read so much more and tended to lose all sense of time and responsibility.  But Jess and I watch certain shows together as a family, and we talk to each other sometimes.  We distract each other, and time for getting completely lost in print is harder to come by.  And I think I watch more tv than I did a few years ago, and that commitment eats into my time significantly as well.  And the internet addiction certainly doesn't help, but that's a therapy topic for another day.
I have several books right now that I want to read.  I've had several books lately pass out of my hands because I didn't get them started before they were due back at the library.  And one day very soon (after I pack up and move all my possessions to a new home), I'm going to stop whining about not reading and just read instead.  But not today.  Today I'm going to talk about books that I love and make a list.

The ten most important books/series of my life:

The Babysitters Club:  Go ahead and mock.  Laugh your fill.  My feelings will not be hurt.  Let me tell you, imaginary reader, about young Ellen.  She didn't like to read, and in her elementary school she went to the library with her class every third day and was expected to check out a book.  This did not please young Ellen.  So after she read all the Garfield books that were in her school library, she was forced to read books with actual words and such.  One day, someone, probably her sweet-voiced school librarian Mrs. Beck, put Kristy's Great Idea into her third-grade hands.  And the rest is history.  Today old Ellen works in a library, has a useless degree in English, and has a relationship with words that began right there, in that third floor school library with Ann M. Martin and the girls of the BSC.


Lonesome Dove I can't remember exactly when I read this book for the first time, but I think it was in the neighborhood of sixth or seventh grade.  I'd seen the miniseries a couple years earlier and loved the story and characters already.  But this reading experience taught me that the book is always better than the movie, and with very few exceptions, that's a lesson that has stood the test of time.  It's hilarious and sad, full of horses and cattle and cowboy goodness, life and death, snakes and Indians and guns, and characters that will always live for me.  I will say that though the miniseries has its share of grit, it's still something that was made for tv in the 80s.  The book itself is grittier, more vulgar, more real, perhaps more than my twelve-year-old self was strictly ready for.  But in addition to garnering more knowledge about late 19th century western whoring (yes, I just said whoring, hope you weren't letting your kids read the blog) than a seventh grade girl probably needs, I really think this was the first book that showed me how deeply I could be moved by characters, that I could feel their joys and suffer their losses and care so completely about words on paper.  My love for this epic story that has survived several re-readings and about eighteen years.  Lonesome Dove also had the distinction for a year or so of being the longest book I had read at 969 pages.  But I read my moma's copy of Gone with the Wind in seventh or eighth grade, which is lovely 1037 pages, but I don't think it's making the list here.  Consider this sentence its honorable mention.

Daring to Dance with God From 1992-1996, I went to Uplift, a church camp at Harding with Robyn and sometimes some other folks.  For most (all?) of those years, Jeff Walling was a featured speaker.  We were and are fans.  The year this book came out , he talked about some of the ideas from the book at Uplift.  And he signed copies, so of course, we bought them.  This is maybe the first book about being a Christian I ever read (not counting the Bible), and it was a huge and important deal in my life.  There are phrases and images that still come to me that I first encountered through Jeff Walling.  And though I didn't learn this from the book, Jeff Walling is solely responsible for teaching me the Beatitudes in the right order.

Harry Potter I would like to be able to tell you that I was with Harry Potter before he was cool.  My dearest wish is to say that I read the first book in 1998 (or even better the British version in 1997) and had a hand in spreading the gospel of HP from the beginning.  It would thrill my soul to not be a bandwagon jumper.  But, alas, in truth, I never intended to read the books.  Ever.  In my defense, I was in college when the first books were released, and I wasn't reading much children's lit.  I also frequently proclaim that I don't like fantasy.  So though I had some friends who were ahead of the trend and reading them, I was staunchly opposed for a long time.  But in 2001, the first movie was released, and in the time leading up to it, lots and lots of my friends were hyped up, and my resistance was wearing down.  I knew, based on the hype, I wouldn't be able to live in the world and not be bombarded with spoilers, so if I was ever going to read them, the time was now (uhh . . . then).  So I read the first four books in a ridiculously short amount of time, and it changed my life.  The story consumed me.  I love a big story, and I love meaty characters.  And though it made me insane, I loved the anticipation of waiting for the end of the story.  I was terrified of Deathly Hallows because there was so much riding on the ending, for me.  I had six years wrapped up in this world, and it could have been heart-breaking.  And it was, in some ways, but it was also very right for me, in most ways.  It was always going to be hard to get to the end, and I knew that beloved characters would have to die.  But overall, I'm satisfied with the ending.  I reread (and relisten to) the entire series on a regular basis.

Pride and Prejudice Sadly, I can't remember the first time I read P& P, but it was either high school or college.  I had seen and loved the BBC miniseries version (the Colin Firth one) and based on the recommendations of book folk that I trust, I read it.  And it's lovely.  The language is so dense and formal that it creates a reading experience very unlike a lot that I read.  I've read all the other Austens (I think) too, but P&P remains my favorite.  I love Elizabeth Bennett, but who doesn't?  All of the sequels, spin-offs, or retoolings of the book are a testament to its quality.  The number of people who feel such an attachment to this story that they need to write a companion to it, is somewhat staggering to me, but clearly there's an audience for them or they wouldn't get published at such an alarming rate.  I'll admit that I've read several of the knock-offs through various stages of my Jane Austen obsession, but Bridget Jones's Diary is definitely my favorite of these and one of the few that can stand on its own.  Some of them are pretty horrific, especially the ones that are sequels.  It's a dangerous thing to mess with the lives of beloved characters, and you better have your history and style down if you're going to attempt period fiction.  But the point I'm trying to make is Pride and Prejudice is awesome.  It fills my soul.

 Confessions of Georgia Nicolson I picked up the first book in this series  (Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging) the summer of 2002 when I was teaching two sessions of summer school.  The young miscreants under my tutelage were supposed to spend a certain amount of time reading, and I decided to model good reading skills for them, so I borrowed this book from the junior high library.  As it turns out, it wasn't a great book for modeling sustained, silent reading because I couldn't read it silently.  I guffawed, loudly, lots--an embarrassing amount, actually.  Then I got Robyn to read it, and Hailey and Mo have read it too.  It's forged a bond amongst us all.  The main character Georgia is a British teenager, who tells the story through her diary.  It's hilarious and crazy, with addictive catch-phrases and a glossary, that is allegedly supposed to decipher all the British-isms for the American readers.  There are ten books in the series, and it's nonstop fun.  It'll have you laughing like a loon on loon tablets, like a laughing loon from Loonland.  It's as funny as three funny things.  Plus it'll help decipher the nonsense that I say.



Anne of Green Gables Oh, how I love these books.  I've been reading and rereading them for years, and they still have the power to make me laugh and cry and get wrapped up in the world of Prince Edward Island.  In general, I'm a huge fan of series of books.  I tend to get immersed in stories and attached to characters, and if there are multiple books in which I can delve into that world and meet up with those characters, so much the better.  One of the things I love about Anne and Marilla and Matthew and Gilbert and everyone else here is that at the heart, the characters are all so good.  Just good, kind people, and though spite and malice and hardship come to call, the goodness of these characters I love shines through.  It's a balm to my soul.  The later books focus on Anne and Gil's kids, and they are just as delightful and funny and kind and likely to get into scrapes as Anne herself.  Oh, how I love them all.


On Beyond Zebra This is another book with an Uplift connection.  We went to a class one year called "On Beyond Zebra."  I think we picked the class because the title amused us--that's how we usually picked.  Until about two minutes ago, I was completely confident I knew the name of the guy that taught it, but now I'm feeling uncertain.  I think it was Mark Miller.  Robyn will correct me if it wasn't him.  Anyway he used this lesser-known Dr. Seuss book as a jumping off point for the class, where we talked about going beyond the ordinary and stuff.  It was a really cool class, and I've had a special love for the book ever since.  Plus Dr. Seuss is awesome.  Besides being a big bunch of fun to read, there are some pretty interesting themes in a lot of his books. There's a really empowering message here about not accepting easy answers.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time There was a span of about six years when I was a faithful Entertainment Weekly subscriber.  As such, I felt very strongly that it was important to get my money's worth by reading the magazine from cover to cover.  That was my first experience with influential book reviews.  I was influenced by other EW reviews and features also, but once I started working at a bookstore and the library, I went on a mission to read any book whose review intrigued me.  And that's how I met this book, back in 2003.  The narrator is a British teenager with autism who solves mysteries, sorta.  It wouldn't matter what Christopher (the main character) was up to in this story, because how it's told is so much more important than what's told, in this case.  It was a book unlike anything I'd read before.  Talking about it has made me want to reread it so much, which is one of the highest compliments I can give a book.


Blue Like Jazz  I read this one a few years ago on a recommendation from Mac, cousin, theologian, scholar, and number one blog fan. The subtitle for the book is "Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality."  The only five word synopsis that better describes it is perhaps "funny guy's encounters with God."  Not that it's all funny . . . Miller's journey to faith has some twists and turns, and he's asked some hard questions.  And the answers are sometimes challenging.  But challenging can be a good thing, and reading this book and being challenged by it was certainly one of the better decisions of my reading life.  I got Miller's latest book for Christmas, and if I don't change my mind, it will be the next book I start.

*****Lame blogger's note:  All of the cover art here matches my copies of these books.  That, for some reason, was extremely important to me and severely affected the speed with which this post was constructed.*****