Favorite Books
To say I am an avid reader is an understatement. I live literature. I am, in a fact, a literature professor--I profess, I affirm my faith and allegiance to literature, on an almost daily basis. Although I am clearly dedicated to story, the question I get asked the most, "what is your favorite book?," baffles me. A seemingly simple question requires, for me, an incredibly complex answer. In truth, it is a question I usually cannot answer because it depends on answers to a myriad of different questions, mostly about the person who is asking.
However, I am perfectly comfortable reporting on my favorite reads of 2016:
1) Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea by Barbara Demick. It is no secret that we have recently been obsessed with all things Korea, and this book is a read obviously connected to that obsession. It tells the story of life in North Korea from the perspective of defectors who risked their lives to take refuge in South Korea. It actually took me more than a full year to read because I can only handle the disturbing depictions in very small doses, but it tops my list because it tells a story I truly knew nothing about prior to a surprising mission call in 2015.
2) The End of Your Life Book Club by Will Schwalbe. I was drawn to this in large part because it tells the story of a mother/son relationship as the mother undergoes chemo. I have my own related story, a father/daughter relationship as the father undergoes chemo and a bone marrow transplant. The only problem with this book is that my "list of books I need to read" grew exponentially as I devoured the pages.
3) Daring Greatly and Rising Strong by Brene Brown. I have been slow to the table of self-help literature (I'm a skeptic at heart), but Brene Brown's intellectual approach pulled me in and in truth gave me new insight to issues of vulnerability, shame, courage, and empathy. I'm working on empathy.
4) The Boys in the Boat by Daniel James Brown. I actually listened to this one. Twice.
5) God Help the Child by Toni Morrison. I am in love with all things Toni Morrison. While not my favorite Morrison book, it tackles the important issue of childhood suffering impacting adulthood in poignant and moving ways as it examines the relationship between a mother and daughter complicated by race.
6) Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear by Elizabeth Gilbert. I argued in the margins with Gilbert throughout the book (I have an essay on why I don't like her earlier message in Eat, Pray, Love), but it turned out to be a productive conversation, at least for me.
7) Orphan Train by Christine Baker Cline. A light, easy, and actually very informative and inspiring read.
8) All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr. The story of a blind girl and German boy whose paths collide in the midst of the WWII.
9) Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald by Therese Anne Fowler. I have come to love these biographical novels, especially those that tell the story of significant others--the stories we don't typically hear.
10) A Spool of Blue Thread by Ann Tyler. I like her. I have had a relationship with this author since the 1980s.
Favorite 2016 Podcasts
Revisionist History with Malcolm Gladwell. Absolutely obsessed by this one because it challenges me to challenge him and learn more. I may have shed a tear in the final episode, "Generous Orthodoxy"--yes me, the person whose tear ducts get use only when hit directly by an arctic blast.
Modern Love by the New York Times. In awe over the myriad shapes love takes in our culture.
The Hilarious World of Depression by American Pubic Media. Just started this (the podcast itself is relatively new--only three episodes), but I have watched depression and mental illness from an armchair (maybe even from the next room) for most of my life and this has pulled me into the discussion--you know, that empathy thing.
Favorite 2016 Movies
Lala Land. This probably tops the list because it is the most recent movie I have seen (last night) and I cannot wait to see it again.
I can't claim much expertise here since my tiny town theater doesn't show the majority of films even made. I liked Florence Foster Jenkins, Hell or High Water, Hail Caesar, and Sully.
Favorite 2016 Binge TV watches
Hands down, The Crown.
Favorite 2016 Recipe (at least, my go-to recipe this year)
Thanks to my brother-in-law Jason for introduction to this recipe.
No-Knead Crusty Artisan Bread:
http://www.thecomfortofcooking.com/2013/04/no-knead-crusty-artisan-bread.html
(I thought this would link, but it looks like you will have to cut and paste)
Sunday, January 1, 2017
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Why I Love to Travel
I believe in the
old cliche, "absence makes the heart grow fonder." I also like the one that claims "there's
no place like home." Often when I
leave and eventually return, I am
reminded of these trite but apt phrases.
I've been gone twelve days. I love leaving. Travel is my escape, my soul food, my badge. I travel well: I pack light, I travel inexpensively, I am not afraid of place or people or difference, I embrace adventure. I take any and every opportunity I can to go.
I also love home, but like many I rarely focus on what I like about it. In fact, I am more likely to complain about small town politics and people, to disparage my limited shopping and dining options, to complain about the cultural and racial homogeneity. I even tire of the routine, the same geography, people, and pedantic pace.
Not surprisingly, though, when I'm away, I'm reminded of all I love about home: familiarity, security, freedom, simplicity, connectedness. I also in a strange way recommit to the people I love: I miss sleeping next to my husband, even though he occasionally keeps me up with his snoring (he vehemently denies this); I miss fixing meals in my kitchen even though it means I will have to clean and do dishes--a job which I despise; I miss watching television with the family, even though it means I won't have control of the remote. I miss the comfort of consistency.
As I journey home from this particular adventure, I recognize the familiar excitement of return, and it dawns on me travel is good for me--my soul, my relationships, my happiness. My heart delights as I embrace opportunities for enlightenment, exploration, and growth, but as I return it also rejoices in the idea of home and rest and familiar.
And now that I am home, wrapped in the comfort that is my life, I'm already plotting my next adventure, my next opportunity to leave and return.
I've been gone twelve days. I love leaving. Travel is my escape, my soul food, my badge. I travel well: I pack light, I travel inexpensively, I am not afraid of place or people or difference, I embrace adventure. I take any and every opportunity I can to go.
I also love home, but like many I rarely focus on what I like about it. In fact, I am more likely to complain about small town politics and people, to disparage my limited shopping and dining options, to complain about the cultural and racial homogeneity. I even tire of the routine, the same geography, people, and pedantic pace.
Not surprisingly, though, when I'm away, I'm reminded of all I love about home: familiarity, security, freedom, simplicity, connectedness. I also in a strange way recommit to the people I love: I miss sleeping next to my husband, even though he occasionally keeps me up with his snoring (he vehemently denies this); I miss fixing meals in my kitchen even though it means I will have to clean and do dishes--a job which I despise; I miss watching television with the family, even though it means I won't have control of the remote. I miss the comfort of consistency.
As I journey home from this particular adventure, I recognize the familiar excitement of return, and it dawns on me travel is good for me--my soul, my relationships, my happiness. My heart delights as I embrace opportunities for enlightenment, exploration, and growth, but as I return it also rejoices in the idea of home and rest and familiar.
And now that I am home, wrapped in the comfort that is my life, I'm already plotting my next adventure, my next opportunity to leave and return.
Written 15 September 2015
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
Coming Clean on the Santa Thing
A colleague with a young son asked me this week how old my kids were when we came clean on the Santa thing. I had to think about it.
Meg, the ever-thinking and slightly suspicious child, was in second grade when we had to modify the Santa story. She had had a large Christmas, while one of her friends had had a much smaller Christmas. Late Christmas Day, after making the rounds and comparing the loot, she stated with a questioning tone, "I got a lot of stuff cuz I was so good this year, right?" Without even thinking, I mumbled yes, that was true. Then I watched as she knit her little eyebrows into a perplexed, sad expression and replied "so (unnamed girl) wasn't very good, so she didn't get very much." Her concern and her critical thinking skills stopped me dead in my tracks.
I thought for a moment and then knelt down so we were at eye level; I gave her an impromptu explanation about parents having to send money to Santa which meant the size of Christmas was really contingent upon how much money parents sent. I explained that we had fewer children, and so we could probably afford to send a bit more than some of her friend's parents could--you know, a lesson on economics. She accepted that, but I think it modified her belief. I don't remember having another conversation with her about Santa, but I think when her friends started questioning, she already knew. She did write a great story that year, though, about Santa vacationing in Hawaii after Christmas because he had so much money. She illustrated it with a wonderful picture of Santa dominating a huge wave in swim trunks, a Hawaiian print shirt, and a slightly askew Santa hat.
Seth's discovery was a bit more traumatic. He is also a thinker, but he has always wanted to stay young. He was in fifth grade when we decided that we were going to Hawaii for Christmas. We were tired of spending money just to spend. Our kids had everything they wanted and needed, so rather than buy gifts we decided we would make memories. I know the kids at school had been talking about Santa for a couple of years, but Seth had consciously chosen to continue in belief. When we announced our trip plans, Seth was immediately concerned about the trip because we wouldn't be home for Christmas. He was worried about how Santa would find us. We sat him down and told him he was old enough to know the truth. We explained that rather than toys, we were gifting travel, and that he ought not to expect gifts that year.
I thought he took it well. No tears. No anger. Just simple resignation. We had a great trip and nothing more was said . . . until Easter. I had been shopping and picked up some Easter candy. When I got home, I only halfheartedly hid the treats since, I thought, we were finished with the charades. After school a day or two later, I heard him rummaging through the closet for food. I heard the Easter candy bag rustle and so I hollered, "stay out of that. It's for Easter." He walked in with the most dejected look I had ever seen and a tear was forming in the corner of his eye. He could barely get out his indignation: "so, you're telling me the Easter Bunny isn't real either?" I could barely contain laughter as I apologized for the clumsy revelation.
Santa is an interesting tradition--a tradition that some people find harmful, but one that I like. Even though the shattering of the myth is sometimes traumatic and even though Santa sometimes detracts from the celebration of Christ, I believe the myth is worth transmitting. The idea that someone has that kind of love for children, the notion that children are accountable in some small way for their behavior (even if it promotes a capitalist reward system), and the magic of the imaginary are ideals worth promoting. Perhaps that imaginative play is in some cases psychologically beneficial in childhood development. It was for me and mine. And besides that, I kind of liked my turn playing Santa in the production that is Christmas.
Written 15 December 2015
Meg, the ever-thinking and slightly suspicious child, was in second grade when we had to modify the Santa story. She had had a large Christmas, while one of her friends had had a much smaller Christmas. Late Christmas Day, after making the rounds and comparing the loot, she stated with a questioning tone, "I got a lot of stuff cuz I was so good this year, right?" Without even thinking, I mumbled yes, that was true. Then I watched as she knit her little eyebrows into a perplexed, sad expression and replied "so (unnamed girl) wasn't very good, so she didn't get very much." Her concern and her critical thinking skills stopped me dead in my tracks.
I thought for a moment and then knelt down so we were at eye level; I gave her an impromptu explanation about parents having to send money to Santa which meant the size of Christmas was really contingent upon how much money parents sent. I explained that we had fewer children, and so we could probably afford to send a bit more than some of her friend's parents could--you know, a lesson on economics. She accepted that, but I think it modified her belief. I don't remember having another conversation with her about Santa, but I think when her friends started questioning, she already knew. She did write a great story that year, though, about Santa vacationing in Hawaii after Christmas because he had so much money. She illustrated it with a wonderful picture of Santa dominating a huge wave in swim trunks, a Hawaiian print shirt, and a slightly askew Santa hat.
Seth's discovery was a bit more traumatic. He is also a thinker, but he has always wanted to stay young. He was in fifth grade when we decided that we were going to Hawaii for Christmas. We were tired of spending money just to spend. Our kids had everything they wanted and needed, so rather than buy gifts we decided we would make memories. I know the kids at school had been talking about Santa for a couple of years, but Seth had consciously chosen to continue in belief. When we announced our trip plans, Seth was immediately concerned about the trip because we wouldn't be home for Christmas. He was worried about how Santa would find us. We sat him down and told him he was old enough to know the truth. We explained that rather than toys, we were gifting travel, and that he ought not to expect gifts that year.
I thought he took it well. No tears. No anger. Just simple resignation. We had a great trip and nothing more was said . . . until Easter. I had been shopping and picked up some Easter candy. When I got home, I only halfheartedly hid the treats since, I thought, we were finished with the charades. After school a day or two later, I heard him rummaging through the closet for food. I heard the Easter candy bag rustle and so I hollered, "stay out of that. It's for Easter." He walked in with the most dejected look I had ever seen and a tear was forming in the corner of his eye. He could barely get out his indignation: "so, you're telling me the Easter Bunny isn't real either?" I could barely contain laughter as I apologized for the clumsy revelation.
Santa is an interesting tradition--a tradition that some people find harmful, but one that I like. Even though the shattering of the myth is sometimes traumatic and even though Santa sometimes detracts from the celebration of Christ, I believe the myth is worth transmitting. The idea that someone has that kind of love for children, the notion that children are accountable in some small way for their behavior (even if it promotes a capitalist reward system), and the magic of the imaginary are ideals worth promoting. Perhaps that imaginative play is in some cases psychologically beneficial in childhood development. It was for me and mine. And besides that, I kind of liked my turn playing Santa in the production that is Christmas.
Written 15 December 2015
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| Santa, Mrs. Claus, and at least one Elf might be related to me! |
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