I read Blood of Victory by Alan Furst for Annie’s What’s In a Name - 2 challenge, in the body part category. The “blood” in the title is not a body part, though, but oil, specifically the Romanian oil needed by the Nazis in World War II. The plot concerns British attempts to stop the flow of Romanian oil to Germany early in the war.
I.A. Serebin is a Russian journalist living in Paris. While in Istanbul, he is recruited by the British for their operation to stop the flow of oil to Germany. The story moves from Istanbul to Paris, Bucharest, the Black Sea, and Belgrade as Serebin tries to put together an operation to stop the oil barges from moving along the Danube River. Various characters, including Serebin’s lover, move in and out of the plot as it winds its way along.
Alan Furst has a reputation for novels written with incredible historical accuracy, and Blood of Victory appears to be no exception. The characters and action don’t appear at all contrived. At the same time, though, I found it difficult to warm up to the characters, to really feel as though I knew them, perhaps because not much background information is given. The reader sees the characters as they are in the action of the plot but doesn’t really get a feel for how they got there, or how they got to be the way. And the characters figure much more in the plot than does the action; Blood of Victory is not written in the typical spy-thriller vein. The story is told much more through the characters than though the action.
If you’re looking for a traditional spy or war thriller, with lots of action, you might want to give Blood of Victory a pass. If, however, you have a real interest in the history of World War II or the psychology behind the characters, then Blood of Victory might be just your cup of tea.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Grace After Midnight (book review)
This is my second book for Annie’s What’s In a Name - 2 challenge, in the time of day category. While purists might argue that the “dead” I put forward as a medical condition is a stretch, I don’t think anyone can quibble with “midnight” as a time of day.
Grace After Midnight is the memoir of Felicia “Snoop” Pearson, and will likely appeal only to those who, like me, became hooked on the HBO series The Wire. For those who may not otherwise know, The Wire is Homicide: Life on the Streets on steroids and/or without the NBC censors. Felicia “Snoop” Pearson first appeared in the third season of The Wire playing, who else, Felicia “Snoop” Pearson. On one level, ya gotta love a character named not only after the actor portraying her but very much patterned after her.
Snoop grew up on the streets of Baltimore, raised by foster parents who were more like grandparents to her. She only saw her real mother a couple of times, and never alone after the visit on which her mother had Felicia (she wasn’t called “Snoop” yet) take off her party dress then locked her in a closet so she could go sell the dress for drug money. Even before her teenage years, she learned the ins and outs of the corner drug trade. She also realized and accepted that she was gay. Several adults tried to keep her on the straight and narrow including, interestingly enough, two men themselves involved in the drug trade. She called these men Uncle and Father though there was no blood relation.
At the age of 14, Snoop was attacked by another girl in a street melee. When the other girl swung at her with a metal baseball bat, Snoop shot her, trading one form of lead for another. When no witnesses were willing to label Snoop’s act pure self defense, and one witness was ready to testify that Snoop acted first, Snoop asked her lawyer to plea bargain. She ended up sentenced to eight years in the Maryland Women’s Correctional Facility, though she was paroled after five years, when she was 20.
During her time in prison, Snoop experienced a number of ups and downs. Some of her stories of the other inmates are quite shocking. She also had the spiritual or religious experience from which the title is derived. One night, in the middle of a very low period after Uncle’s death and Father’s having been sentenced to life in prison, she looked up in the middle of the night and felt a presence. After that, she became determined to complete her GED and make it to the end of her sentence.
Snoop was 20 when she was released. She was determined to go straight, and followed the advice she had been given about getting a job: If they don’t ask about a prison record, don’t volunteer that you have one. After being fired from two jobs at which she was doing well because her employers found out about her prison record, she fell into dealing drugs. In a bar one night, she met Michael K. Williams who was playing Omar Little on The Wire. He invited her to the set, introduced her to the writers and producers, and she was offered a role essentially playing herself. She kept her drug corner running for some time after she was a regular on the series, but eventually closed it down.
In Grace After Midnight, Pearson writes about continuing to act and not getting back into the drug business. Searching google.com and the Internet Movie Database indicates that she hasn’t really done any acting since The Wire ended, but that she is active in a nonprofit working with Baltimore youth. She was also arrested last summer for possession of marijuana.
As I said at the outset, this book will probably only appeal to fans of The Wire. I’m not sure that Pearson’s story will resonate with someone not familiar with her role on the series. But if you miss The Wire and still think of it as one of the best things ever to air on TV, er, excuse me, it’s not TV, it’s HBO, then you might want to give this book a whirl.
Grace After Midnight is the memoir of Felicia “Snoop” Pearson, and will likely appeal only to those who, like me, became hooked on the HBO series The Wire. For those who may not otherwise know, The Wire is Homicide: Life on the Streets on steroids and/or without the NBC censors. Felicia “Snoop” Pearson first appeared in the third season of The Wire playing, who else, Felicia “Snoop” Pearson. On one level, ya gotta love a character named not only after the actor portraying her but very much patterned after her.
Snoop grew up on the streets of Baltimore, raised by foster parents who were more like grandparents to her. She only saw her real mother a couple of times, and never alone after the visit on which her mother had Felicia (she wasn’t called “Snoop” yet) take off her party dress then locked her in a closet so she could go sell the dress for drug money. Even before her teenage years, she learned the ins and outs of the corner drug trade. She also realized and accepted that she was gay. Several adults tried to keep her on the straight and narrow including, interestingly enough, two men themselves involved in the drug trade. She called these men Uncle and Father though there was no blood relation.
At the age of 14, Snoop was attacked by another girl in a street melee. When the other girl swung at her with a metal baseball bat, Snoop shot her, trading one form of lead for another. When no witnesses were willing to label Snoop’s act pure self defense, and one witness was ready to testify that Snoop acted first, Snoop asked her lawyer to plea bargain. She ended up sentenced to eight years in the Maryland Women’s Correctional Facility, though she was paroled after five years, when she was 20.
During her time in prison, Snoop experienced a number of ups and downs. Some of her stories of the other inmates are quite shocking. She also had the spiritual or religious experience from which the title is derived. One night, in the middle of a very low period after Uncle’s death and Father’s having been sentenced to life in prison, she looked up in the middle of the night and felt a presence. After that, she became determined to complete her GED and make it to the end of her sentence.
Snoop was 20 when she was released. She was determined to go straight, and followed the advice she had been given about getting a job: If they don’t ask about a prison record, don’t volunteer that you have one. After being fired from two jobs at which she was doing well because her employers found out about her prison record, she fell into dealing drugs. In a bar one night, she met Michael K. Williams who was playing Omar Little on The Wire. He invited her to the set, introduced her to the writers and producers, and she was offered a role essentially playing herself. She kept her drug corner running for some time after she was a regular on the series, but eventually closed it down.
In Grace After Midnight, Pearson writes about continuing to act and not getting back into the drug business. Searching google.com and the Internet Movie Database indicates that she hasn’t really done any acting since The Wire ended, but that she is active in a nonprofit working with Baltimore youth. She was also arrested last summer for possession of marijuana.
As I said at the outset, this book will probably only appeal to fans of The Wire. I’m not sure that Pearson’s story will resonate with someone not familiar with her role on the series. But if you miss The Wire and still think of it as one of the best things ever to air on TV, er, excuse me, it’s not TV, it’s HBO, then you might want to give this book a whirl.
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead (book review)
The "rules" for Annie's What's in a name-2 challenge specify that one book have a "medical condition" in its title. I'd say that "dead" qualifies. The book's author, David Shields, is sandwiched between a 14-year-old daughter and a 97-year-old father. In The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead, Shields considers human life in terms of our physical condition, with medical facts discussed and interspersed with stories of his daughter and, mainly, his father. The book is written in four sections: Infancy and Childhood, Adolescence, Adulthood and Middle Age, and Old Age and Death. Several chapters appear in more than one section, including those on "Decline and Fall," "Boys vs. Girls," "Sex and Death," and "Hoop Dreams." (That's "hoop" as in basketball not needlework.)
I found the book very easy to read, though at times it was downright disheartening. As a 52-year-old trying to increase her explosive speed in a martial art, I really hated to read things such as "When you're 60, you're 20 percent less strong than you were in middle age; at 70, you're 40 percent less strong. You lose more strength in the muscles of your legs than in your hands and arms. You also tend to lost your fast-twitch abilities--a sprinter's contractions--much more rapidly than your slow-twitch abilities--a walker's contractions."
At other times, though, it was downright funny. I think my hands down favorite passage in this regard was a somewhat Freudian take on the movie Spider-Man, specifically, "Peter's change from dweeb to spider is explicitly analogous to his transformation from boy to man." And the current winner in the "Damn! I wish I'd thought of that phrase!" contest is the bold part of this paragraph (and I hope this isn't too risque for some readers, since it could be interpreted as for mature audiences only):
"The first time Spider-Man rescues M.J., she says to her boyfriend, Harry, that it was 'incredible.' 'What do you mean "incredible"?' he keeps asking her. The second time Spider-Man rescues M.J., she asks him, 'Do I get to say thank you this time?' and, pulling up his mask past his lips, passionately kisses him, sending both of them into rain-drenched ecstasy. The script makes painfully clear that Peter's newfound prowess is procreation or, more precisely, onanism: 'He wiggles his wrist, tries to get the goop to spray out, but it doesn't come.' All three times Spider-Man rescues M.J., they're wrapped in a pose that looks very much like missionary sex: Spider-Man on a mission. As Peter Parker, his peter is parked; as Spider-Man, he gets to have the mythic carnival ride of sex-flight without any of the messy emotional cleanup afterward."
Some of the medical information was so wonderful I can't wait to work it into conversation someday: "Your taste buds regenerate; cells within the taste buds die every ten days and are completely replaced. Even if a nerve that forms taste buds is destroyed, other buds will form around the new nerve that replaces it. However, it takes more molecules of a certain substance on your tongue for you to recognize the flavor later in adulthood. As you get older, you enjoy food less."
Woven into the story of how we age physically is the story of a family, principally one son's relationship with a father who just happens to be bipolar (though Shields uses the term "manic-depressive"). Although Shields tells many a tale in which his father doesn't necessarily appear in the best light, he does the same with himself. Shields says of his father in the prologue that "I seem to have an Oedipal urge to bury him in a shower of death data. Why do I want to cover my dad in an early shroud? He's strong and he's weak and I love him and I hate him and I want him to live forever and I want him to die tomorrow."
Is this a book you will find entertaining but also thought-provoking? Yes. Is this a book that you will be less for not reading? No. I would give few books that high praise. If you want to learn a bit more about how your body (and, to an extent your mind) changes and adapts, for better or for worse, as you age, this book is certainly one way to accomplish that.
I found the book very easy to read, though at times it was downright disheartening. As a 52-year-old trying to increase her explosive speed in a martial art, I really hated to read things such as "When you're 60, you're 20 percent less strong than you were in middle age; at 70, you're 40 percent less strong. You lose more strength in the muscles of your legs than in your hands and arms. You also tend to lost your fast-twitch abilities--a sprinter's contractions--much more rapidly than your slow-twitch abilities--a walker's contractions."
At other times, though, it was downright funny. I think my hands down favorite passage in this regard was a somewhat Freudian take on the movie Spider-Man, specifically, "Peter's change from dweeb to spider is explicitly analogous to his transformation from boy to man." And the current winner in the "Damn! I wish I'd thought of that phrase!" contest is the bold part of this paragraph (and I hope this isn't too risque for some readers, since it could be interpreted as for mature audiences only):
"The first time Spider-Man rescues M.J., she says to her boyfriend, Harry, that it was 'incredible.' 'What do you mean "incredible"?' he keeps asking her. The second time Spider-Man rescues M.J., she asks him, 'Do I get to say thank you this time?' and, pulling up his mask past his lips, passionately kisses him, sending both of them into rain-drenched ecstasy. The script makes painfully clear that Peter's newfound prowess is procreation or, more precisely, onanism: 'He wiggles his wrist, tries to get the goop to spray out, but it doesn't come.' All three times Spider-Man rescues M.J., they're wrapped in a pose that looks very much like missionary sex: Spider-Man on a mission. As Peter Parker, his peter is parked; as Spider-Man, he gets to have the mythic carnival ride of sex-flight without any of the messy emotional cleanup afterward."
Some of the medical information was so wonderful I can't wait to work it into conversation someday: "Your taste buds regenerate; cells within the taste buds die every ten days and are completely replaced. Even if a nerve that forms taste buds is destroyed, other buds will form around the new nerve that replaces it. However, it takes more molecules of a certain substance on your tongue for you to recognize the flavor later in adulthood. As you get older, you enjoy food less."
Woven into the story of how we age physically is the story of a family, principally one son's relationship with a father who just happens to be bipolar (though Shields uses the term "manic-depressive"). Although Shields tells many a tale in which his father doesn't necessarily appear in the best light, he does the same with himself. Shields says of his father in the prologue that "I seem to have an Oedipal urge to bury him in a shower of death data. Why do I want to cover my dad in an early shroud? He's strong and he's weak and I love him and I hate him and I want him to live forever and I want him to die tomorrow."
Is this a book you will find entertaining but also thought-provoking? Yes. Is this a book that you will be less for not reading? No. I would give few books that high praise. If you want to learn a bit more about how your body (and, to an extent your mind) changes and adapts, for better or for worse, as you age, this book is certainly one way to accomplish that.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Christmas Catchup and Other Random Oddities
Yes, the Christmas Bitch in me gave way to the Celebratory Babe, and we did have a Christmas here as evidenced by the decorated tree standing guard o'er all the presents. If you think you're just hallucinating the monkey at the top of the tree, you're not. He's the Christmas Ape, and he sits atop the tree every year, wearing the Christmas star as a hat. 
We did all the usual family things: church on Christmas Eve, driving home the back way on a dusty country road; cinnamon rolls for Christmas breakfast; turkey and tofurky for Christmas dinner. I passed on the Christmas bubble bath but did manage to curl up with a good book for a while. I undecorated on New Year's Day, only forgetting a couple of items that now sit by the door awaiting transfer to a Christmas box in the garage. I've also cut out gift tags for next year from the fronts of some of the Christmas cards we got this year, though I still need to update the address book I keep on Mr. Mac to include some updated snail mail and e-mail addresses I learned about in the cards. I participated this year in the Book Blogger Christmas Swap. I sent a parcel up to Maryland, and took great delight in reading about the recipient's glee in opening her goodies. I had my own glee opening the box I was sent. In my "registration" paragraph, I noted a desire to get back to reading science fiction after many years away (I read so much sci fi while I was in grad school that I basically overdosed on it). My Secret Santa (who turned out to be Carl) put together a fun package with something old (Glory Lane by Alan Dean Foster) and something new (The Little Book by Selden Edwards).
The Catwoman card was a nice touch as was, in true Book Blogger fashion, the return address on the package written on a card catalog card (for the subject heading GRAMMAR, COMPARATIVE AND GENERAL--SYNTAX). I haven't started either book yet; I may save the small paperback to take on the upcoming adventure halfway around the world.Yes, I did make some New Year's resolutions and so far am keeping them. In the food for thought for a new year category, I loved Neil Gaiman's New Year's wish on his blog: "...I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you'll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you'll make something that didn't exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind." Definitely some words to try to live by there. In the same vein, my Zen Page-A-Day calendar had the following entry for January 1:
"Eliminate something superfluous from your life.
Break a habit.
Do something that makes you feel insecure.
Carry out an action with complete attention and intensity, as if it were your last."
~Piero Ferrucci
I'm trying to do some of these, too, as the year revs up. In particular, I'm feeling pretty darned insecure about...
...having started taking karate classes in addition to my kendo ones. Though some of the stances are the same as in kendo, there are some major differences; hence, the feelings of insecurity. At the same time, it's as challenging or more to be learning totally new material as opposed to the fine-tuning of already-learned kendo material that I'm doing as I work toward a black belt there. It also means that if I make every class, I'm now doing martial arts six days a week (every weeknight and Sunday mornings). Hey! It keeps me off the streets and may actually make me safer when I'm on them.
Finally in the surreal world in which I live, I looked up yesterday to see the sight below through the door out to the deck.
That's the younger son who, having crafted a climbing harness out of rope, was attempting to lower himself from the balcony off the master bedroom to the ground two storeys below. I don't know why this surprised me enough to grab the camera and snap a quick photo. Both sons often descend from their rooms upstairs, having gained entry by climbing up to the balcony. Or they appear at the kitchen door, having climbed down from their rooms. This was just the first aided descent, or at least the first one I've seen. Since older son was playing around with the harness last night, it probably won't be the last. They do keep my life interesting; I will say that.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
A New Meme for a New Year
I had planned on trying to post something today so as to keep with my New Year's resolution to post more, so the first will be in response to a tag from Annie for this meme.
The book that’s been on your shelves the longest:
A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson. I don’t remember exactly when I got this book, but I think I was about five or six. Since I’m 52 now, I’ve had it for quite a while. I can still recite some of the poems in it, since I read them so many times as a child. I still pull this one off the shelf every now and then just for a comforting blast from the past.
A book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time, etc.):
This would have to be Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card. My older son asked me to read this when he was in middle school. I did, and it helped me understand him a lot better. Card says in the foreword that he has been told this is the book most often stolen from (or not returned to) middle school libraries, and I can see why. I keep hearing that this book is being made into a movie; if that's true, it may be one I can't bring myself to see since I just know it would disappoint me.
A book you acquired in some interesting way (gift, serendipity in a used bookstore, prize, etc.):
I’ll pick the one I bought before it was available in stores. I went to the National Book Festival in September 2008, and was able to purchase Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book three days before it appeared on bookstore shelves. I then read a good bit of it while waiting in line for four hours to ask Mr. Gaiman to sign a copy of Coraline for Annie.
The most recent addition to your shelves:
Several mysteries by Karin Fossum, set in Norway. I may take these along on an upcoming trip halfway around the world, on which my return will be from Norway. It might be interesting to read them right before visiting the country.
A book that’s been with you to the most places:
Whatever notebook I’m using as a journal at the time. If I have to name a published book, it would be the Child's Garden of Verses mentioned above. I don't take it on trips, but it's been with me in every residence I've had for the last 46 or 47 years.
A bonus book that you want to talk about but doesn’t fit into the other questions:
One of my favorite poetry books is Hailstones and Halibut Bones (Adventures in Color) by Mary O’Neill (author) and John Wallner (Illustrator). The poems really do convey colors in words; in fact, O’Neill says that she has had people blind from birth tell her that the poems helped them understand the concept of “color.”
As for tagging people, I figure that the only reason Annie didn't tag her mom, Debi, is that Debi has either already done this or already been tagged to do it. Otherwise, anyone who wants to can join in the fun and consider themselves to be the next "It."
The book that’s been on your shelves the longest:
A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson. I don’t remember exactly when I got this book, but I think I was about five or six. Since I’m 52 now, I’ve had it for quite a while. I can still recite some of the poems in it, since I read them so many times as a child. I still pull this one off the shelf every now and then just for a comforting blast from the past.
A book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time, etc.):
This would have to be Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card. My older son asked me to read this when he was in middle school. I did, and it helped me understand him a lot better. Card says in the foreword that he has been told this is the book most often stolen from (or not returned to) middle school libraries, and I can see why. I keep hearing that this book is being made into a movie; if that's true, it may be one I can't bring myself to see since I just know it would disappoint me.
A book you acquired in some interesting way (gift, serendipity in a used bookstore, prize, etc.):
I’ll pick the one I bought before it was available in stores. I went to the National Book Festival in September 2008, and was able to purchase Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book three days before it appeared on bookstore shelves. I then read a good bit of it while waiting in line for four hours to ask Mr. Gaiman to sign a copy of Coraline for Annie.
The most recent addition to your shelves:
Several mysteries by Karin Fossum, set in Norway. I may take these along on an upcoming trip halfway around the world, on which my return will be from Norway. It might be interesting to read them right before visiting the country.
A book that’s been with you to the most places:
Whatever notebook I’m using as a journal at the time. If I have to name a published book, it would be the Child's Garden of Verses mentioned above. I don't take it on trips, but it's been with me in every residence I've had for the last 46 or 47 years.
A bonus book that you want to talk about but doesn’t fit into the other questions:
One of my favorite poetry books is Hailstones and Halibut Bones (Adventures in Color) by Mary O’Neill (author) and John Wallner (Illustrator). The poems really do convey colors in words; in fact, O’Neill says that she has had people blind from birth tell her that the poems helped them understand the concept of “color.”
As for tagging people, I figure that the only reason Annie didn't tag her mom, Debi, is that Debi has either already done this or already been tagged to do it. Otherwise, anyone who wants to can join in the fun and consider themselves to be the next "It."
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Be It Hereby Resolved ...
Normally by this time on December 31, I've got my list of resolutions written down, on a cardboard calendar insert or the equivalent, and am ready to prepare the traditional New Year's Eve nachos. The problem at the immediate moment is that I can't find last year's resolutions, which I usually review prior to writing down the new ones. I hid them from prying eyes (not the husband's or kids' because we share our resolutions with each other) and now can't remember where I put them.
Oh well! I'll do the best I can. I know that I did not achieve the resolution regarding my weight, though at the same time I very clearly slam-dunked the resolution regarding the number of times I would work out during the year. That one was the usual five times weekly or 260 times during the year, including lifting weights 104 times or twice each week. If I'm remembering what's written on the calendar upstairs, I've worked out 343 days of this year (the last day I did not work out was election day when I at least stood up, at a voting machine, for 13 hours), and lifted weights just about exactly the 104 times I resolved. I did get my brown belt in Myo Sim kendo. I did not make progress on the book I'm supposed to be co-authoring, but that's not my own doing. The principal author hasn't had a good year, and the book is one of the things that has suffered. Finally, I know I made some other, more touchy-feely resolutions, like listening more and talking less, but if I can't recall them all that distinctly, then I probably didn't achieve them.
So, what about some resolutions for 2009? Well, I always have the weight one. About six years ago, I lost 30 pounds. I've since gained just over ten of those back, and would like to lose them again. I always have an exercise resolution, and that one will stay as it always does: work out 260 days, lifting weights 104 times. The fact that I'll be away for two months suggests that I not resolve to earn my kendo black belt, though I do resolve to make progress in that direction. Having recently begun the study of Myo Sim karate, I would like to progress far enough in that to learn tumble falls, something that will help on the kendo side. Because of the way rank requirements work, this means I have just resolved to earn a yellow belt in karate since learning tumble falls is done at the yellow belt level as one works toward a green belt.
I hereby also resolve to try to be better about this whole blog thing. Since it's easier for me to meet my resolutions when they're quantitative in nature, I could resolve to post something weekly on at least one of the blogs I maintain. I actually have a list of things I'd like to post--the follow-up to the Christmas post that sits below this one, some reviews for the 42 Challenge, thoughts on taking up karate in addition to the kendo, the workouts from hell that a personal trainer has given me. Would two posts a week be a better goal? We shall see. I will put something on the list about being a better blogger, with the specifics to be worked out between now and when I write the list.
On the less quantitative side, it would be nice to resolve to stress less, listen more, create beauty, inspire thought or laughter, be a better person, end hunger, and work for world peace. Yeah, right! Perhaps the best way to try to hit some of those items is to keep in mind two quotes from others who actually did at least some of those things:
"Service is the rent we pay for the privilege of living on this earth." I first found this sentiment attributed to Shirley Chisholm, though I've also seen in attributed to Marian Wright Edelman as well.
"We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give." Winston Churchill
It certainly couldn't hurt to resolve to reflect as well as reflect on those sentiments as much as possible in the coming year. Whatever your resolutions or lack thereof, Happy New Year! I can't help but think that 2009 is gonna be one heck of a ride.
Oh well! I'll do the best I can. I know that I did not achieve the resolution regarding my weight, though at the same time I very clearly slam-dunked the resolution regarding the number of times I would work out during the year. That one was the usual five times weekly or 260 times during the year, including lifting weights 104 times or twice each week. If I'm remembering what's written on the calendar upstairs, I've worked out 343 days of this year (the last day I did not work out was election day when I at least stood up, at a voting machine, for 13 hours), and lifted weights just about exactly the 104 times I resolved. I did get my brown belt in Myo Sim kendo. I did not make progress on the book I'm supposed to be co-authoring, but that's not my own doing. The principal author hasn't had a good year, and the book is one of the things that has suffered. Finally, I know I made some other, more touchy-feely resolutions, like listening more and talking less, but if I can't recall them all that distinctly, then I probably didn't achieve them.
So, what about some resolutions for 2009? Well, I always have the weight one. About six years ago, I lost 30 pounds. I've since gained just over ten of those back, and would like to lose them again. I always have an exercise resolution, and that one will stay as it always does: work out 260 days, lifting weights 104 times. The fact that I'll be away for two months suggests that I not resolve to earn my kendo black belt, though I do resolve to make progress in that direction. Having recently begun the study of Myo Sim karate, I would like to progress far enough in that to learn tumble falls, something that will help on the kendo side. Because of the way rank requirements work, this means I have just resolved to earn a yellow belt in karate since learning tumble falls is done at the yellow belt level as one works toward a green belt.
I hereby also resolve to try to be better about this whole blog thing. Since it's easier for me to meet my resolutions when they're quantitative in nature, I could resolve to post something weekly on at least one of the blogs I maintain. I actually have a list of things I'd like to post--the follow-up to the Christmas post that sits below this one, some reviews for the 42 Challenge, thoughts on taking up karate in addition to the kendo, the workouts from hell that a personal trainer has given me. Would two posts a week be a better goal? We shall see. I will put something on the list about being a better blogger, with the specifics to be worked out between now and when I write the list.
On the less quantitative side, it would be nice to resolve to stress less, listen more, create beauty, inspire thought or laughter, be a better person, end hunger, and work for world peace. Yeah, right! Perhaps the best way to try to hit some of those items is to keep in mind two quotes from others who actually did at least some of those things:
"Service is the rent we pay for the privilege of living on this earth." I first found this sentiment attributed to Shirley Chisholm, though I've also seen in attributed to Marian Wright Edelman as well.
"We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give." Winston Churchill
It certainly couldn't hurt to resolve to reflect as well as reflect on those sentiments as much as possible in the coming year. Whatever your resolutions or lack thereof, Happy New Year! I can't help but think that 2009 is gonna be one heck of a ride.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Is It Christmas Yet?
If her hair were only blond then I could claim this as a holiday portrait of, yes, yours truly. Christmas always seems to bring out the best bitch in me. There are people whose house spontaneously becomes Christmasy sometime between Thanksgiving dinner and getting up early to shop on Black Friday. I am not one of them.
I have been informed by the men in the house (well, by the eldest of them) that a tree will be procured tomorrow, to be decorated in the afternoon. Hmmm. Younger son plans to walk home from the university tomorrow (a distance of about eight miles) if it's not raining. Whatever doesn't come home from the dorm room today will be coming home tomorrow ... in the same pickup truck that is supposed to bring the tree home. Unless younger son has to be out of his dorm room by noon, he may not be starting his walk until afternoon. The evening is out for decorating because elder son will be helping to judge a karate rank exam, which I would like to attend for the purposes of practicing my photography. In other words, I'm not seeing tomorrow, afternoon or evening, as an optimal time for holiday prep.
Thursday? Ha! I will be up and starting a batch of bread by not much after 6:00 so that I can get it done before meeting a friend for lunch at 11:30. I have been informed that the husband's departmental Christmas party is from 2:00 until 4:00. The evening is reserved for kendo. I only give that up for my own office Christmas party, and that was last night (yes, I gave up kendo for it). Are we seeing a pattern yet?
Unless the holiday fairies magically appear and take on the decorating chores, it will likely be Friday before things start to come together, or less than a week before Christmas. I wanted to put up the tree and decorate over a week ago, but the husband mandates that it be a family affair and not take place until dormitory move-out has been accomplished. Never mind that I will be the one bringing the majority of the decoration boxes in from the garage and sorting out what goes where. The sons will each put an ornament or two on the tree and then retire to reading, writing, or the computer. The husband will have the outdoor lights to hang since ladders are not necessarily my friends. After Christmas has been decorated, I will either take the mostly empty boxes out to the garage or whine unpleasantly until the men do that for me since simple requests for help are often countered with whines of their own.
Am I being appropriately bitchy or Scroogey yet? If not, I'll get there. Maybe one day I will learn how to make it all flow. Before marriage and family, I actually enjoyed Christmas preparation. I put up the tiny artifical, already decorated tree that a friend gave me the year I was laid up following knee surgery. I would play Christmas carols and maybe make a long chain of red and green construction paper rings to hang wherever. It was fun! Now it seems an organizational nightmare.
Don't worry. I will get over it, and we will have a real Christmas here. A tree will go up, and all the wrapped presents sitting on the furniture around the room behind me will have a home at least. My Christmas cards have been mailed, and the husband's cards have been addressed and stamped (though not by him) and had the family Christmas newsletter I wrote inserted in the envelopes. I learned long ago not to stress once I've handed him the stack of cards ready for personal notes or not as he sees fit (I've already signed the cards, too). I have done my part; if his friends and family want to blame me if/when his cards are late, I can live with it knowing that I did my part.
On Christmas Eve, I will prepare my overnight cinnamon roll dough before we go to the Christmas Eve service at a friend's church. I will get up well before the sons on Christmas morning and get cinnamon rolls ready for when we wake them up. We will play Christmas music (at last!) and open presents, assuming the men go out on Christmas Eve day and buy some for me as is their tradition. We will eat cinnamon rolls for breakfast, and I will prepare a grand Christmas dinner, and perhaps even have time to soak in a bubble bath if I care to clear out all the potted plants wintering in the jacuzzi tub under the bathroom skylight. Life will be good. No, life is good in the sense that I have the time and mind to sit here and bitch a bit. Yes, life is good. Allow me to wish you a Merry Christmas a bit early just in case you don't make it back here before the big day.
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