On Her Throne

"I will remain on the throne until I fall off." - Margrethe II of Denmark

"Every woman is a queen and we all have different things to offer." -Queen Latifah

* * * * *

"Gracie, this way!"

With deep satisfaction, I hear my dog trotting across the driveway and coming up behind me as I stand at the entrance to the front patio.

I never get tired of my dog's unquestioning obedience. 

"Jump up!" I encourage as I point at the deep cushions of the sofa. 

Gracie understands the concept of following my finger and trotting off to wherever I'm pointing. And when my target is a soft, cushy spot to doze on a sunny afternoon, I fully expect her compliance.

But this is when she surprises me.

Because my regal lady of perpetual comfort does not curl up on the couch.

She leaps, in a smooth, fluid, majestic motion, onto the top of the table. 

Good heavens. 

Since when is this a place to sit?

Since never. Gracie has never once parked herself on this roomy but rock hard table top, nor has she ever seen a human seat themselves thusly.

But for whatever reasons, this is where Gracie decides she needs to be and she seats herself with the full sovereignty of a monarch. 

I consider coaxing her to the cushions, but since my goal is to place the dog where she can rest comfortably while still able to watch me gardening nearby, I decide it is not really my business where she chooses to sit. 

Besides, I tell myself, give her thirty seconds and she'll be clambering across the gap to curl up on her favorite corner of the sofa after all. 

But apparently, my dog is full of surprises today.

Because a half hour later, Queen Gracie still sits atop her resplendent throne and gazes upon me from afar. 

May she long reign over us all. 

Reading | Conversations With Friends

The last of my summer reads to be completed. I've been dragging my heels on this one. 

Conversations With Friends | Sally Rooney

Frances and Bobbi and Melissa and Nick are friends. They meander about Dublin, Ireland - and sometimes the south of France - and they talk. A lot. 

Of course, complications ensue. Frances and Bobbi had a sweet teenage lesbian love affair in their high school days, but that's over now. Still they are uni besties and perform spoken word poetry together. Frances writes all their material but worries that Bobbi has the stronger presence on stage. Hmm. 

They encounter Melissa, a well-known writer who wants to do a piece on their artistry, and when they meet, she often brings along her gorgeously handsome and borderline broody actor husband, Nick. Wagging tongues tell that all is not well in the marriage; at the very least, they sleep in different rooms. Hmm.

Melissa and Nick are an easy ten years older than Frances and Bobbi, which raises eyebrows among their other friends. But the four are drawn to one another in strange ways, and tensions rise as their individual relationships strain the fabric of their overall friendship. What holds them together is their deep devotion to conversation. They talk. A lot. 

There's little action in this plot. Oh sure, there's a skinny dipping episode and a couple emergency trips to the hospital, but mostly our four main characters exchange email, chat on the phone, and meet for a series of endless meals and coffee dates filled with endless conversation. 

They talk. A lot. 

Rooney's distinctive dialog drives the story forward; love it or hate it, her style of verbal lunges and parries is what sets this book apart. 

* * * * *

Last night, I emptied a box of fresh strawberries into a colander, placed it under a gentle stream of cool water, and began sorting through the slightly overripe fruit. 

One by one, I picked up each beautiful berry, for they all looked as perfect as can be, and gave it a soft squeeze between my fingertips. Some were still firm and fresh, but most were not. Their sweet red flesh collapsed into balls of mush, and under the stream of water, dissolved down the drain. I watched in horror as one, ten, twenty, probably thirty berries fell to nothing beneath my fingers, and all I could do was remind myself that they were rotten from the start.

This is exactly how I feel about Frances and Bobbi, Melissa and Nick. They look pretty on the outside  - or so our author insists - but under the slightest bit of pressure, they turn to mush and quickly slide down the drain. I can only conclude that they were rotten from the start.

What is left behind is a book full of pretentious and tedious sniping and sarcasm, which may amuse some readers but leaves me feeling tired and bored. Once again, Rooney leads her characters to blithely normalize any number of mental health issues - self-harm, disordered eating, and body dysmorphia, just to name a few - and that makes me mad. At least the author uses her platform to spread awareness about the relatively common but rarely discussed condition of endometriosis and for that reason alone, I appreciate this book. 

* * * * *

When I write about books I've read, I normally enjoy finding quotes 

that demonstrate the touch and feel of the book, 

that bring out what I like best about the work, 

that put a smile on my face.

As I searched for quotes to light up this review, I considered several dozen. And each one of them set my teeth on edge and brought back the full force of my annoyance with this book.

So down here, at the very bottom of the page where hopefully they will cause no harm, I will dredge up just a few eye roll-worthy examples. 

"He was the first person I had met since Bobbi who made me enjoy conversation, in the same irrational and sensuous way I enjoyed coffee or loud music."

"Is it possible we could develop an alternative model of loving each other?"

"This could only interfere with my other ambitions, such as achieving enlightenment and being a fun girl."

* * * * *

Hey! Wanna read more about the books I've read in 2022? Check these out:

Conversations With Friends

Priestdaddy

Station Eleven and The Glass Hotel

The Vanishing Half

Untamed

The Paper Palace

Three Wishes

Crying In H Mart

Prodigal Summer

The Pull Of The Moon

Unsheltered and The Bean Trees

* * * * *

For a full list of books I've read in the past few years, click here:

2022

2021

2020

. 

It Happened To Me

"The truth is you don't know what is going to happen tomorrow. 

Life is a crazy ride." -Eminem

And the next day, we traipsed around Seattle. 

It happens surprisingly often.

I'm watching a movie or reading a book. Maybe someone is telling a story. And the topic comes up.

Cheating spouses. 

Illicit affairs.

Crisis pregnancies.

Covert adoptions.

Hidden siblings.

And a secret shame so deep and desperate that it's taken to the grave. 

Wow. I shake my head in wonderment. I can't imagine what it would be like to live through something like that. The emotional turmoil must be unbearable. 

Then I laugh. 

And smile to myself.

Because I do indeed know exactly what it's like.

I have a brother from another mother. And it's great fun. 

* * * * *

Since I learned of his existence almost five years ago, my brother, Jeff, and I have met up several times, which is no small feat since he lives 2000 miles away in Michigan and I'm on the west coast. But this summer, luck would have it that my brother and his family flew out to Seattle to visit his sister - the one he grew up with - who happens to live nearby. He saved some time to see me too.

So it was that I once again found myself seated at a table, enjoying a meal with our two families together - his kids and my kids, his wife and my husband, even his sister joined us. Sharing this moment, these extraordinary circumstances, with these special people in my very own backyard - well, somehow it felt as if our story has come full circle. My heart filled with pure light and floated up into the blue evening sky. 

Then I laughed.

And smiled to myself. 

Because having my very own brother from another mother is great fun.

And I'm glad it happened to me. 

* * * * *

Here is the story of when I first learned about my brother, Jeff.

Fresh Air

Here is the story of the first time we met in person. 

My Newfound Brother

And here is me smiling again, thinking of all the stories my brother and I will write in the years ahead. 

 

* * * * *

Photo credit to my sister-in-law, Dacia. 

Reading | Priestdaddy

Priestdaddy | Patricia Lockwood 

Patricia Lockwood is in her early thirties, her husband needs some very expensive surgery on his eyes and in order to come up with the money to pay for it, they move into her parents' home. 

Um, rectory.

Because Patricia's father is a Catholic priest. 

Yes, he is. Greg Lockwood comes up the ranks first as a Christian convert on a submarine, then as a Lutheran minister, and eventually, when he longs to be embraced by the Catholic church, he gets special dispensation from the Pope to become a married priest, complete with five children. 

That part of the story is strange enough. But now that she's back under his roof, Patricia realizes that her father is a walking anecdote and she commits to writing down as many of his absurdities as she can, hoping to eventually shape a memoir from the chaos.

What starts as sitcom fodder develops into a deeply personal and painful account of Patricia's childhood growing up in the church, and a number of decidedly unfunny things that happen to her along the way. 

But in the end, Patricia's story is about how well her father has loved her. And that is a most happy ending indeed. 

* * * * *

Have you ever heard of an old movie called The Red Balloon? Shot in 1956 on the grey streets of Paris, the short film tells a simple, fantastical story of an apparently sentient helium balloon who takes an inexplicable shine to a young boy and spends the movie following him around and attempting to be friends. It's a sweet, sentimental post-war metaphor for rising dreams of hope and light.

In some ways, The Red Balloon is a lot like Priestdaddy.

'When we came home later, my father was wearing his most transparent pair of boxer shorts, to show us he was angry, and drinking Baileys Irish Cream liqueur out of a miniature crystal glass, to show us his heart was broken.'

Now please imagine that a band of drunken chimpanzees gets hold of The Red Balloon's helium tank, figure out how to distort their voices by huffing the helium, and take turns quoting lines from Monty Python as they laugh themselves silly. Incomprehensible mayhem ensues. 

And these boozed up chimps are also a lot like Priestdaddy.

"What did those people teach you?" [my husband] asked me one night, mystified. "What exactly do Catholics believe?"

I'd been preparing my whole life for this question. 'First of all, blood. BLOOD. Second of all, thorns. Third of all, put dirt on your forehead. Do it right now. Fourth of all, Martin Luther was a pig in a cloak. Fifth of all, Jesus is alive, but he's also dead, and he's also immortal.'"

So what I'm saying is that Priestdaddy is perhaps a book for a certain type of reader.

The type who enjoys a madcap romp through the delightful peculiarities of family life. 

The type who delights in words that swashbuckle and pirouette across the page, behaving in ways that have never before been attempted. 

The type who adores a metaphor, the more outrageous and inventive, the better. 

The type who is not afraid to stare into the eyes of the church and see it for what it is.

The type who is willing to sober up now and again to consider some remarkably hard truths, like rape, child abuse, and the patriarchy.  

“This is about the moment when I walked into the house, and [my parents] were there, as they had always been there, as they would not always be. This is about how happy they were when they saw me, how the sun rose in their faces, how it was another day.”

Priestdaddy is a book for the type of reader who wouldn't mind watching those besotted chimps squeak out "There are some who call me... Tim"and collapse on the floor in merriment. 

And I feel most fortunate to be one of them. 

* * * * *

Hey! Wanna read more about the books I've read in 2022? Check these out:

Conversations With Friends

Priestdaddy

Station Eleven and The Glass Hotel

The Vanishing Half

Untamed

The Paper Palace

Three Wishes

Crying In H Mart

Prodigal Summer

The Pull Of The Moon

Unsheltered and The Bean Trees

* * * * *

For a full list of books I've read in the past few years, click here:

2022

2021

2020