Reading | Station Eleven and The Glass Hotel

Station Eleven | Emily St. John Mandel

The Glass Hotel | Emily St. John Mandel

In Station Eleven, a lethal virus has decimated the global population and the world as we know it today has collapsed. Small bands of survivors roam deserted countryside; the story follows an itinerant band of Shakespearean actors and symphonic musicians knows as The Travelling Symphony as they travel  what was once western Michigan, fleeing the wrath of a local cult leader known as the Prophet. 

The Glass House tells the story of a different sort of collapse. After decades of lies and lavish spending, a financial investor's massive Ponzi scheme comes crashing to the ground. The  consequences of the collapse ripple out from his life to his staff, his family, his investors and the effects are catastrophic, particularly for his partner, Vincent, whose life takes a wholly unexpected turn. 

Both stories are deftly woven, skipping back and forth across multiple time lines, following a handful of different protagonists, and using several motifs in common: the mysterious and unseen world of the shipping industry, graphic novels, what it means to make art, young women who meet rich older men and experience a rags-to-riches-to-rags chain of events. Even more intriguing, the author uses several of the same characters in both novels, exploring what might have happened in their lives if circumstances had been different. 

Mandel's work is layered and rich, elegant and not to be hurried through. satisfying but not necessarily sweet. In the end, her stories and characters may be about resilience, as much as anything else, and that ensures their enduring beauty. 

* * * * *

Did I love reading Station Eleven and The Glass Hotel? Yes, absolutely. Here's why:

Emily St. John Mandel sets her stories in beautiful parts of the world - Vancouver Island, New York City, Toronto, and the shores of Lake Michigan, to name a few - that resonate with me. And she deftly uses her settings to enhance the mood of the story, alternating between remote wilderness and world-class cities with great success. 

“I've always had a weakness for places where it seems like time slows down.” - The Glass Hotel

Her plots skip about - using different timelines, shifting locations, and changing from one protagonist to the next - in a way that keeps me on the edge of my seat and draws me deeper into the story. 

She links ideas from one book to the next, apparently because she finds those concepts  - such as the real-life "ghost fleet" of shipping vessels abandoned off the coast of Malaysia - so interesting that they apparently bob about in her brain and insert themselves into her imagination over and over again as she writes. And the happy coincidence is that much of what fascinates her fascinates me too. 

“A memory, but it's a memory so vivid that there's a feeling of time travel, of visiting the actual moment.” - The Glass Hotel

I love Mandel's explorations of "the counter life;" that is, what might happen in a person's life if they made different choices, if circumstances were different. Sometimes these alternate pathways are explored within a single character - a man serving life in prison develops a rich fantasy of himself living free - or by transporting characters from one book to another, where they find a different destiny. And playfully, Mandel experiments with ghosts as another way to explore what might have been. I am here for all of it.  

“I stood looking over my damaged home and tried to forget the sweetness of life on Earth.” - Station Eleven

I'm fascinated by the concept of collapse, and the accompanying shock that one would feel when suddenly finding oneself in a whole new world. Station Eleven features global collapse, as 99.99% of the world's population dies off in a snap; The Glass Hotel tells a story of financial collapse that affects hundreds of investors whose considerable life savings are wiped out overnight. 

“Dr. Eleven: What was it like for you, at the end?
Captain Lonagan: It was exactly like waking up from a dream.” 

- Station Eleven

But on a smaller scale, Mandel experiments with personal collapses, like drug addiction, prison sentences, failed marriages, and death. In doing so, her writings remind me what a miracle it is to wake up every morning and face a world that I know and understand. Her books make me grateful for my life; what a wonderful gift. 

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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

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

2022

2021

2020

Joanna's Caregiving Team

 "I do believe we're all connected. 

I do believe in positive energy. 

I do believe in the power of prayer. 

I do believe in putting good out into the world. 

And I believe in taking care of each other."

-Harvey Fierstein

My mom and me, at the beginning.

As human beings, we all know what it’s like to worry about our parents’ well-being as they age. Particularly unnerving are the concerns that dementia may one day make them unable to care for themselves. And then, we worry one step further, the day may come when even our help is not enough to keep them safe. Who will we turn to, we wonder, when we need help?

For some of us, these concerns become a reality and the day does indeed come when we find ourselves in desperate need of help.

For me, that day came on a rainy October morning at the Detroit airport car rental return. I was about to board a plane flying me back home to Seattle, but from the week we’d just spent together, I knew my mom could not possibly care for herself any longer. Not one more day.

Raindrops beat on the windshield as I fought back tears and struggled to find options. Suddenly I remembered the handful of flyers from dementia care specialists that my mom’s doctor had handed me a few days earlier, still folded and tucked into my purse. I pulled them out, picked up my phone, and called the first name I saw: Joanna LeFleur at Memory Lane Assisted Living. 

And that was the moment when everything changed.

Joanna listened to my fumbled attempts to explain my mother’s desperate need, and then she calmly and confidently moved into action. That very same afternoon, by the time my plane landed in Seattle, my mom was already in Joanna’s competent care.

Dementia, as it so often does, had changed my mother’s temperament. As the disease progressed, her easy-going intelligence and dry wit gave way to bouts of negativity and bad temper. To be honest, most of her friends and family did not understand how to deal with Mom’s changing behavior so they spent less time with her. My mom noticed their absence, and over the years had become understandably hurt and undeniably lonely.

But Joanna’s staff understood dementia. Thanks to the training they received at Memory Lane, they knew how to work past Mom’s symptoms and connect with her true self. They offered my mom endless activities to celebrate everyday life and opportunities to engage with others, and when my mom stubbornly declined them, as she often did, her caregivers graciously changed gears. With Memory Lane's incredibly generous 1:3 staffing ratios, Joanna’s team was able to pivot and spend time talking one-on-one with my mom, as a friend would do. In fact, Joanna’s staff became my mom’s friends; they valued my mom as a human being, and they showed her genuine compassion and care. Mom's rough edges softened as she felt respected and loved. 

As I look back on the dark and difficult years that my mom spent living with dementia, her time with Joanna at Memory Lane, and especially with Joanna’s staff, were bright and shining moments in the darkness. Joanna and her caregiving team provided exactly the help I so desperately needed on that rainy day when I sat in my rental car and cried.

* * * *

I have deep respect and compassion for the beautiful human beings who learn to care for those who struggle with dementia - our parents, our elders. If you live in the Ann Arbor/Ypsilanti area and would like to make a real and meaningful difference in the world today, please consider joining Joanna's caregiving team; you can give her a call, just as I did, at Memory Lane Assisted Living, 734-707-4039.

Just Chillin'

"For millions of Americans, climate change is no longer just a chart or a graph. 

It's the smoke on our tongues from massive wildfires. 

It's the floodwater invading our homes and record-breaking hurricanes and heat waves." 

- Jay Inslee

^ Sirius spent most of the day today just chillin' on this couch. 

With a box fan set to high angled into the room, he was one cool kitty. 

This week, it's our turn here in the Pacific Northwest for an ungodly heatwave, and while 32°C / 90°F temperatures don't necessarily register as crazy hot in many parts of the world, it's a lot hotter than what we soggy forest dwellers are used to.

And our pets.

As we ease into the burning flames of hell, I'm well prepared to minimize our human discomfort - the box fans are humming, window shades are rolled down, and our dinner menus feature light, fresh, and cool meals. My confidence in our ability to ease through the week is high.

Of greater concern to me are my pets. 

What with their full-body fur coats and limited ability to serve themselves a popsicle, my pets benefit from a little extra help to get through these hot days. Here are my top strategies for keeping my pet squad safe and comfy in the heat. 

Stay inside in the heat of the day

Clever creatures, we've already noticed that our pets are switching up their usual habits in the out of doors, and all of them are choosing to spend much more time inside the house during the hot hours of the day. Not only does this give them a break from the searing heat of direct sunlight, it also allows us to keep a better eye out for any signs of heat-related distress. Win/win.

Take them out at night

We're also encouraging our pets to enjoy the great outdoors during the cooler hours of the day. I've shifted Gracie's walk time from late afternoon to early evening - we headed out today around 6:30 p.m.- and at that hour, the temperature had already dropped down to a (slightly) more reasonable level. The kitties are choosing to go outdoors around sundown, which is not their usual jam, and simply lounge by the back door for an hour or two, enjoying evening settling in. 

Keep the water coming. 

Because my cats spend a lot of time outdoors in the summer, and Gracie drinks like a crazed camel, keeping them supplied with fresh water is always on my mind. We've got several big bowls and pots of water here and there around the yard, and of course, there's Gracie's swimming pool. Rather than following my usual habit of freshening up the watering holes every morning, during these scorchers, I check back every couple hours all day long to refill each receptacle with cool water and whenever possible, move it out of the sun and into a shady spot. When I'm feeling particularly doting, I add ice.

Watch for signs of distress.

If the worst should happen, and one of my pets got overheated, the symptoms might range from excessive panting and difficulty breathing to heavy drooling, weakness, and ugh, collapse. Let's hope it never comes to that, but we stay alert to their behavior, and have an emergency plan to drape any distressed pup or kitten with a cool, water-soaked towel. 

* * * * *

This heat wave won't last long. Today was expected to be the worst of it; we have highs in the high 20s/80s for the next five days, we will soon enough be dropping back into our more typical summer weather. Look for my post on how I protect my pets from hypothermia, coming soon. 

On A Summer Evening

"Take care of all your memories. For you cannot relive them." -Bob Dylan

^ Don't worry, Mom. I only leave them out in the grass like this when the weather is perfectly clear. At the first hint of rain, I tuck them up under the eaves, just like you used to do.

Tonight, I am washing the dinner dishes when I glance out my kitchen window and see them. In an instant, years - decades! - fly away and I find myself in two places at once.

* * * * * 

First of all, I am at my mom's home. My childhood home. On a lake in southeastern Michigan. It's a  summer evening and we are out on the back deck where my mom is serving dinner to my own daughters. 

This is one of the mountaintop moments of my mom's life as a grandma. She absolutely loves feeding my girls and proudly serves them happy, healthy, home-cooked picnic dinners. And despite all the disconnects and crossed wires that complicate my own relationship with my mom, this is one part I get right: I know that my role is to step back and let my mom run the show, deciding who would sit where, serving up their plates, keeping up a running dialog of happy chatter, and in all ways, making the most of every moment of our time at her house. 

On a summer evening like this, I sit in the midst of the happy chaos, munching my own ear of sweet corn, perhaps helping to mop up the occasional spilled glass of lemonade, but otherwise letting my mom orchestrate this moment as I look on from the comfort of one of her favorite green and white striped director's chairs.

* * * * * 

At the same time, I am at my house in Seattle, and my mom has come to visit me. She comes often when the girls are young, and always spend at least a week with us during her fifth-grade teacher summer vacations. I often joke that my mom really comes just to visit the girls and in some ways, that is true. Every waking moment of her days are spent playing with them, weaving her own imaginative ideas into their endless games, chasing them around the backyard, or exploring the gardens with them. 

On a summer evening like this, I stand at my kitchen window with my hands in the soapy suds and watch them in the backyard, dashing here and there around the grassy lawn, with our rock wall in the background and flowers towering overhead. And I marvel at the playful, lighthearted spirit my mom has found as a grandmother. This is my mom at her best. 

* * * * *

Tonight, on a summer evening many years later, my hands swish a dish through the warm water as my eyes settle upon my mom's favorite green and white striped director's chairs, now nestled against the rock wall and flower bed in my quiet backyard, and those two lovely but entirely separate memories merge into one.

On this summer evening, I feel a tremendous surge of nostalgia, and an ache in my throat for all seasons of life that have gone whistling by, much faster than we can ever expect. And I feel my mother's presence very close indeed. 

When I Eat A Bagel

"There's no sincerer love than the love of food." -George Bernard Shaw

I don't eat many bagels but when I do, I go hard.

Give me a basic Everything bagel - I appreciate a finely crafted bagel but I'll happily settle for a grocery store version. And, you know, if I'm really roughing it, I can make do with a plain bagel topped with Everything seasoning from TJs. The add-on seasoning is a tad saltier than I like but, as I said, in a pinch I can make it work.

What is essential for my bagel happiness is a one-two punch of dairy. First, butter. Chunks from a cold stick of  sweet creamy butter, straight from the fridge. No, cold butter won't spread as nicely as room temperature, which I also have at my disposal. But when those cold chunks of butter hit that toasted bagel - did I mention that I toast my bagels? I do! - the warm bread melts some but not all of the butter. That mix of warm and cold is crucial to my bagel happiness index. 

And now, quickly, before the butter melts completely, I slather on a generous layer of cream cheese. By cream cheese, I mean basic, unflavored Philadephia and while I'm not adverse to the whipped kind, what I really like is to cut fat wedges from an old school block of cream cheese. There's something profoundly satisfying in peeling back that weirdly textured foil and sliding my table knife - probably still dripping with butter - into that soft white rectangle of goodness. I smother the bagel and melting butter chunks with a thick layer of the cream cheese, working quickly because this entire process is a race against time with that cold/hot butter situation. No need to fuss over my knife work because the entire concoction tastes best when it's a bit lumpy and uneven.

Quick. I lay down the knife, lean over the plate, and sink my teeth into this crunchy, creamy, spicy, smooth, warm, cold slice of heaven. Take big bites, in order to get a nice combo of butter and cream cheese in every bite. Savor every morsel, but work fast because this delicate balance of deliciousness will not last long.

And when every bite is gone, I lick my fingers, groan with satisfaction, and thank my lucky stars that every now and then, I eat a bagel.

Saturday Morning Is A Mood

"Let sleeping dogs lie." -Unknown but also Gracie

Oof. Once again, I've struggled through a long, stressful, sleep-deprived week.

But baby, the weekend is finally here! And as usual, I am celebrating with a proper Saturday morning lie in.

My new linen quilt is perfect for summer sleeping; it keeps me comfy cozy with just the right amount of heft, if you know what I mean. But it's lightweight and soft; combined with an old school flat sheet and my generous red coat, I stay snug but not sweltering all through the night. 

Love my new gingham pillow covers from Poppy and Honesty. Let's be honest - they were a splurge. But the fabric is the softest linen and the style is called Sweets Wrapper because the ruffles on the ends make my pillows look like bits of wrapped candy. Don't you love how that yellow check sets off the golden highlights in my flowing mane?

I am a huge fan of a double pillow situation, as I sleep best when I'm properly propped up. I prefer a simple white linen pillow cover for my second layer of pillow, and when I'm truly living my best life,  I take control of all four pillows to snuggle up in a cozy nest.

Have I mentioned that I'm a fan of a bedside fan? Mmm, the low setting keeps the air moving softly over me as I sleep, and I like to keep an arm out of the covers to enjoy that gentle soothing sensation as my furry tufts dance in the breeze. My super sensitive ears fill with the pure joy of white noise as the whirring blades calm my mind and lull me into long, satisfying hours of deep sleep. 

Because on the weekends, I do my best to squeeze in as many extra winks as I can, knowing that come Monday, the rat race awaits me. Saturday morning is a sleepy, satisfying mood. 

* * * * *

Fact check: During the hours when humans are sleeping in this bed, Gracie does not. She snoozes in her chair in the corner of the room, or on the floor. But once the humans vacate the actual bed, she luxuriates like there's no tomorrow. 

linen quilt | garnet hill

 flat sheet | target

sweet wrapper pillow case | poppy and honesty

 linen pillow cover | garnet hill

box fan | the home depot

A Wonderful Day

“Things always get worse before they get better.” -Me

Hey, look! We are at the end of Day Two of the actual paining progress and things are coming along nicely.

The first floor of the front of the house has been painted; the second story dormers have not. This shot well illustrates that we have made no crazy radical color changes; the new color is a bit lighter and a bit creamier than the old tan-esque shade. My eyes are adjusting nicely to the change, which is a huge relief. I've never chosen a new house color before and have been fairly terrified that I would pick some innocuous shade with ugly undertones and live a life of regret forever after. 

But it looks like I'm going to be okay. 

However, this project is a long way from over, and I cropped hard to get this artificially calm and sweet shot. Before the guys left for the day, they'd pulled off some of the plastic drapes and drop clothes, and straightened up a bit. 

Here is the sad and ugly truth about how my house looked for most of the day today:

^ I call this look, "Postmodern Yard Sale." But also, doesn't the plastic draped over the climbing rose that's up against the house just to the right of the door look like a huge ghost? Ahh, it's all so spooooky!

^ Now let's direct our gaze over to the driveway so we can take in the glory of the work truck and the assortment of painting paraphernalia and lunch coolers heaped nearby. 

^ Oh, a close-up of the driveway, you say? Of course, I'm happy to provide. My poor cats are attempting to go about their daily outdoor activities but all the strange surfaces underfoot are freaking them out. 

^ More plastic shrouded bushes in the side yard - that's a ginormous hydrangea to the right of the open gate, and one of my oldest clematis vines lying in a heap on the ground. I'm accepting thoughts and prayers for their full recovery. 

^ And wouldn't you know that despite the chaos and uproar, the complete upending of all her normal routines, and the invasion of a fleet of men with noisy machines, Gracie is sailing through this project with not a single feather ruffled. In this shot, we've just returned from her walk and she knows that her dinner is waiting for her just inside the garage, and she's very happy for me to open the (hidden) side door and let her at it. 

I may have needed some deep breaths and calming mantras in order to push through the discombobulated mess that a project like this requires, but for Gracie, every day with a walk and a big bowl of kibble is just as wonderful as the next. 

* * * * *

Our humble home is in need of a face lift. Come follow along as we have her painted. 

House Painting

Paint Colors

Climbing Rose

A Wonderful Day