I make lists about everything.
There is a comfort in order, though I am probably one of the most disorganized people I know. Maybe that’s why I make lists.
I even created and moderate an online bookgroup called: wait for it……..........LISTERS (if you’re interested in joining, visit Yahoo Groups and search for LISTers or visit: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LISTers/ and click JOIN GROUP ). We share our monthly reads, as well as answer and post questions about reading in general. It’s fascinating stuff, to me, anyway.
So recently I found some old diaries/journals which contain some lists as well. The boys that I liked (back in February of 1977) were (first names only to protect the….........................................well, to save me from embarrassment)
Jeff
Jeff
Brian
Dave
Mike
Barry
I must confess that I don’t even recognize one of the last names of one of the Jeffs, and who the hell is Barry Katzman, and of these 6 guys, only one ‘liked me back’, while the others continued to not know I existed. I do remember thinking that making a list would somehow increase my odds. I guess one out of six isn’t that bad.
I keep a running database (list) of how many books I read each month, and rate them out of 5, AND keep track of how many I’ve read so far this year. For example:
OCTOBER 2009
Homer and Langely - E.L. Doctorow 4.25
The Cellist of Sarajevo - Steven Galloway 4.5
Day After Night - Anita Diamant 4.25
Under this Unbroken Sky - Shandi Mitchell 4.5
The Specials - Scott Westerfeld 4.25
NOVEMBER 2009
Her Fearful Symmetry - Audrey Niffenegger 4.5
Have a Little Faith - Mitch Albom 4.25
The Gates - John Connelly 4.25
Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet - Jamie Ford 4.5
53 to date (that’s how many I’ve read since January 1, for those that need to know!)
I make grocery lists, which I forget to take with me, but commit to memory (yeah, so THAT’S why I have so many jars of sliced red pepper, and still no capers)!
My favorite reads of the year (so far) I try and come up with the ‘top ten’ every year. Here’s what I have so far:
Sarah's Key - Tatiani De Rosnay 4.75
Inkheart - Cornelia Funke 4.5
Cutting for Stone - Abraham Verghese 4.75
still Alice - Lisa Genova 4.75
Nov. 22, 1963 - Adam Braver 4.5
Columbine - Dave Cullen 4.75
The Angel’s Game – Carlos Ruiz Zafon 4.75
The Hunger Games- Suzanne Collins 5
Catching Fire - Suzanne Collins 5
The Cellist of Sarajevo - Steven Galloway 4.5
My favorite reads of all time (subject to change)
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn – Betty Smith
Valley of the Dolls – Jacqueline Susann
A Stone for Danny Fisher – Harold Robbins
Katherine – Anya Seton
The Miracle Worker – William Gibson
A Fine Balance – Rohinton Mistry
Fugitive Pieces – Anne Michaels
The Crimson Petal and the White – Michel Faber
The Way the Crow Flies – Ann Marie MacDonald
Maus – Art Spiegelman
We Need to Talk About Kevin – Lionel Shriver
The Night Listener – Armistead Maupin
These books fit my ‘perfect five’ rating, which translates into:
Would (and could) reread again (and again), learnt ‘something’, related strongly to the characters and/or story, remarkable storytelling, powerful
I remember quite vividly reading a book by Irving Wallace entitled The Fan Club, in which four friends kidnap a movie star. The only specifics I remember about the story was that the movie star made a ‘list’ of items she wanted her ‘fans/kidnappers’ to purchase for her. Two things on the list stuck out. Variety magazine and Cabochard by Madame Gres perfume. I was probably only 15 at the time, but I do remember ‘deciding’ that ‘that’ would be ‘my’ signature scent and bought it and wore it for years.
How ‘bout songs with lists:
50 Ways To Leave Your Lover
1. Slip out the back
2. Make a new plan
3. Hop on the bus
4. Drop off the Key
5. Set yourself free
Steve Miller describes himself as
a picker, a grinner, a lover, a sinner, a Joker, a smoker and a midnight toker.
My Favorite Things by Rodgers and Hammerstein,
brown paper packages tied up with string!
We Didn't Start The Fire - Billy Joel
Life is a Rock, but the radio rolled me
B.B. Bumble and the Stingers, Mott the Hoople, Ray Charles Singers
Lonnie Mack and twangin' Eddy, here's my ring we're goin' steady
Take it easy, take me higher, liar liar, house on fire
Locomotion, Poco, Passion, Deeper Purple, Satisfaction
Baby baby gotta gotta gimme gimme gettin' hotter
And so on, and so on.
Making lists makes me happy. I can count on one hand the number of times….................…oops, there I go again.
20.11.09
19.11.09
Dog Daze (days)
I miss my dog.
I had one of those weeks where everything and everyone stressed me out so much; I didn’t and couldn’t talk about it. What I needed most was to wrap my arms around the thick neck of my dog, Coltrane, and bury my face into his soft and wiry fur. He would have let me hold him for as long as I needed, and then would have pulled back and stared at me, as if to say, ‘there, there, it’s okay’. Eventually he would have yawned in my face and I would have reluctantly inhaled his stinky dog breath, and then he would trot off in search of his teddy bear and hope that a good game of ‘throw the bear’ would make it all alright.
I’m not really a dog person. I mean, I didn’t grow up with a dog (or any pets for that matter – the toads that escaped from my older brother’s clutches and are fossilized somewhere in my parents house, don’t count!), and if truth be told, was afraid of those furry four legged animals. The schnauzer that lived next door was a frenzied barker that had a heart condition and didn’t seem to like kids (and people) all that much. The neighbor across the street had a ‘hotdog’dog that bit my younger brother on his wrist and drew blood. Their next door neighbor had a few dogs, all with the same name (when they passed on, they just got another and called it the same). So you can see how I wouldn’t be enamored with the idea of owning a dog of my own.
After being married a few years, my husband suggested we get a dog, though not just any dog, but something unique and different. I was skeptical but open to the idea, as long as ‘my fears’ could be addressed. I was adamant that I didn’t want a dog with a long snout (a la Lassie) or any breed that could bare its teeth (being a reader, I had nightmares about Old Yeller for years!) He did his research and decided that a Chinese Shar Pei was the perfect dog for us; located a breeder just a few hours away and made an appointment to go check out the puppies.
We were greeted by a bunch (it felt like hundreds) of jumping, squealing, nipping, adorable pups, in all colors. I used my body language (tense and frozen) to try and convey to my husband my lack of interest (and fear), though he was deep in conversation with the breeder negotiating prices. Just then, I noticed a pup that seemed to be moving in slow motion towards me. He was cool, black and non threatening, and looked like a baby version of King Kong. Since we had already decided on his name (Coltrane, after John Coltrane, the late great black jazz sax player), I smiled and thought, “Ok, this I can deal with”. I motioned to Howie that ‘this was the one’.
Fast forward through the years. Coly became everything and more. He was our best friend, protector and guardian and didn’t know he was a dog. Truly. He looked intimidating, with his muscular build, thick jowls and black ‘skin’, but in truth, he was afraid of most things. He wouldn’t enter a bathroom, but would ‘stretch’ his head in, to repeatedly lick my son’s shoulder raw, while I was towel drying him from a shower.
He would go outside, reluctantly, to do his ‘business’ (though not in rain and when it snowed, Howie had to dig a maze-like trench, as Coly got ‘stuck’ the first time he ventured out and seemed to remember that.
Other dogs were confused by him. He’d stand there, wagging that curly twisted tail of his as dog after dog approached him, sniffed, lifted a wary eyebrow, and then usually bit him.
After 13 years, he showed signs of age. The ‘puppy power’ had long faded, along with the rich black ‘coat’, now faded to grey. Just like one of my favorite childhood stories, The Velveteen Rabbit, he was so loved, how he looked was inconsequential. We should all age as he did – the multitude of wrinkles that framed his face and shoulders, softened and straightened.
He stopped eating and it was obvious that his time with us was drawing to an end.
He was riddled with cancer, exhausted and ready, though we were not ready to say goodbye. As we prepared to ‘put him down’, he summoned up one last burst of ‘puppy power’ and said his goodbyes. I believe he knew. My husband held him as he took his last breath and then, like air being released from a balloon, he was no more.
That was more than 8 years ago.
Reading books such as Marley and Me, and more recently, The Art of Racing in the Rain, remind me of the special moments we shared, and how much I miss him.
I had one of those weeks where everything and everyone stressed me out so much; I didn’t and couldn’t talk about it. What I needed most was to wrap my arms around the thick neck of my dog, Coltrane, and bury my face into his soft and wiry fur. He would have let me hold him for as long as I needed, and then would have pulled back and stared at me, as if to say, ‘there, there, it’s okay’. Eventually he would have yawned in my face and I would have reluctantly inhaled his stinky dog breath, and then he would trot off in search of his teddy bear and hope that a good game of ‘throw the bear’ would make it all alright.
I’m not really a dog person. I mean, I didn’t grow up with a dog (or any pets for that matter – the toads that escaped from my older brother’s clutches and are fossilized somewhere in my parents house, don’t count!), and if truth be told, was afraid of those furry four legged animals. The schnauzer that lived next door was a frenzied barker that had a heart condition and didn’t seem to like kids (and people) all that much. The neighbor across the street had a ‘hotdog’dog that bit my younger brother on his wrist and drew blood. Their next door neighbor had a few dogs, all with the same name (when they passed on, they just got another and called it the same). So you can see how I wouldn’t be enamored with the idea of owning a dog of my own.
After being married a few years, my husband suggested we get a dog, though not just any dog, but something unique and different. I was skeptical but open to the idea, as long as ‘my fears’ could be addressed. I was adamant that I didn’t want a dog with a long snout (a la Lassie) or any breed that could bare its teeth (being a reader, I had nightmares about Old Yeller for years!) He did his research and decided that a Chinese Shar Pei was the perfect dog for us; located a breeder just a few hours away and made an appointment to go check out the puppies.
We were greeted by a bunch (it felt like hundreds) of jumping, squealing, nipping, adorable pups, in all colors. I used my body language (tense and frozen) to try and convey to my husband my lack of interest (and fear), though he was deep in conversation with the breeder negotiating prices. Just then, I noticed a pup that seemed to be moving in slow motion towards me. He was cool, black and non threatening, and looked like a baby version of King Kong. Since we had already decided on his name (Coltrane, after John Coltrane, the late great black jazz sax player), I smiled and thought, “Ok, this I can deal with”. I motioned to Howie that ‘this was the one’.
Fast forward through the years. Coly became everything and more. He was our best friend, protector and guardian and didn’t know he was a dog. Truly. He looked intimidating, with his muscular build, thick jowls and black ‘skin’, but in truth, he was afraid of most things. He wouldn’t enter a bathroom, but would ‘stretch’ his head in, to repeatedly lick my son’s shoulder raw, while I was towel drying him from a shower.
He would go outside, reluctantly, to do his ‘business’ (though not in rain and when it snowed, Howie had to dig a maze-like trench, as Coly got ‘stuck’ the first time he ventured out and seemed to remember that.
Other dogs were confused by him. He’d stand there, wagging that curly twisted tail of his as dog after dog approached him, sniffed, lifted a wary eyebrow, and then usually bit him.
After 13 years, he showed signs of age. The ‘puppy power’ had long faded, along with the rich black ‘coat’, now faded to grey. Just like one of my favorite childhood stories, The Velveteen Rabbit, he was so loved, how he looked was inconsequential. We should all age as he did – the multitude of wrinkles that framed his face and shoulders, softened and straightened.
He stopped eating and it was obvious that his time with us was drawing to an end.
He was riddled with cancer, exhausted and ready, though we were not ready to say goodbye. As we prepared to ‘put him down’, he summoned up one last burst of ‘puppy power’ and said his goodbyes. I believe he knew. My husband held him as he took his last breath and then, like air being released from a balloon, he was no more.
That was more than 8 years ago.
Reading books such as Marley and Me, and more recently, The Art of Racing in the Rain, remind me of the special moments we shared, and how much I miss him.
17.11.09
If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with: YOURSELF
I don’t know about you, but I’m a caretaker at heart. I couldn’t wait to grow up and be a wife and mommy, and ‘take care’ of my family. Being the avid reader that I was, I easily taught myself to cook (hey, a cookbook is a book, and if it’s a book, I’ll read it) and enjoyed creating the family favorites and staples. Sadly I never did discover any books on house cleaning, so I developed an ‘I’ll cook and you clean’ system with my husband, that works (for me, anyway).
In the course of all this caretaking, I’ve recently discovered the joy of cooking FOR ONE! The one, being ME.
I’ve started taking a lunch break at work – literary. Picking myself up and leaving the office for a good half hour or so, driving to a secluded area (or the nearest Loblaws parking lot), rolling down the windows to let the Fall breeze in, cracking open the spine of my latest ‘read’, and unpacking my lunchbag!
Who knew (or bothered to put thought into) just how good lunch could be? After years of cutting crusts, handwritten notes and special snacks for my kids, why not do something special for myself as well?
There is an extravagant luxury in making lunch for one. Firstly, no one need know that I enjoy luncheon meats (mortadella, genoa salami, prosciutto – bring on the salty meats!) on their own – no fancy breads or rolls for me. Today I brought a small package of salami, along with some organic yellow baby carrots, a bunch of radishes, and a ‘tupperware’ container of cubed tomatoes, cukes and fresh parsley, drizzled with lemon juice and sea salt and pepper. For ‘dessert’, a small container of rice pudding and a ‘100 calorie’ package of honey graham crackers.
Besides being healthier (let’s ignore the sodium levels in the luncheon meat, please!), it makes me feel special to take the time to plan and create something just for ‘me’. I don’t have to worry about someone else’s likes or dislikes and if I want to eat a stinky can of sardines (hmmmm….maybe tomorrow’s lunch?) I will and I can. Leftover cold chicken and rice – bring it on!
So my point is, don’t forget about yourself. It’s wonderful to take care of others, but take care of yourself too. Buy yourself a fancy (and inexpensive) insulated lunchbag and water bottle. I’m already envisioning the winter months where I can curl up in my car, with my book, and enjoy a thermo of white chicken chili (recipe available, if you’re interested), or leftover mac and cheese.
In the course of all this caretaking, I’ve recently discovered the joy of cooking FOR ONE! The one, being ME.
I’ve started taking a lunch break at work – literary. Picking myself up and leaving the office for a good half hour or so, driving to a secluded area (or the nearest Loblaws parking lot), rolling down the windows to let the Fall breeze in, cracking open the spine of my latest ‘read’, and unpacking my lunchbag!
Who knew (or bothered to put thought into) just how good lunch could be? After years of cutting crusts, handwritten notes and special snacks for my kids, why not do something special for myself as well?
There is an extravagant luxury in making lunch for one. Firstly, no one need know that I enjoy luncheon meats (mortadella, genoa salami, prosciutto – bring on the salty meats!) on their own – no fancy breads or rolls for me. Today I brought a small package of salami, along with some organic yellow baby carrots, a bunch of radishes, and a ‘tupperware’ container of cubed tomatoes, cukes and fresh parsley, drizzled with lemon juice and sea salt and pepper. For ‘dessert’, a small container of rice pudding and a ‘100 calorie’ package of honey graham crackers.
Besides being healthier (let’s ignore the sodium levels in the luncheon meat, please!), it makes me feel special to take the time to plan and create something just for ‘me’. I don’t have to worry about someone else’s likes or dislikes and if I want to eat a stinky can of sardines (hmmmm….maybe tomorrow’s lunch?) I will and I can. Leftover cold chicken and rice – bring it on!
So my point is, don’t forget about yourself. It’s wonderful to take care of others, but take care of yourself too. Buy yourself a fancy (and inexpensive) insulated lunchbag and water bottle. I’m already envisioning the winter months where I can curl up in my car, with my book, and enjoy a thermo of white chicken chili (recipe available, if you’re interested), or leftover mac and cheese.
16.11.09
To Have and Have Not!
My name is Karen and I am a biblioholic.
According to Biblioholism, the Literary Addiction by Tom Raabe, the definition is:
Book, of books; the habitual longing to purchase, read, store, admire and consume books in excess.
Guilty as charged.
I own hundreds (if not more) of unread books, that at one time or another, I ‘had’ to have, and no amount of library reserves, garage sale finds or recent purchases could quench my desire to ‘have it and have it now’.
I’ve maxed out my ’50 book limit’ on my library’s website, and have a ready list of ‘next in lines’ waiting patiently (actually, impatiently) their turn to be added on. Most of the books I bring home from the library return unread, sometimes to be reserved again, usually not. It’s ALMOST as good as reading the book, just knowing that I have ‘had’ it, held it, and debated about reading it.
I go in spurts where I must read everything I can on Henry VIII and I stalk the discount shelves at my local bookstore as well as peruse the shelves at any and all used bookstores. Then there is my recent YA (young adult) addiction, probably starting with the Twilight series (devoured all 4 books) and moving onto Inkheart (I own the next two in the series but have yet to read them, but at least I ‘have’ them),and The Pretties series (almost finished with the final one, that I ‘have’ and is waiting it’s turn to be read). I had heard about The Hunger Games this past summer and knew I had to have it and read it, and then fumed impatiently for September 1st to roll around when the 2nd in the series, Catching Fire was released. I ran to the bookstore THAT DAY and bought it. Brought it home, held it, read the inside flap, the first page, and then put it away for a few weeks.
One of my biggest fears is that I’ll have nothing to read, and so I have a ‘car’ book (usually a short story collection, self help/spiritual, or memoir), up and downstairs books, bathroom books and of course, the ‘saved’ BFBs (big fat books) or desert island books. I have had some of these for years. They are special books. I’m ‘saving’ them for just the ‘right time’. Every now and then I dip in and ‘taste’ one, and decide that ‘now’ is not the right time to invest my time.
Some of the ‘must own’ and ‘scoured the city’ for BFBs that I own (and probably will never read, though every year I ‘vow’ and make ‘reading lists/goals’ and include them, are:
Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset, a massive tome, at over 1000 pages. The author won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1928 and some consider one of the best books ever written.
Yeah, I’ve owned it for about 5 years now.
The Far Pavillions by M.M. Kaye, just under 1000 pages. I adore Indian themed novels, and this is supposedly one of the ‘good ones’ as well.
Owned for at least 5 years too.
I’m also one of ‘those people’ that you either abhor or love, that will approach you (you, being a complete stranger) in a bookstore, peer over your shoulder at the (hopefully) stack of books in your hands, and comment. I’ve been known to ‘walk the shelves’ with many a stranger and friend, recommending and insisting ‘you must read this!’.
I love being asked to recommend something, though I need specifics. I mean, you don’t expect a dietician to tell you what to eat just because you say you’re hungry.
What are you in the mood for? Sweet? Spicy?
I might not have the same tastes as you, but I love a challenge.
Tell me your 5 favorite reads of all time (oh just do it!) and/or the last few amazing books you read, and what’s important to YOU as a reader, (not everyone likes/needs a happy ending, poetic writing, or likeable characters).
By the way, some of the signs that YOU TOO are a biblioholic:
1. you own more than one copy of the same book (NOT on purpose)
2. there are books in every room of your home (or at least the rooms that YOU occupy)
3. your idea of an exciting event is an author reading AND signing
4. you’re wondering if Biblioholism, the Literary Addiction really is a book and if so, how quickly can you get your hands on it! (hint: click on the link!
My name is Karen, and I’m a biblioholic and I’m okay with that.
According to Biblioholism, the Literary Addiction by Tom Raabe, the definition is:
Book, of books; the habitual longing to purchase, read, store, admire and consume books in excess.
Guilty as charged.
I own hundreds (if not more) of unread books, that at one time or another, I ‘had’ to have, and no amount of library reserves, garage sale finds or recent purchases could quench my desire to ‘have it and have it now’.
I’ve maxed out my ’50 book limit’ on my library’s website, and have a ready list of ‘next in lines’ waiting patiently (actually, impatiently) their turn to be added on. Most of the books I bring home from the library return unread, sometimes to be reserved again, usually not. It’s ALMOST as good as reading the book, just knowing that I have ‘had’ it, held it, and debated about reading it.
I go in spurts where I must read everything I can on Henry VIII and I stalk the discount shelves at my local bookstore as well as peruse the shelves at any and all used bookstores. Then there is my recent YA (young adult) addiction, probably starting with the Twilight series (devoured all 4 books) and moving onto Inkheart (I own the next two in the series but have yet to read them, but at least I ‘have’ them),and The Pretties series (almost finished with the final one, that I ‘have’ and is waiting it’s turn to be read). I had heard about The Hunger Games this past summer and knew I had to have it and read it, and then fumed impatiently for September 1st to roll around when the 2nd in the series, Catching Fire was released. I ran to the bookstore THAT DAY and bought it. Brought it home, held it, read the inside flap, the first page, and then put it away for a few weeks.
One of my biggest fears is that I’ll have nothing to read, and so I have a ‘car’ book (usually a short story collection, self help/spiritual, or memoir), up and downstairs books, bathroom books and of course, the ‘saved’ BFBs (big fat books) or desert island books. I have had some of these for years. They are special books. I’m ‘saving’ them for just the ‘right time’. Every now and then I dip in and ‘taste’ one, and decide that ‘now’ is not the right time to invest my time.
Some of the ‘must own’ and ‘scoured the city’ for BFBs that I own (and probably will never read, though every year I ‘vow’ and make ‘reading lists/goals’ and include them, are:
Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset, a massive tome, at over 1000 pages. The author won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1928 and some consider one of the best books ever written.
Yeah, I’ve owned it for about 5 years now.
The Far Pavillions by M.M. Kaye, just under 1000 pages. I adore Indian themed novels, and this is supposedly one of the ‘good ones’ as well.
Owned for at least 5 years too.
I’m also one of ‘those people’ that you either abhor or love, that will approach you (you, being a complete stranger) in a bookstore, peer over your shoulder at the (hopefully) stack of books in your hands, and comment. I’ve been known to ‘walk the shelves’ with many a stranger and friend, recommending and insisting ‘you must read this!’.
I love being asked to recommend something, though I need specifics. I mean, you don’t expect a dietician to tell you what to eat just because you say you’re hungry.
What are you in the mood for? Sweet? Spicy?
I might not have the same tastes as you, but I love a challenge.
Tell me your 5 favorite reads of all time (oh just do it!) and/or the last few amazing books you read, and what’s important to YOU as a reader, (not everyone likes/needs a happy ending, poetic writing, or likeable characters).
By the way, some of the signs that YOU TOO are a biblioholic:
1. you own more than one copy of the same book (NOT on purpose)
2. there are books in every room of your home (or at least the rooms that YOU occupy)
3. your idea of an exciting event is an author reading AND signing
4. you’re wondering if Biblioholism, the Literary Addiction really is a book and if so, how quickly can you get your hands on it! (hint: click on the link!
My name is Karen, and I’m a biblioholic and I’m okay with that.
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