So Many Books.....so little time

Recently someone asked me what I do with 'all my books'. Someone else mentioned very casually that they read a book and then immediately lend it (insert give, as we all know that once we lend a book, we rarely see it returned, excepting of course, a very special friend of mine that not only reads and returns within a two week period, but sometimes brings a small gift as a thank you, as well as a 'quickie book discussion' on such borrowed tome).

I have 'tried' to 'let go' of my books, I really have. I just really like 'having' them. I get pleasure looking at their covers, being reminded of where/when I read a certain novel,collecting works by prolific authors (sometimes different versions of the same book too!), and of course, always having something on hand to read.

I do bring books to the Club where I work and donate them, as well as donate to my local library too (though I usually end up coming home with just as many from their library sale!).

As I sit here in my office, I look to the left and the right of me. Books are everywhere. On my desk, thrown into a laundry tub, stacked on the floor in piles, and the closet door slightly askew beckons to me, as it too is filled with my friends.

I have one small bookcase in my room after years of begging/wanting/needing one, that holds maybe 70 books. I agonized over just 'what' to put on 'display' and finally came up with:

top shelf - TBR (to be read) - of course I have many MANY more TBR, but these are the ones that I really 'want' to get to (I have YET to take ONE off that shelf, btw)

2nd shelf - favorites of all time, or books I really really liked (plus 'turned sidesways' - old 'paperbacks' from my past that I adored)

3rd shelf - historical/Tudor themed novels (yup, I have just that many!)

4th shelf - recently read and liked fiction, plus some books on writing

5th shelf - series of books, plus some non fiction faves

Sooooooooo.....all the rest are stacked haphazardly (around the house) - some in the bathroom, some on my nightstand, MOST in piles in my office or 'thrown' into a shelved closet (but stacked messily - though I can find whatever I want when I need to). We won't talk about the unpacked boxes of books in the basement.

When I decide to visit the used book store (because I need more books, right?), I carefully pick up and 'revisit' the books I am considering for 'eviction'. I'm very cold with the ones I have never read (and realize WILL never read) and quickly toss them into 'that' pile. Others are debated over by being flipped through, remembering when and/or who I purchased the book with (or was it a gift), and as the pile grows (and then decreases as I realize I 'can't' say goodbye just yet), I usually end up hours later wondering what I was doing, why am I surrounded by all these wonderful books, and then contently sigh, and continuing reading.

This year I vow to buy (slightly) less, and read (slightly) more of my owned books. Yes, I made the same resolution last year and will again next year, and that's okay, in my book ;-)

It's coming on Christmas!

It always amazes me how excited this Jewish girl becomes once December rolls into town. The Christmas lights start to go up on the street, the first snow falls and it’s so pretty (by mid January I’m bitching about the sludge, the traffic, the COLD, but for now……) and Christmas songs fill the radio, elevators and malls, and the television plays all my favorites, Rudoph the Red Nosed Reindeer (I know EVERY word to every song, even ‘Silver and Gold'), How the Grinch Stole Christmas (NOT the Jim Carrey movie but the original cartoon), Miracle on 34th Street (with Natalie Wood) and of course, my very favorite, It’s A Wonderful Life (gotta love that Jimmy Stewart).

Favorite Christmas songs that I can't help but smile and sing along to? That’s easy:

River – written by Joni Mitchell, but I love Robert Downey Jr.’s version best

Please Come Home for Christmas – U2, The Eagles and Bon Jovi all do great versions

Santa Claus is coming to Town – Springsteen (seeing this live in Buffalo approx. 30 years ago was incredible!)

Merry Christmas Baby – Springsteen again

All I Want for Christmas is You – Mariah Carey

Feliz Navadad - Jose Feliciano

Last Christmas – Wham!

Do They Know it’s Christmas – Band Aid

Happy Christmas – John Lennon

And of course, Little Drummer Boy by Bing Crosby and David Bowie

Let’s be clear here, I also enjoy my Chanukah gelt (money), potato latkes and Adam Sandler’s The Chanukah Song (all three parts).

This year, in lieu of Secret Santa gifts at the office, we’ve chosen to buy toys and donate them to the ‘Make a Wish’ Foundation. I will probably buy books. It really is true that it is better to give than to receive, so I encourage you to give something to someone less fortunate.

So whatever you’re celebrating, get into the spirit.

Please Remember:

1) When you’re fighting the crowds, don't forget to smile, or help a package laden stranger by opening the door.

2) Ease up on your horn when sitting in traffic or trying to maneuver through a snow clogged street because the car in front/beside/behind you, might be a 'new' driver (someone’s child) or an ‘old’ driver (someone’s parent or grandparent). You’ll get where you’re going eventually.

3) Put some thought into your gifts, as opposed to your dollars – make, bake or create something. Spend TIME, not money with your family!


You can’t stop it anyway, as we learnt from the Grinch. And I quote…..

And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.

Happy Chanukah, Feliz Navidad, Merry Christmas and Happy Kwanza!

Chicka Chicka Boom Boom

When my son was a baby, and then a toddler, I used to read to him, and one of our favorites was a book called Chicka chicka boom boom. The story had something to do with the letter A telling B and B telling C “I’ll meet you at the top of the coconut tree”. Of course each letter continues to tell the next until…….yup….

Chicka chicka boom boom! Will there be enough room?

Of course disaster follows, with letters winding up battered and bruised but all’s well that ends well.

THAT’S a fairy tale!

I’ve been reading a book called Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer, and ‘chicka chicka boom boom’ runs through my head everytime I read about ‘broilers and layers’ (betcha didn’t know there are basically only two types of chickens being ‘raised’ these days!)

The layers are obviously only female, but since these factory farms haven’t (though I’m sure they are hard at work on it) figured out how to get them to just ‘lay’ females, what to do with the male layers (since they serve no purpose) arises.

So, these male layers are simply…………..destroyed.

That’s right, half of all the layer chickens born in the United States, more than 250 million chicks a year…..are destroyed (page 48 of Eating Animals – source).

How are they destroyed, you might ask, and isn’t that a ‘harsh’ word?

You tell me.

Again, I quote:
Most male layers are destroyed by being sucked through a series of pipes onto an electrified plate. Other layer chicks are destroyed in other ways, and it’s impossible to call these animals more or less fortunate. Some are tossed into large plastic containers. The weak are trampled to the bottom, where they suffocate slowly. The strong suffocate slowly at the top. Others are sent fully conscious through macerators (picture a wood chipper filled with chicks).

Reading this book is akin to watching a train wreck.

I grew up a butcher’s daughter.
We might not have had furniture in our living room (seriously, what purpose does a living room have anyway – we had more fun using the baseboards as goals for shooting hockey cards into) but we always had meat on the table. I wonder now, if the reason my father didn’t ‘dig in’ as heartedly as the rest of us, was because he had gotten ‘up close and personal’ with his food. I never thought twice about bringing chicken hearts, eyes and other offal to school for ‘show and tell’. I never thought about it, period. I don’t think I fully realized where these formaldehyde containered parts once existed.

So now that I know – now what?

I do like my meat, a lot in fact. If I stop eating chicken, will that make a difference? Does it matter?
Is it enough to just understand ‘how’ the food that we serve to our children (and ourselves) is ‘harvested’ and ‘readied’ for our consumption?

I honestly don’t know.

I’m only ½ thru the book. What other revelations will unfold? I’ve read that pigs are as smart as dogs (as are birds) and that man is cruel.

Not all man.

There are those (the author included) that snuck into some factory farms, either to rescue a cow or chicken near death or slit their throat (in order to be ‘less’ cruel) and supply food and water (it is lawful to supply to any domestic animal that is held without food and water for more than 12 consecutive hours, though NOT lawful to remove such animal).

The animal books I devoured (for lack of a better word) growing up, were my friends. Black Beauty, Charlotte’s Web, Winnie the Pooh, The Call of the Wild, The Velveteen Rabbit, and so many more.

Chicka Chicka Boom boom indeed.

The 'Write' way to visit a deserted island

I must offer my most heartfelt apologies to anyone that was upset by what I wrote yesterday. It is never my intention to worry or upset. We all have moments (some of us, more than others) when we get physically and mentally drained, and when those times happen to coincide, they tend to be overwhelming. I've always relied on 'writing it out' to express myself, let it go, and move forward.

I haven't written poetry in years and that post just sort of flowed out of me and I felt cleansed and much better after 'writing it out'.

Running away to a 'desert island in my mind' is something I most definitely recommend, when you need to remove yourself from the stresses that are encompassing you. The price is right, the travel time quick, and you don't need a lot of clothes.

Again, I appreciate the concern that I received privately, and have chastised myself accordingly, though I can't promise I won't be visiting that island again one day. I always return refreshed and rejuvenated, and that's a good thing.

I, Me, Mine

I’m running away from it all. I'm going to a deserted island (in my mind) - you can't find me and I can't find you. I'm leaving behind my computer, my life, my identity.

I want a break.

I want to be like Greta Garbo and be alone.

I want to be alone and not feel lonely.

I want to not answer any questions, or ask any questions.

I want to miss people that I don't like.

I want to cry, laugh, shout, sing, dance, scream, and not have anyone watching.

I want to lower my expectations until they completely disappear and then welcome whatever comes my way.

I want to get it on paper and release it.

I’m going to stop wanting and start accepting.

I’m anticipating tomorrow because it is a new day with new possibilities.

I’m warmed by the support and love that reaches out and grabs me

I welcome the change, because change is always good.

I am prepared to wait, however long I need to, because some things are worth waiting for.

I will speak softer and listen louder.

I will be.

I have put it on paper and feel the release.

For the Love of Reading

I love to read, so why do I read books I don’t love?

Why do I pick books off the shelves at the library and the bookstores that I ‘should’ be reading, or have ‘heard’ I would love.

Why do I struggle and continue reading something that I don’t understand or care about?

I’m one of those people that remember a lot of books and a lot about books. Not necessarily where they took place and how it ended, but rather, who wrote it, what the cover looked like and more importantly, if it impacted me.

I started reading a book I had ‘heard’ was ‘the best’. It was so good that I couldn’t find it anywhere, (not at the library, nor in the bookstores), so of course, I ‘had’ to have it, and ordered it online. In the interim, I fidgeted and fumed, and read some ‘lighter’ reading (for me, that’s Harlan Coben, Greg Iles, anything fast paced that moves) and rested my brain, in anticipation of ‘the one’.

So the ‘one’ arrives and I was dismayed to see that the print was rather small. No worries – I indulge in reading glasses from time to time (MOST times) and was prepared. I started reading, intent on the ‘experience’ of something special.

Page 2 – I’m lost. What the f*#k is this book about? I’m starting to panic. Lots of big words and characters I don’t care about. What do I do? Is it me? Why don’t I like this? Am I not smart enough to ‘get’ it? Plus the fact that it’s garnered rave reviews everywhere as one of ‘the best’. Maybe I’m not the reader I thought I was (which means exactly what, by the way?). So what do I do? Continue of course.
My reading slows to a snail’s pace. I dread my ‘alone time’, lunch time, time to read! Dreaded book! On page 15 now and I’m skimming some parts and of course, don’t ‘get’ it and can tell there is tons of foreshadowing of ‘something’ momentous that is the pivotal and life changing moment of the story, but I don’t care enough to guess and am just miserable. I start thinking it’s time for an ‘upstairs’ or ‘car’ book.

An upstairs or car book, or whatever you want to label them, are the books you read when you really want to read. They help you avoid the dreaded slump.

Sometimes I do ‘slump’. By slumping, I mean, I panic and forget WHY I read. What I love about the ‘escape’ and how effortless a good book can be to read. I get ‘caught up’ every now and then, because I am such a ‘reader’ that people assume I have read every and all things. Mention an author to me, and I’ll fire back with, “Oh yes, he’s known for unlikeable characters, example, xxxxxx, or ‘Yes indeed, she’s quite prolific and started writing at a very young age and is still writing into her 80s”. I’ve read neither of these authors, of course.

I love to know what everyone else is reading and am constantly compiling lists of ‘must reads’ want to reads, reserving like crazy at the library, and searching ‘best of’ lists on the ‘net.

I’m constantly changing ‘my’ rules. Do I give up after the first chapter?

First page?

First sentence?

Sometimes I just don’t know what I’m in the mood for and I will happily place myself on the floor of my office and surround myself with library and ‘owned’ books and pick up the ones that appeal to me (known author, attractive cover, etc.) and read the opening sentence, back flap, appraise the text size, etc.). I try and quell the rising panic that escalates with each picked up and tossed aside book, while I frantically try and ‘remember’ why I love reading and what exactly I feel like reading. Sometimes I make mistakes and pick up something that is ‘supposed’ to be good. You know what that’s like; it’s like eating something that your mother told you is ‘good for you’. Tastes like crap. Then again, it IS good for you, so as I weigh a tome by A.S. Byatt against the latest Nick Hornby, and then let my eyes drift over (once again) to the ‘patiently waiting it’s turn’ Kristin Lavansdattar or The Far Pavillions, or upcoming book club selection, I resort back to my library picks, because they have a ‘time limit’. I break down my selections by size, due date, cover, etc., and then start reading a line, a paragraph, a page, until, miraculously, I find myself engrossed.

Oh yeah, that ‘other’ book, I’m still reading it, I’ve just temporarily forgotten that I have.

Making a list, and checking it twice!

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.

Daily Affirmations - Dr. Wayne Dyer

Daily Affirmations - Dr. Wayne Dyer

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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.

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.

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.

When Karen met Dave (or The Day the Music Died)

In the movie, When Harry Met Sally (one of my favorites), the Billy Crystal character says to the Meg Ryan character,

Harry Burns: You realize of course that we could never be friends.
Sally Albright: Why not?
Harry Burns: What I'm saying is - and this is not a come-on in any way, shape or form - is that men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.
Sally Albright: That's not true. I have a number of men friends and there is no sex involved.
Harry Burns: No you don't.
Sally Albright: Yes I do.
Harry Burns: No you don't.
Sally Albright: Yes I do.
Harry Burns: You only think you do.
Sally Albright: You say I'm having sex with these men without my knowledge?
Harry Burns: No, what I'm saying is they all WANT to have sex with you.
Sally Albright: They do not.
Harry Burns: Do too.
Sally Albright: They do not.
Harry Burns: Do too.
Sally Albright: How do you know?
Harry Burns: Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.
Sally Albright: So, you're saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive?
Harry Burns: No. You pretty much want to nail 'em too.
Sally Albright: What if THEY don't want to have sex with YOU?
Harry Burns: Doesn't matter because the sex thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story.
Sally Albright: Well, I guess we're not going to be friends then.
Harry Burns: I guess not.

I don’t have any ‘guy’ friends, but I did, once upon a time.

I honestly can’t remember when I first met Dave Keshen. It must have been in high school, when I started or tried to ‘be bad’, because he was definitely part of the ‘wilder crowd’ that I was drawn to. Weekend parties, smoke filled cars during skipped classes, and music, always music. It seemed wherever I was, Dave was there too, and his easy going personality and love of life and music, was attractive to me, though not in ‘that’ way.

Dave and I recognized a shared loneliness and desire to be accepted by others, in each other, and the friendship just seemed to happen. I had never really had a guy as a best friend; in fact, never really had a guy that was interested in me, period, and I knew that this was special.

We spent hours in his bedroom, and I let Dave choose, as I sat cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by albums, just what we would listen and sing along to. Sometimes it was Hall and Oates’ Abandoned Luncheonette, other times it was Heart’s Dog and Butterfly, and always ended with Pink Floyd’s The Wall, specifically Comfortably Numb. We’d dissect the lyrics together and argue over who had the better voice, Daryl or John, or Nancy or Ann. We liked the lesser known songs and confidently belted them out together. While we did hang out with ‘the group’, we spent the majority of our time together, alone. We shared our fears, hopes and dreams, and yeah, the room was usually cloudy with smoke, but the comfort and acceptance that we shared, was clear.

Dave had his ‘issues’ and dealt with them ‘his way’, and didn’t always make the ‘right choices’, but ‘high or low’, Dave was always fun to be with and I rarely saw him angry or upset. I vividly remember attending a ‘Beatlemania’ concert with him and getting completely caught up in the moment with him because he was convinced that it really WAS the Beatles performing!

Another classic Dave/Karen moment was riding in the elevator up to a friend’s apartment with a few other friends, and I just couldn’t contain myself any longer and loudly shrieked out, “You know that this is your surprise party we’re going to!” Everyone was appalled, except Dave, who roared with laughter and hugged me.

So do all good things come to an end? Does that go for friendship as well?

Dave was the first boy to tell me that he loved me and it was probably the only time he got angry with me because while I did love him fiercely, I didn’t want the friendship to change. We tried to make a ‘go’ of it for a few weeks and then I avoided him. It was horrible and I felt so alone and like I had lost my best friend (because I had).

Dave being Dave welcomed and accepted me back with open arms and we continued. We both attempted to grow up and move forward. I got married, he had relationships. His demons still haunted him and he continued to deal with them ‘his way’, which wasn’t the best way, but the way he knew. The music was always there and I couldn’t listen to the radio or a particular song without thinking of him and of course, singing along, in my ‘Dave’ voice (loud and boisterously, off tune/key and with a large tinge of a British accent – regardless of the song!).

Another quote from When Harry Met Sally:
Harry Burns: You know, you may be the first attractive woman I've not wanted to sleep with in my entire life.
Sally Albright: That's wonderful, Harry.

Though we stayed good friends, Dave was involved in another serious relationship and I had met and was dating the man that would become my next husband. We drifted. We didn’t mean to, but we both were living our lives and still trying to grow up. Only I succeeded.

When I was 29 and about to get married for the 2nd time, the phone call I had never wanted to receive but wasn’t surprised by, came.

David was away on vacation and had asphyxiated in his sleep. The music had stopped. Everything stopped. My teen years, foolish choices, and bad decisions all were behind me, yet Dave had not been as fortunate as I.

When I saw his younger sister, her first words to me were, “He always loved you – you know that, right?”

Yeah, I knew that.

So, it’s been a while. Almost 20 years. I think of Dave daily, truly. I feel as if he has watched over me and has applauded my choices and he’s singing, always singing.

My son Sam is 17 and obviously has never met Dave, yet will groan when we’re in the car and a song comes on that I ‘know’, and I start singing, loudly, boisterously, with feeling, AND with a little British accent, and he’ll say, “Mom, stop singing like Keshen!

Maybe men and women can’t stay friends, or shouldn’t be friends, but we were friends, and I miss him.

Intimacy or as it should be known, IN 2 ME C

Tonight I took part in a workshop on intimacy. Before you reach for your parental controls, relax! This is a PG rated blog :-D

I was invited to such workshop by a girl in my bookgroup. I had no idea how many women would be attending or what we would talk about. All that I did know was the speaker, a vivacious (I love that word and love using it to describe someone) woman I first met years ago when I started exploring my spiritual growth. Robyn was one of 'those' women (if you've been a faithful reader, you know what I'm talking about) that at first glance, would completely intimidate me and appear unapproachable. She's tall, blonde(ish) and wears a lot of leopard, and her hair is STUNNING!!!! Somehow I overlooked all of this and gravitated towards her, and discovered her inner beauty as well. Her exuberance and passion for life and love just radiated from her.

Fast forward some years. Everytime I ran into Robyn, it was a pleasure. Full of love and wanting to spread (though not preach) the words and path she had embraced (Abraham books, The Secret, and The Law of Attraction). I had dabbled a bit and thought I knew 'enough'.

Anyway, Robyn was conducting the workshop that I chose to attend tonight on Intimacy (the play on words was shared by another lovely attendee - it's so important to love ourselves in order to truly be intimate, hence the IN 2 ME C).

Some of the discussion and dialogue tonight was familar, but the warmth, support and yes, intimacy of the group (15 women) made it special.

Robyn believes that what you focus on, expands, and encourages us all to 'make lists' (now we're talking) about our husbands and their best qualities and focus on them. It's all good stuff.

If you want to be a woman in love, ACT like a woman in love. Set the intention (vibration) high and it will boomerang back.

She reminded us that 'love' is really 'moments' and like stringing a pearl necklace, we need to add these moments and remember them and be aware. It just feels better.

I shared something that I had read in Dr. Laura's 'The Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands' - "treat your husband like you want your future daughter in law to treat your son". Powerful words!

Hey, all I know is that I got into the car and couldn't wait to call my husband and tell him that I love him.

By the way, no joke, Robyn has stenciled on her wall in her home, ...."and they lived happily ever after...."

I Think I Like You

I'm having a good hair day today. So much so, that I was surprised that any and everyone that I connected with today, didn't notice or better yet, say something.

Where does this need for being 'liked' come from? Why is it so important? (to me, to us.....)

In 1985, Sally Fields accepted her 2nd Oscar and tearfully proclaimed: you like me . . . right now . . . you like me.

When we like someone, shouldn't we let them know? Shouldn't everyone need/want a little confirmation every now and then? I know that I try to say something nice (and it must be heartfelt and sincere)to those I care about (and even to those I don't, because maybe they need it even more), yet it seems that some people are reluctant to. Why?

Are they worried that it will 'go' to the recipient's head (or hair?). So what? Everyone has their insecurities and can be bolstered by a few kind words, and those words can be impacting. It's sad that we can't always be satisfied with 'patting' ourselves on the back, though I think it's wonderful and 'ok' to be comfortable enough to 'ask' every now and then.

What makes us like each other? I think a large part is in how they make us 'feel'. There is a generousity in letting someone know that you like them. It is a huge compliment. We are different and should bask in our differences, and also appreciate and respect each others, as opposed to being threatened by them.

Don't be afraid to tell someone that you care, or like their hair, or miss them. Wouldn't that make YOU feel great?

A few years ago while at the market, I decided to push myself out of my comfort zone and approach someone that I would normally be intimidated by and find something nice to say, and say it. A very sophisticated woman was walking towards me. She was extremely well dressed and oozed self confidence. I was terrified of her and all she projected and yet, approached her. I stopped in front of her, smiled, and said, "that's a lovely blue sweater you're wearing!" She stared at me and then completely softened and smiled and said, "Thank you". I felt fantastic. I then approached another woman and complimented her on her hairstyle. She almost burst into tears and proceeded to tell me that she had just cut it that morning and wasn't sure if she liked it or not, and assumed her husband wouldn't even notice.

Why not try that yourself? Everyday make a conscious decision to say something nice, to someone, and mean it. Go outside your comfort zone. Approach the unapproachable. Smile at the sullen (and compliment him/her on their shoes/scarf/whatever).

And if you run into me and you agree that I'm having a good hair day, please let me know. I promise you, it'll mean something!

Knee High in Trouser Socks

Remember pantyhose? They basically came in one color - nude (and black and 'almost or barely' black). We wore them with dresses and gowns and all things that exposed the leg. 'Dress pants' required something different - knee highs! Those stretchy (and again, nude colored) nylons that were only 'knee high' (mind you, mine seemed to stop halfway, or bag around my ankles)and came in either sandalfoot (for, duh, sandals) or regular (with that stretchy heavier band across the toes).

So what ARE trouser socks? According to www.wisegeek.com, my new favorite 'how to find out about things' site,

Trouser socks are socks made for women that generally reach to the upper calf or just below the knee depending upon one’s height. They are often constructed of light materials like nylon so they can be easily worn with more narrow shoes like pumps. They tend to replace the now less popular nylon knee-highs that were worn in the past

So there you have it. You would think that trouser socks would make life easier, but for me, the confusion continues.

I wear and own a lot of flats because:

a) I don't walk well in barefeet, let alone shoes with heels
b) my first husband told me I looked like a hooker when I wore heels and it kind of stuck with me
c) my husband is a Canadian Jewish guy, which translates into: he's not 6 feet tall

If it wasn't difficult enough picking out something to wear for work everyday that looks good (I'm still losing the war on this one), keeps me cool (I wear a lot of 'light' tops or tee shirts with pseudo cardigans and 'shrugs') and is comfortable enough to sit in all day, now I have to match my trouser socks to my shoes/pants/tops - what?

I have black flats that I wear when I wear grey and or black pants. If I am wearing all black or grey, does this mean I can 'have fun' with my trouser socks and go for the pattern, or should I be wearing 'nude' or 'almost black'? And what do I wear when I wear my two tone patent brown and gold flats? Nude? How 'bout my silver and black ballet slippers? Gold and black Tory Burch copies?

I keep buying trouser socks in every color, pattern and material, and every day I end up wearing the wrong 'shade' of nude knee high.

Me thinks I should switch to boots. I hear they are made for walkin'. So that's just what I'll do!

A Book by any other name

So after returning home from an adventurous 'road trip', what's one of the first things I look forward to doing? Getting away again - by getting lost in a book. It's truly the quickest, most inexpensive way to 'travel' and escape.

I live in the 'now' and have the 'future' to look forward to, so most of the time I choose to travel back. Back in history, into the courts of King Henry VIII (and I've learnt it's much easier on the neck to be a 'lady in waiting', than a wife or mistress), or perhaps a 'Little House on the Prairie' type setting (working the land and all that stuff), or 'turn of the century' Victorian London, awash with prostitutes,thieves and surgeons. Even though it's 'old', it's aways new to me. Simpler times perhaps, that survived without the internet, fast food and air conditioning.

Escaping into the page, I fancy myself dining on delicacies such as roast goose and partridge, dressed in layers of petticoats, bustles and hoods, and churning butter and stitching feather beds.

My earliest favorites were Heidi (how I wanted to climb that mountain and drink goat's milk!), the Little House on the Prairie books (how important it was to use all parts of the slaughtered pig and to make maple 'candy' in the snow, and don't even get me started about Pa!), Little Women (Marmee and her girls, and acting out Pilgrim's Progress), and of course, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith.

Francie Nolan and her brother Neely (Cornelius)manage to survive in pre WW1 Brooklyn with their parents, Katie, who scrubs floors with lye soap and favors Neely, and Johnny, the singing waiter, alcoholic father.

I have reread this story so many times, the experiences that Francie and Neely endure, feel as if they were my own. Making a pickle last all day, the star bank, 'wasting' coffee (everyone needs a luxury and something to throw away) penny candy, visiting the library and asking the 'library lady' to 'recommend a book for a girl, she is 12', first vaccinations on a dirty arm (my brother's arm is just as dirty as mine, Francie sobbed)and school! The love of learning that is instilled in Francie from her parents, and the anguish she feels when her mother chooses Neely to continue his education and pulls Francie out. Neely begs to leave school and work, and Francie wants to stay in school, so Katie states: "That's why he has to stay and you have to leave, because you will do everything in your power to find your way back".

Francie said and felt it best. Once she learned how to read, she knew:

From that time on, the world was hers for the reading. She would never be lonely again, never miss the lack intimate friends. Books became her friends and there was one for every mood."

I'm glad that today I have more friends than I did when I first became a reader, and also glad that I have more books always waiting (patiently) for me to escape into.

Happy reading!

Thelma and Louise, with a happier ending

I'm not a spontaneous person. I like to make lists (duh), plans, and know in advance where I'm going, when I'll arrive and what I'll do once I'm 'there'. That's why I love my girlfriends. Doesn't (or shouldn't) everyone have one of 'those' friends that can 'make' you do just about anything, or push your limits just a little bit.

My friend 'Thelma' (names changed to protect the innocent, plus she's taller -especially in her YSL shoes and I (henceforth known as Louise) challenged me to a 'road trip'. I had finally gotten my passport, didn't work Fridays, and had no excuses. So what would we do? Initially we would drive, meaning SHE would drive, and I would simply follow the written instructions (I am directionally challenged as the nice guy at the gas station will attest to)to a place called MacKenzie Childs located in Aurora, New York (approx. a 4 hour 'jaunt'), take the tour, watch the 'how's it made' video, and then take it from there. I let myself be putty in her hands and didn't balk.

Thankfully, unlike the movie Thelma and Louise, which I have never seen, by the way, we did not drive off a cliff. We did meet up with Brad Pitt (just testing to see if you're paying attention).

It rained, it poured, I didn't snore (in fact, I didn't sleep that night - though that was my fault - the train outside the room didn't help, nor did the unclosed drapes which I couldn't figure out how to close, unfamiliar yet comfortable bed, etc. etc.).

We went shopping, visited many a bookstore (did you KNOW that Barnes and Noble has a huge selection of USED books for sale at 50% off?), had our hair 'done', wined and dined ourselves, and laughed and shared and listened to some good music and learnt a lot about each other (all good!).

Can't wait for the next time, as long as she arranges it!

Somewhere Over the Rainbow, does it really matter?

How important is it to you what other people think of the things you like? I'll rephrase that.
Does it matter if you are the only one who likes: green popsicles and jelly beans, Four Seasons Kernels popcorn (since discontinued, but possibly staging a comeback) and Judy Garland. Yes, I like all of the above, though I find myself reluctant to share that information. Why?

Ever invent a new phrase or word that just totally embodies how you feel about something? I do it all the time. One of my more frequent expressions is, "Please don't JudyGarland it for me!" What does that mean exactly?

Being the young, impressionable (and newly in love) girl, that I was when I started dating Howie, I quickly adapted to all things important to him. I scoured garage sales in search of old records (and copies of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn), climbed stairs without looking back (because of my fear of heights)in order to get to our seats at a baseball game (getting back down was slightly more difficult, I had to be carried - I kid you not), and spent countless hours in audiophile soundrooms listening to John Coltrane, Miles Davis and Jennifer Warnes Famous Blue Raincoat. I humored him. So did he return the favor?

It was my turn now to share my favorites with him. He accepted Springsteen easily enough, balked slightly at Blue Rodeo, abhorred a black leather fringed cowboy leather jacket (that went the wayside) and then the moment came. I had been a fan of Judy Garland since The Wizard of Oz. I read all the books I could, envisioned myself as another daughter (and best friends to Liza and Lorna and Joey too!). I had seen all her television appearances and movies and owned Live at Carnegie Hall, a TWO record set, featuring my favorite, The Man Who Got Away.

I sat him down and put the record on (this was obviously in the days before iTunes, et al.) and watched his face. He didn't hold back. He scowled and winced and finally announced that she couldn't sing, period. I was mortified. I begged him to elaborate and he did. Sadly, from that moment on, the wind was let out of my sails. What he heard (and described), I heard. I stopped listening. He had ruined it for me.

Years later we differed over something else and I immediately fired back with, "You might not like it, but don't you dare JudyGarland it for me!" It's a phrase, but not a phase, that has stuck.

So now I don't always share that I like to watch Intervention, or eat ice cream straight out of the container (even though I'm lactose intolerant) or listen to E Street Radio (all Bruce, all the time), because I don't (and won't) want it to be JudyGarlanded, though I have since gone back to being a fan!

Oh, Grow up!

Joan Rivers used to say it, Bruce Springsteen sang about it (Growin' Up from Greetings from Asbury Park - track 2) and no matter what age we were, we always wanted to be older. I've mentioned previously that inside this middle aged, chubby woman with uncontrollable hair, lives a 16 year old skinny girl, with uncontrollable hair. For years I acted like that 16 year old as well. Insecure, sometimes flighty, a little bit of a 'mean girl' and of course, had all those 'girlfriend' issues. This one was friends with that one, and that one liked this one better, etc.

As the years went by and I got married, I found myself having less and less girlfriends and really not missing 'that scene' so much. Fast forward into my 40s and the 'need' for them returned, and much to my surprise, I realized that I had choices and didn't need to do the 'group' thingie and started forming and tightening friendships, one on one. Months could (and would) go by, and yet, the excitement of a 'catch up' lunch/dinner/coffee would prove to be fruitful, stimulating and enriching. I have such a diverse group of cool, funky, intelligent women that surround me, and that applies as well to the 2 or 3 'close' friends that I have been corresponding with online for more than 10 years, spoken to on the phone, AND HAVE NEVER MET!!!!!

Then there are the girls that really 'knew me when' and still love me (as I love them - these women are in a class of their own!). The infamous Rockford Rebels! We started with 7, though one lives far away and doesn't get to see us as much. Growing up around the corner, playing hide and seek, having sleepovers, sharing! We've danced at each other's weddings (and held hands or celebrated when the divorce took place), visited hospital beds, attended each other's children's plays and 'rock concerts', celebrated milestone birthdays, and 'scrubbed up' at cottage get-aways (an Arbonne moment!). We've shared, cried, confided, and always laughed. The other day I called one such special lady - she answered the phone almost convulsed with laughter. I started to giggle as well, and asked her, "Why are you laughing?" Her response, "I saw your name and knew you would make me laugh!".

Memory is a magical thing and a shared memory even moreso. I can't stop thinking today about the memory that was shared with me last night. I was reminded that I had similar reading tastes as this one friend, and that we would 'playfully' fight over who would take out the library book on John F. Kennedy or Florence Nightingale. What a thrill to not only relive this memory, (which I had long forgotten) but to know that it meant something special to someone else as well. For too long I thought that my love of reading and books was a solitary passion.

The book bitches (possible name change is in the works to the book babes, though personally, I like being a bitch!) came into my life also in my 40's, and the intimacy, intelligence and warmth that is shared on a monthly basis, is truly outstanding. Respective of each other's 'tastes' and 'likes and dislikes', we have managed to expand our reading horizions, improved our vocabulary (we end each meeting by describing the selected choice in ONE WORD, as well as rating it too!) and come to truly value and appreciate each and every individual.

Then there are those that knew you when that still make you feel like 'the bully', the bad guy. This is when the 'growing up' part kicks in. It's EASY to sink back into old routines and attack and tease, and be that 16 year old again. GROW UP! Last night I had the pleasure of reconnecting and seeing in a new light, an old friend. My other friend and I kept musing, "She's so 'real', so nice, so HAPPY - she's changed" and yeah, maybe she has, but maybe I have too. It's not always about US and how we feel. Everyone hurts, not everyone shares. Everyone has stuff! Grow up people. I think I aged a little bit last night, hopefully.

Gratitude

I used to dread Mondays, but now I look forward to them. Why? Because since January 7 of this year, I have been doing a daily gratitude exchange with a girlfriend I reconnected with after TOO many years of not connecting (we simply lost touch, moved away, had separate lives, etc.). We each list 5 things that we are grateful for. Every Monday, as soon as I arrive at work, I open my email and then stop to think, "Ok, what am I truly grateful for today". Stopping to think AND writing it down AND sharing it with a close friend is an incredible experience. There IS so much to be grateful for that we take for granted, and more than that, on the days when I'm just NOT feeling it, I am pushed onward by the faith and belief that my friend has in me, to come up with 'something'.

Some days are filled with 'quickies' such as:
1. morning coffee
2. good hair day
3. no traffic
4. great sleep
5. roof over my head

That's ok! They are ALL wonderful things to be grateful for.

Other days are filled with more in-depth details and on those really rough days, we've both been known to write stuff like: I'm really sorry but I can't think of anything. THOSE are the times when being on the receiving end really counts. We remind each other of what IS working or we commiserate together and then realize that we are thankful and grateful for our friendship, our correspondence, our mutual admiration, our honesty, our good hair days.....see how much easier it is when you don't go it alone?

Anyway, give it a try. Instead of dreading Mondays, look forward to them. Perspective is everything and instead of bemoaning the fact that you're stuck in traffic, be thankful that you have a job, and that you are driving in a car instead of walking, of if you are walking, that you have two healthy legs to take you there, dressed in warm clothes and shoes, with food in your belly and a roof waiting for you when you return home, hopefully to someone that loves you and values you.

I will close by sharing two of my 5 gratitude statements today:

Today I am grateful for so much:

1. my blog as a writing outlet, and all the incredible feedback and response I've received.

2. friends - the older (and hopefully wiser) I get, the more I come to appreciate the incredible people I'm surrounded by and that means YOU, bigtime!!!!