Donuts

What are the odds that I would read two books in a row, both chosen at random, that revolve around donuts?

Even stranger is that first one was a Jennifer Crusie, Bet Me,and the second one was by A. M. Homes, This Book Will Save Your Life.

My daughter is a Crusie fan and sent over Bet Me. I don't ordinarily read romances but I thought what the hell and then read it every free minute and finished it in about 24 hours. All the while I kept thinking 'what am I doing?' alternating with 'she is really a smart writer' and 'brilliant' and 'they should make a movie of this.'

The next book on the stack was the Homes. It was one of those mystery books. That is, a book I put on hold because I had read something about it which struck me, sometime, somewhere. I could not recall anything which would suggest why I might like a book with a title like a self-help book. (Not that I have anything against self-help books--a couple of those may have saved my life. The jury is still out.) I picked it up, began to read it and soon was completely involved in the picaresque quest of Richard Novak. I read it as fast as possible right to the end (yeah, like the Crusie) in about 24 hours.

I got the feeling while reading the Homes that she herself just may have an idea about her book being turned into a movie. But that aside, I was intrigued with Homes' writing, her completely believable characters and the poignancy of Novak's dilemma of how to live after becoming completely numb. How to relate to human beings other than his cleaning lady. His primal scene with his son Ben was a no-holds barred view of what people in families can do to one another.

In her aknowledgements at the end of the book, Homes cited people who inspired her and mentioned Amy Hempel, who is one of my favorite writers. (I keep buying copies of Reasons to Live as gifts for people.)

All the while I was reading This Book Will Save Your Life I kept thinking that her style was so familiar. Homes strings together these odd scenes, each more poignant than the last. Short vignettes, each with impact that is very reminiscent of the emotional blows of Hempel.

If you read it, let me know what you think of the ending. I am hoping for a sequel.

Oh, about those donuts. In the Cruisie they are Krispy Kremes. In the Homes they are gourmet donuts, hand-crafted by a fellow named Anhil. Enough said.

Music to Bead By

After a long hiatus from beading I did a major piece today--beading to Kitaro's Ancient. If you like the city sounds of fire engines and police sirens smoothed into the scary sounds they use in horror movies, then Kitaro is a good pick for a quiet afternoon of crafting. I say that somewhat tongue-in-cheek--I like his sweeping high-pitched whirling trills. Reminiscent of Suzanne Chiani's Velocity of Love,another fave.

The piece took about eight hours, total, and involved lots of wire manipulation. My wire manitpulation skills are rusty, no pun intended. I rarely step out of my comfort zone, when beading. Spell that "d.u.l.l" This was definitely a reach, and though I was not completely satisfied with the finished piece, after I got into it, I started having fun. There was quite a bit of making lemonade, so I played--and the play gave me new ideas to build on.

Maybe I won't hide out so long, before tackling another complicated piece. Put on another Kitaro--he served me well today.

Moby

I rarely recall how I "discovered" a book or CD. But however I happened on Moby--oh, yeah, I do remember: there was a piece on Pure Moods, Love of Strings, that impressed me so much that I sought him out and with such flimsy info, happened on 18, which I have been listening to now for days. The surprise was that many of the songs are familiar and I loved them before ever playing this CD, without knowing anything at all about Moby. But what great fortune, to be able to play this CD whenever I so wish.

Fall Blues

The blackberries I picked this afternoon in my back yard are fat and juicy--nearly twice as large as the last ones, a week ago. The hot sunny days and a few light rains made the difference. There are more coming on, but they may be as minute as those others--rain yes, sun? doesn't look like it.

Which brings me to the subject of this post: Fall Blues. Not because of the rain. I have grown to love all the different kinds of rain we get here in the Pacific Northwest. But the last few days I only had to glance out the window and know it is fall. And I feel gloomy. Don't like the thin insubstantial light out there. Mingy Northern light. Torturing myself, I think of Mediterranean light at this time of year--illuminating the aqua-trimmed cream-colored buildings in Nice, for example. No consolation, but certitude--confirmation that the light out there in my back yard is thin, weak.

No doubt a model of the earth and the sun would illustrate the scientific explanation for this phenomenon I fret about. But knowing pragmatically that it is perfectly predictable would not comfort me.

I have been mooning around for the past week and would like to say that it is all because of fall blues. Unfortunately not. I haven't slept well for over a month--in pain, tossing and turning to try to find relief. Waking up and not really awake--in a fog. I am only half with it and feel I am not doing anything that can be remotely described as productive. Just keeping this place from going to hell in a hand basket saps what little energy I have, whine.

So here are the blues and here I am, shiftless from lack of sleep, accomplishing zilch! Blues heart and soul.

Arthur

I turned on AMC while eating my breakfast and there was Dudley Moore, spotting Liza Minnelli stealing a tie. It's a comedy, right?--the heir to a billion falls for the would-be-actress shoplifter. Pretty predictable stuff. Then there is this scene at the hospital where he takes care of his valet/guardian, John Geilgud, terrified that he may die and leave him. Moore transforms the hospital room--recreating no doubt the valets own bedroom--and orders in kippers and eggs. He hams it up with cowboy hats and toy pistols, a basketball and a toy train engine. I cry. That is love.

Re-Entry

Long time no blog. I am just flexing my muscles here--preliminary stretching for the marathon ahead.

Since the last entry I went on vacation, my oldest grandchild turned 15, another is now 10 and, sadly, my son and his wife separated.

I have just diddled around for the past month, working in the house, working in the yard, emailing friends and family and just generally celebrating summer.

I vacationed in Utah, which might sound like an odd place to vacation in August, but I was in the mountains where it is cool, not down in the valley where it is generally in the 90's at least every day.

Maybe this is the odd part--while in our time-share condo I watched episode after episode of Startrek Voyager with an extended family grandson--and loved them. (No commercials!) So much so that when I went to my wonderful library and saw a novelized version of Flashback on the paperbacksforgrabs shelf, I grabbed it. I was surprised to find it fairly well written. A "real" novel. The story did become a bit convoluted and repetitious, (those script writers!) but I stuck with it. I would pick up another, for a summer read. (It was perfect for waiting in line, or riding the bus.) I think my having seen about 20 episodes of the original series was an aid to reading that book--I could easily see and hear B'Lanna, Tuvok, Neelix, Kes, Chakotay etc., although Flashback was not one of the episodes I had watched.

What was memorable about the book? I started watching Startrek the Next Generation with the aforementioned grandson when he was only 3 or 4. I like that series because it was relaxing and it espoused values I could appreciate. In each episode they solved galactic problems while embracing compassion and respect for other cultures. Voyager continued in that same vein. Plus, of course, here was a woman at the helm. I can recall that having a woman as Captain back then was controversial. The book Flashback no doubt follows the original script religiously. As usual, the writer of the series is gently imaginative, contriving scenes underpinned by equally imaginative science. The plot is not merely explosive action--at every juncture there is a moral decision to be made--a decision of conscience, even if the character making the decision is a mere holographic display--the doctor.
Well, it is truly humorous that of all the books I have read this summer the one I write up is a Startrek novel. Hmmm. Will have to do some others justice.