We the Animals by Justin Torres

Some people believe in destiny. Fate. That our lives are predestined and we have few choices in the matter.
I don't know if I do.
I believe we are all faced with a series of choices and then faced with a series of consequences based on those choices. And each choice we choose presents a new set of choices and we go through life making choices and living with consequences.
I believe each of our choices stems from the choices of others.
And so on and so on.
I think that's life.
Maybe not.
I believe there are people who believe they have too few choices and I believe there are people who believe they have too many.
And sometimes I get caught up in these circles of thought and I make myself dizzy. Sticky with the webs I spin.
Some people settle into the life presented to them and some choose to make changes.
And this book made me think about these things more than ever.
“We the Animals” is an amazingly raw, heartfelt debut novel by Justin Torres.
It was edgy and deep.
This brutally honest book was so moving, I almost literally could not put it down. I completely enjoyed his writing style which was somehow revealing and emotional and vague all at the same time. I loved that this small book could absolutely cut me to the bone without ever being overly descriptive or gratuitous. The author compelled me to relate to a life that did not parallel mine in any way whatsoever. (Perhaps a little!)
I am actually slightly jealous of Mr. Torres and strangely proud of him, as well.
I loved this book unashamedly and positively cannot wait for his next novel.

Rainy Day at the National Zoo

Once

Once I thought
I had too much to give
and no one understood
and no one should receive
my heart
Once I thought
the world was much too cramped
would hold me in
and no one could believe
in my heart
I thought it would get better
I thought it would exceed
my expectations would outshine me
my apprehensions would concede
Once I thought
my life was so disordered
and no one understood
and no one could believe
my heart

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's a Bug!

An Afternoon Nap

My dreams can be vicious. Really, they are very frightening and surreal. They often scare me to the point where I have learned how to wake myself up when they become too brutal. I am somewhat convinced that my insomnia stems from nightmares.
Thirty years of insomnia as a defense mechanism.
The human psyche is a strange and baffling thing.
I walk around like a zombie due to lack of sleep most of the time simply to avoid dreaming dreams that I find far too horrifying.
Today, I am feeling under the weather. I have been working long hours and feeling an added burden of stress for the last four or five weeks. I am feeling defeated. I am feeling frazzled and exhausted mentally and physically.
So I have a day off and, as luck would have it, I am sick.
Seems about right.
I just took some cold medicine and turned on some bad television in hopes of inducing a long-overdue healing sleep.
I'm hoping for dreams of chocolate cake and apple pie ... of puppies and angels ... of green, green grass and weeping willow trees …

Trembling

As a child, I remember hearing stories of my grandmother's late night visits with ghosts. One such story takes place while she and my grandfather were living on a farmhouse in rural Wisconsin (or was it Minnesota?). I don't know why they lived on a farmhouse when neither of them farmed, but I'm not writing the story – I'm only repeating it.
My grandfather worked for the power company and would be called away many a winter night due to weather induced power outages, leaving my grandmother home alone. She would go to sleep at night and in the morning, she would go downstairs to the kitchen only to find all the cupboards and drawers wide open and all the coffee cups, saucers, silverware, etc. strewn all over the room.
As the story goes, my grandmother would spend all day cleaning up after her otherworldly friends, flop into bed exhausted, only to wake up and do it all over again.
Now, I don't know why my grandfather never came home to help her clean and I don't know why it took all day (it's not like the dishes were dirtied), but in my family you learn at an early age not to question the details.
When I saw the movie “The Sixth Sense”, I really had a mini freak out when the little boy's mom entered her kitchen to find it in complete disarray! It made me a believer after all the years of silently questioning the holes in the story! I was frightened and pleased.
Coming home after the earthquake last Tuesday night was very much the same. The artwork on the walls was hanging lopsided, framed photos had fallen off the bookshelves, lamps tipped over. It was like a pack of drunken Wisconsin ghosts had hosted a party at my house! If ghosts wore clothing, I would have expected to see a bra hanging from the ceiling fan. (I think only the old school ghosts wear clothes and their underwear is completely different.)
So, while I was at work assessing a situation utterly foreign to me, and while three little dogs (I'm assuming) watched in sheer amazement, apparently there was an earth-shaking supernatural shindig going on at my house!
And that's my story.

Fly Girls!

The first of my two flights today was harrowing. And by harrowing, I mean unpleasant. And really, by unpleasant, I mean typical. Since the noxious gas I smelled was seeping seemingly from my upright and locked tray table, I stopped blaming my husband and began blaming the delicate flower seated in front of me.
And, believe it or not, one of the 8 peanuts they gave me really was rotten (so I gave it to my husband without even wondering why he's the first to be blamed for any and all disgusting fumes).
But other than that, the flight was essentially adequate, I suppose.
The two sky waitresses were amazingly friendly, albeit ridiculous caricatures of actual women. One was a buxom, Southern Belle, with hips as wide as the horizon that hypnotically shifted down the aisle, gently tapping each seat as she passed. Her skin was tanned to leathery perfection with moles strategically placed to draw the eye up, up, up to her bleach blonde, stacked hairdo. Her eyes twinkled a bit under their neon blue lids ….
… perhaps she was simply tickled to be distributing faulty snack food.
Her sister was as skinny as a stick with the palest of pale skin tones. The kind of skin that just barely hides one's spider veins from public view. Her hair was spiked all the way to 1984 and dog dick red. Too much? Okay, let's just say her hair was obscenely red in bizarre contrast to her bluish white skin. She didn't twinkle as much as the first one, but she was nice.
The second flight was just average for me. I got in trouble for using my laptop.

Signs of Life by Natalie Taylor

On March 12, 2011 my fourteen year old nephew, Brody, was killed in an accident. While I've dealt with death in the past, this hit me in a way I could have never imagined. Brody's mom is a dear friend of mine. Brody's dad is my husband's closest brother. They are more than family - they are our friends, our hearts. I've been at a complete loss for words for Brody, and I feel so devastated by that. I want nothing more than to honor him in a way he deserves, but I have been a failure. My heart is broken. My spirit is deflated.
I saw Natalie Taylor on an afternoon talk show one day and I was taken with her charm and demeanor. While in her early twenties, Natalie lost her husband tragically after only 18 months of marriage. She was 5 months pregnant. I immediately ordered her book, Signs of Life, for my sister-in-law.
Of course, I wanted to read the book before I gave it to Brody's mom. The last thing I would ever want to do is give her a gift that would hurt her even more. It took me a long time to read it. I would pick it up and put it down.
Finally I read it.
The author used her journal entries to write the memoir. I loved this. It was real. There were times when she was bitter and mean. Times when she simply could not allow herself pleasure or happiness. Times when she lashed out at her friends and family not even understanding why. It was honest.
Natalie teaches advanced English, so I enjoyed her references to classic literature and poetry. I, too, place myself into books as an escape or reference point to my life. I think of my favorite characters at various times as I travel, often blindly, through this world. I enjoyed Natalie's humor and honesty in dealing with her pain.
Each day, she pushed herself a little harder .... a little more. And each day .... each hour .... got a little bit better. Even when Natalie could not see it.
Everyone grieves differently. No two people feel alike. No one can imagine the depth of another person's pain. My heart aches each and every day for my family, my friends, for the loss of an amazing young life. But each day we get up and we try to be the people our lost loved ones knew us to be ... the people they were proud of.
Each time I see my sister-in-law's beautiful smile, my brother-in-law's kind eyes ... every time I feel a little snap in the air or a white feather floating softly by me ... I, too, see signs of life.



Brody and his cousin, Drew, chatting before a race. My favorite picture!

Becca Home Ecca

Whatever that gene is that most women have, the one that makes you want to clean the house - even enjoy cleaning the house - whatever that thing is .... I didn't get it.

The Bird House by Kelly Simmons

"Beneath the surface of any problem, if you scrabble a bit, you'll find a secret.
It may take a while -decades perhaps- not for your excavation, mind you, but for your desire to appear; for that childlike curiosity to float up again. Indeed, you may need an actual child to summon it, as I did.
But this is what drives us--the historians, the trash pickers, the gossips, the shrinks. And yes, the readers of books. We're all rooting around, teasing out other people's hidden reasons." [p.1]

Growing up in South Dakota, I was no stranger to waiting out a storm in the dank shelter of our basement. Dark, damp, cold .... it was a curious relief to the blistering heat of summer. I remember my mother going through old boxes of memories while we hid from the twisting summer sky. I remember seeing pictures of her in her senior sweater or smiling with a long lost dog. She told us stories of old boyfriends (one named Earl and one who spelled her name "Rocksy"), her best friend, Audrey Lindbloom (my spelling) and a girl named Twyla Caper affectionately (?) nicknamed Toilet Paper. And I remember thinking .... No way! There's no way she remembers all that!
Ha ha! And now 35+ years later I still remember the names of her old friends and stories told in the cellar some stormy night when I was just a kid. I think what has amazed me most about growing older is exactly how much we don't change! How much we actually do remember and how much we still feel .... very deeply.
The Bird House by Kelly Simmons stirred up these emotions for me in the most delightful way. I loved the contrast of stories told by the same woman forty years apart. How much she did not change and how much she still felt. It made me feel better about my own inevitable aging. Our main character, Ann, told a great story, for sure, while she struggled with her own fading memories, mysteries, feelings of guilt and love .... her blossoming relationship with her precocious granddaughter.
The book is full of mystery and humor .... pain and pleasure .... love and anguish. I couldn't put it down. Due to my own life getting in the way, I haven't been able to lose myself in a good book for a long time and I dearly missed it. This was the perfect read for the steamy hot nights of early summer. I was tempted to take a blanket, pillow, three dogs and this book down to the basement just for the sake of nostalgia, but I resisted!

Happy Eleventh Birthday, Wednesday!!

Spaghetti Would Have Been Better

Dog Days of Spring

Puzzle!

Finding Time

I used to take the train every day. Although I couldn't say I loved riding the train, I certainly didn't hate it. It was a long commute, but it gave me a lot of time to read! And I did love that!! I was reading two or three books a month and that was an amazing escape from the hustle and bustle of the real world around me.
I have switched jobs. I have a great new job that pays for parking, so I no longer ride the train. Now I spend that time in traffic .... listening to morning zoo radio or singing aloud, depending on the time. I work a lot of hours and usually work through my lunch break, or visit through my lunch break, or run errands on my lunch break .... rarely do I read on my lunch break any more.
I am sad.
For a brief time I was writing reviews for an on-line paper and I was thrilled for that opportunity, however, I found myself speed-reading through books I wasn't even loving and ended up not enjoying the experience at all.
Finally, after struggling through a new translation of Madame Bovary, I gave up.
Then it took me nearly a month to read a little commercial break of a book titled, "Postcards from a Dead Girl", that I found on the shelves at my office. It was an interesting, humorous little piece about a man slowly (or rather quickly, in fact) going crazy after the death of his girlfriend. Miraculously, he simply cured himself in the end, which I found a little bizarre, but at least I finished a book!
Whew!
So, after noticing that no one has even opened my blog in over two weeks, I've decided I need to make time to read again! I have so many beautiful books to read and enjoy and I miss that time ... that escape.
So, as soon as American Idol is over and the tv shows turn into reruns ... I'm definitely going to read more! (Tee Hee!)
(And more photography, too!)

Spring in DC

When There Are No Words

I have had writer's block for a long time and I am embarrassed. I have not been able to find the words to say good-bye to a little boy who left us long before his time. I have always felt like I have but one talent - writing - and it is failing me now. When I want absolutely nothing more than to give my nephew, Brody, an honorable, fitting tribute .... words escape me. Words are all I have, and they seem to be gone.

Senior Moments .... Already?

Twas raining cats and dogs yesterday. The kind of rain that sends vehicles hydroplaning into each other and off the road. The kind of rain that makes for extremely muddy puppies. And the kind of rain that keeps folks from shopping in full force. And so began my day ....
We were not terribly busy yesterday. I was working the closing shift and cut my staff down to the minimum required to function. We were able to close at the proper time (usually we end up closing much later) and I was happy thinking I would be home snug in my bed by 10:30pm. I am a creature of routine and quickly went through my procedures in a timely fashion. We were all walking out the door by 9:55pm.
I punched in my alarm code as I was walking out per usual but this time I received an error message.
Huh?
(I once interviewed a gent who said, "I don't mean to throw a monkey in your wrench.")
I was not familiar with the error message or what to do when I see an error message, so that really threw a monkey into my wrench, for sure! A series of checks and balances and trouble-shooting on the phone and 9:55pm turned into 10:38pm and I finally left the store secured for the night.
Right?
I was driving home through the rain. At that time of night with no traffic, the drive takes between 30 and 35 minutes. That is just about enough time for my brain to second guess itself six or seven dozen times.
While I vividly remembered checking and rechecking the locks, by the time I reached home at 11:15pm there was .01% of me that wasn't entirely positive the upstairs door was locked.
Drat!
I KNEW it was locked. But my stupid old brain questioned me.
Oh my God! Did I lock the door? I swear I locked the door! Oh no! I left the door unlocked!
So I grabbed my puppy, Puzzle, and drove back to work just to check. I won't even tell you what my brain put me through on the way back to work! It was quite nearly a full fledged panic attack, to say the least.
I pulled into the garage and took a very curious Puzzle with me to check the locks. THEY WERE ALL LOCKED, OF COURSE! The entire premises was extremely secure as it should be and always is ...
I loaded Puzzle back into the car and began driving back home again (it was now midnight). It was still raining and windshield wipers freak her out a bit so Puzzle was in my lap. I was in the far right lane when I stopped for a red light and two police vehicles stopped in the other two lanes next to me. I got Puzzle squared away in the back seat (off my lap) and waited for the green light. When the light changed, I proceeded with caution .... not too fast, not too slow. Don't want to get pulled over for any reason. I pulled forward at a normal speed and looked into my rear view mirror only to see both police cars still sitting at the stoplight!
Oh my God! Did it turn green? I swear the light turned green! Oh no! I just ran a red light in front of two police officers ....

.... it was green. I think they were just messing with me because I am an old lady!

Knowing Us (The B-52's Story)

My husband's birthday is at the end of October and mine is 2 weeks later at the beginning of November. We were married shortly after Christmas (January of 1993). Needless to say, after 21 years of back-to-back gift-giving, well, it becomes increasingly difficult to be creative!
I usually do well with the birthday, okay for Christmas, and by the time it is our anniversary .... I'm out of ideas!
This year I saw that The B-52's were playing at our favorite venue, 9:30 Club in DC! Yay! I was thrilled! I booked two tickets and had a hell of a time keeping my secret!
A week later (the day before our anniversary), my husband asked me if I had the weekend of January 22nd off. "No", I said. "Really?", he said.
Really.
I do not get many weekends off so I was surprised that he was so confused about my schedule.
Finally, I asked why he was asking!
He said, "Well, it was going to be your anniversary gift. Is there any way you can get it off?"
Sadly, I said no.
Curiosity got the best of me, so I said, "You might as well tell me what it was because you're going to have to think of something else anyway!"
He said, "I was going to take you to see The B-52's in Atlantic City!"
Awwwwwwwwwww! How cute is that?! We got each other the same gift, albeit different cities. He was planning to buy the same thing I had already purchased!

Wednesday, January 19th, was the show in DC. I love 9:30 Club. It's my favorite venue for any show. It's like going to a regular bar, except all the bands are really, really good!!
The B-52's did not disappoint!
We like to stand on the balcony. You can see the stage perfectly from that vantage point and it's great for people watching. Plus, it's close to the cleanest restrooms.
I felt a bit cliche' as I stood on the balcony with my aching back nearly bringing tears to my eyes, looking out over a crowd of people that were probably pretty cool at one time. We were once a generation defined by our hairstyles and I found it extremely amusing to see a crowd of bald heads and baseball caps. We were once a well-choreographed wave in a sea of androgeny and now we're just a bunch of decent folks who still like a good show. Our dance moves may be a tad rusty (not me, them, ha ha), but we've still got it! Wish I could be as creative with my hairdos as I once was ....
The B-52's look a little older, but they sound fantastic! They are still having fun. Although Fred's shirt kept creeping up over his man spanx, and the girls look a bit thick through the middle .... they are still pretty damn hip and put on a good show!
.... now ..... what am I going to get Handsome for Valentine's Day?!?!?!

Puzzled

My puppy, Puzzle, is about 7 or 8 months old. She was a rescue dog, so we don't know her exact age. Rescue dogs are fun! Sure, they may have a few issues. We don't know exactly what they have been through ... we don't know their lives before they enter ours, but they are a blessing none the less! Add to her unknown beginnings the fact that she is a border collie and you've got a recipe for some serious entertainment!!!
Puzzle came to live with us on August 11, 2010, and was approximately 2 or 3 months old at that time. She was shy and frightened and, honestly, had such a sad, sad look in her eyes all the time. We were worried about her.
She has two older "sisters" who, frankly, were not terribly thrilled to welcome her into our home. Wednesday came around and has become Puzzle's mentor and playmate, but Allie still scolds the pup simply for entering her air space.
Watching Puzzle grow and learn and come out of her shell day by day has been one of my greatest pleasures! She's a sweet and funny little thing and nearly as charming as Wednesday, which is quite charming indeed!
Recently, Puzzle has discovered her reflection. All puppies go through this and it is nothing short of hilarious when they do, but Puzzle had been particularly funny about it. She doesn't have an agressive bone in her body and her shyness has given way to curiosty over the last few months. So she plays peek-a-boo with her reflection in the fireplace doors. She peeks around the couch to see if the Fireplace Puppy is looking and then takes off quick as a cat into other areas of the house! Or shoots through the doggy door like she was fired from a cannon! It's hysterical!
Yesterday, she came up to my room to watch me get ready for work. All dogs enjoy this for some reason, at least all of my dogs have. There is a full-length mirror on the back of the door and Miss Puzzle caught sight of her new playmate. The best thing to do with a gal like Puzzle is to observe her silently. Fast moves still send her running, but if you sit quietly, you can catch some very entertaining antics!
Puzzle looked into the mirror. Backed up. Moved forward. Turned her head from left to right. Sat down. Stood up.
It was like she was trying to catch the Mirror Puppy making a mistake. Like she was testing it. Maybe she was even figuring out that Mirror Puppy was actually Puzzle!
Picture the scene from I Love Lucy with Harpo Marx. It was absolutely the funniest thing I have observed a puppy do in a long, long time!!!
I must say: rescue a puppy!! You will not regret it! Your life will be filled with entertainment and discovery and love and laughter. These are things every home could use a little more of, in my opinion!!

The Day Off Diaries

Dear Reb Un,
Today I woke up knowing I had to write a book review for a book I finished on Tuesday and did not, frankly, love. I liked the book. I liked the premise. I simply had reservations. I sat down to write believing completely that I would have to tell my editor that I had nothing to give him.
And then - and believe me I absolutely know how conceited this is going to sound - I wrote a fantastic review! I didn't even have to go back and edit much! I didn't have to count my words and add. I had no idea how I would come up with 450-500 words for a story with absolutely no climax whatsoever, but I did it! And it's good!
Whew!
What a super fantastic way to start a great day!
I feel good!
This afternoon, I am meeting one of my besties, Sophia, for Happy Hour. I am so excited! It will be nice to get out of the house for a reason other than work and to LAUGH! Sophia and I always laugh ourselves silly when we are together and I am really, really looking forward to it!
Today's gonna be a good-good day!
Puzzle is tossing her bouncy ball around the room and it's making me giggle. I must go and play with her! I am freakishly in-love with my puppy!!
See you soon,
Becca

New Year ~ Same Ol' Me

Dear Reb Un,
I am sitting here with my newly acquired addiction: coffee. And watching my 22nd episode of Lie to Me in a week. I don't feel like I have been writing enough lately, so I am starting The Day Off Diaries. I am forcing myself to write something on each day off I have. Even if it is lame and boring. I just need to write!
I used to write letters all the time. I would write letters on cocktail napkins, book margins, rolls of toilet paper. Just ramblings and musings and off-the-wall comments. I wish I had mailed them to myself. I am still friends or reacquainted friends with many of the recipients, but I hate to ask about the letters.
So, this is it. Letters to myself, Rebecca Unpublished. It may go nowhere and I'll stop, or I may continue and have a few laughs. Hopefully I won't unearth some long buried memories .... or more hopefully, I will!
So I am beginning this year the same way I begin every year, with self-loathing and sluggishness. I count calories, make lists and promises, try new products .... all in futile attempts to better myself. Perhaps this year I will try something additional (because I am still counting calories, making lists and promises and plan to go to Target today to pick up some magic eye cream): A Postive Attitude!
I am optimistic!
Well, if not before then, I will see you next Wednesday!
Love,
Becca
Pee.S. - If all goes well, there might even be a mixed tape in it for you! (They often accompanied my letters!)

Keith Richards ~ Life

I guess I wanted Captain Teague. I wanted to hear all the antics. I wanted to hear the stories behind the stories. I really wanted to read Keith Richards’ memoir, Life. While I have never been a Rolling Stones fan, per se, they have always been in regular musical rotation in my life. I mean, “Get Off of My Cloud” was the number one song on the day I was born, so clearly, the Rolling Stones have always been there for me. So I heard things, you know? Read things. Some of it seemed ridiculous and exaggerated, and those were the stories that ended up being true. Keith Richards writes about rumors I should have apparently known but didn’t, which is fine because they ended up being untrue after all.
Sadly, however, I simply didn’t feel much passion in Richards’ storytelling. He obviously has extreme passion for his music and for other musicians. He names a lot of names. And I honestly enjoyed the first few sections of his book.
He grew up near poverty level in Dartford, Kent, England and learned life’s lessons the hard way, with daily beatings from the other children and living in less than humane conditions after World War II. His family was as colorful as he is and I enjoyed hearing the tales of his tenacity and of meeting Mick Jagger and the early days of not only the Rolling Stones, but Keith Richards himself. I wanted more of that!
He lost me in the late sixties and early seventies in a heavy haze of drugs. I was not impressed with his drug usage and grew tired of his roller coaster ride with sobriety and insanity. I am not a big fan of junkies, sorry mate.
I am often torn between feeling sorry for celebrities and feeling disgusted by the attitude. Richards seems to be baffled by the reasons why the authorities would stalk him to such a degree. “I’m just a guitar player, why do you care what I do?” I get that, but, additionally, they care what you do because you are a public figure and what you’re doing is harmful and, frankly, illegal.
Richards takes great care in describing the music. All music. He’s amazingly passionate about that and I am impressed. Strangely, however, he takes none of that care in mentioning the loss of family and friends or his feelings at certain key times in his life. He seemed to brush over those matters. It seemed very strange to me.
By the end of the book I was really just counting down the pages. I was doing the math (547 pages with 238 left, at 30 words per hour I should be able to finish this book by a week from Thursday) and I am not a math person! I love music and stories and poetry and passion. Things I thought I would find in Keith Richards. I wanted to hear that he didn’t really snort his father’s ashes (he did). I wanted to hear his side of the stories where people wound up wounded or worse after partying with him. I wanted to hear about his children and his love affairs. He didn’t delve into these topics with much feeling. It almost felt like he was trying to relate stories that he had heard about himself, not what he actually remembered or felt about them.
Unfortunately, I was rather disappointed by this memoir.

Happy Birthday, Allie!!

Up until August, Allie was my baby. She's not crazy about having a little sister, but she has nothing to worry about! She is still my little precious. It's hard to believe she is already ten years old! Happy Birthday, Allie!!

Haunted?

I think my puppy, Puzzle, is actually a ghost! I only ever see her out of the corner of my eye. She’s quick and quiet. I always feel like someone is staring at me, but when I look around, there is no one there. I’ll open the refrigerator in the kitchen and catch a glimpse of her to my right in the great room. Then I’ll turn to put cream in my coffee and I see her to my left in the foyer. It’s bizarre how quickly and silently she moves. Things turn up in weird places , too.... like socks in the yard, underwear in the living room ..... her kennel moves itself to the center of the room while she’s in it! I’ll feel a cool breeze and something brush by me, but in the split second it takes to look down, there’s nothing there .... just that feeling that someone is constantly watching me.
Except at night. At night I feel a nice warm little body next to mine. Soft breath in my ear and an occasional whispery sigh. The night my grandmother passed away, I was sleeping on my side. I felt someone sitting in that little crook at the back of my knees, gently rubbing my leg. Soothing.
That spot is where I feel my little Puzzle at night. Very soft and sweet.
My little ghost dog.

So Cold the River by Michael Koryta

http://lorton.patch.com/articles/book-review-so-cold-the-river

You Had Me at Woof by Julie Klam

http://lorton.patch.com/articles/book-review-you-had-me-at-woof
I was in a snit the whole way home after buying You Had Me at Woof by Julie Klam. Until I opened my door to three wagging tails, six shining eyes, and twelve little paws tap dancing in pure delight at my return. The happiness of my three dogs at the mere sight of me made me completely forget the jerk I had just dealt with at the bookstore.

Now, I realize there are people out there who do not know the warmth of a cold nose nor the pleasure of hearing a happy tail thumping on fresh linens. They don't know that a muzzle under the chin is a much preferred way to start the day than a blaring alarm clock, not to mention the sheer comfort of drifting off to sleep with a warm companion at the end of a long day. This book is not for those people, although it would probably do them a world of good to read it.

I have always been and always will be a dog lover. This book did not change that in any way. I can't remember a time when I didn't have a Schnauzer, Springer Spaniel, Border Collie or Mutt in my life. However, You Had Me at Woof (How Dogs Taught Me the Secrets of Happiness) was a funny, smart, delightful little book, extremely well written by Julie Klam. I have three Border Collies, dogs that are said to be of the highest intelligence. Klam states, "I never understood how that was determined. Were they found by their owners hooking up Bunsen burners and pouring liquids into flasks?"

The author takes us on her incredible journey of life lessons via dog ownership from her single days in New York City through marriage and motherhood. She is clever and humorous and the kind of person I would want as a friend. She became that woman by opening her home and her heart and accepting the many gifts that come with owning a dog.

And she wrote a beautiful book.

From learning how to share her life to learning how to mourn the loss of friends (the unfortunate thing about loving dogs is that a dog's lifespan is a mere fraction of our own), from choosing the right dog to letting herself be chosen, the author exquisitely reveals her innermost thoughts, revelations, concerns and comedies of life with multiple tail-waggers. At one point, the author believed the strange behavior of an elderly foster dog in her care was in preparation for her own death when the rather homely, geriatric pooch actually gave birth to two puppies (originally believed to be mice). As Klam searches for the ultimate career (which would allow her to spend even more time with her dogs) and debates motherhood and additional children, Klam learns she has so much more to offer than she could have ever imagined.

I, too, have rescued dogs and could completely relate to her hilarious and horrendous takes on the special needs these little misfits bring to the table. All dog lovers will ask, for the same reason I tend to avoid "dog books": Will it make me cry? The answer is Yes (I have the swollen eyes and aching head to prove it). But, as surely as loving and letting yourself be loved by a canine counterpart, it will be worth it.

Veterans Day

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

The weather began to change while reading this book. I was working a lot of long hours and arriving to the parking lot in the cold and dark, feeling sorry for myself that my life had become stressful and then, to add insult to injury, chilly!
The worn pages of my book, however, reminded me of my evil ways and the fact that my complaining, if only to myself, was not warranted.
I will never complain again!
I am extremely late in reading The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. It was published nearly eight years ago and I avoided it on principle for many of those years. I haven’t seen the motion picture, either. And, as with most of the books I read, I had no idea what it was about going into it.
All of that being said, The Kite Runner truly is a beautiful book. It was difficult to read ... gruesome, horrifying and sad, but extremely well written and moving.
Trying to summarize this story without ruining it or diminishing the feeling of it is like summarizing a soap opera without it sounding stupid .... impossible. But the fact of the matter is: The book is amazing, albeit tragic. It’s a story that will make you think about what you have, how you feel and where you would like your life to go.
To be thankful for the little things.
The things that matter.
People will always ask me, while eyeing one of my books, “Is it good?” Good? Well, no, it’s not good. It’s horrible.
But it is important and passionate and absolutely brilliant.

Mary and O'Neil by Justin Cronin

As most people do from time to time ... or obsessively in my case ... I have been pondering the meaning of life lately. I am Andrew McCarthy's character in St.Elmo's Fire (how's that for an extremely poor cinematic analogy?) minus the pining and yearning.
And I did not find it while reading the anticlimactic Mary and O'Neil.
While I certainly appreciate the author's talent, insight, and writing ability, I just didn't feel any passion for this book.
I like the idea of weaving several short stories into one novel, however, when reading it cover to cover, it became rather redundant. And I honestly don't see how any one story could have stood alone. There was nothing to put me on the edge of my seat. Nothing to keep me from putting it down. The author told me what was going to happen several pages or even chapters before it happened.
While contemplating the significance of my own existence, this book just left me feeling sad and empty.