A literary lunch!

Well, a book sandwich at least. Here's what I've been reading while waiting for the next episode of So You Think You Can Dance? (And just to warn you, I'm adopting the sandwich approach to these reviews because two of them are wonderful, and one of them has had me upset for three days now because it was so...well, you'll see).

Great Book #1: The Department of Lost and Found by Allison Winn Scotch.
You all know how I like to keep things happy, happy, happy in my entertainment, so I was a tad skittish as I waded into this story of a young woman who is diagnosed with breast cancer and then gets dumped by her boyfriend. I'm just not a very brave girl. But kudos to Allison for using such a light touch with the squeamish stuff (and such a perfect touch with the humor) that I found myself buzzing through the book in hot pursuit of a happy ending. On a technical level, I have to say that she writes about the way we look back on failed relationships as well as anyone I've read. Two thumbs up (or, as Sarakastic might say, FOUR POP TARTS!)

Sucker Punched Me In The Gut book #2: Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott.
I'm not even sure what to write here. I was breezing along happily through a typical collection of Anne's thoughts about loving her chunky thighs and raising a teenage son when I ran headlong into her essay about how she killed someone. Now I don't want to get into the debate about assisting people with an early exit from life (I'm not using the word to avoid weird google hits) but I was left with a really grim feeling from her treatment of this subject...I'm blown away that her decision on this warranted less reflection, worry, and/or remorse than either her thighs or how she yelled at a shady carpet salesman a few chapters later when he swindled her out of fifty bucks. She brought the rug guy flowers to apologize, but seemed utterly free of any sort of doubt about helping someone end their life. I blew my mind, leaving me a bit to numb for pop tarts.

(Here is where the sandwich approach is so great, because after that grim review, don't we all need something happy???)

Fabulous Book #3 (That Made Me Giggle Just This Morning): Tramps Like Us: A Suburban Confession by Kristen Buckley.
Kristen didn't have an easy childhood in suburban New Jersey, but she does an astonishing job of turning those grim scenes into a hysterically funny narrative without resorting to slapstick anecdotes. She's a great writer, and as I read this book, I feel like I'm standing with her in the middle of her knee-high front lawn after her father abandoned them, listening to her penniless (and lawn mower-less) mother explain that mowed lawns are really just a recent social construct that can easily be ignored. This is a fabulous, funny, book that everyone should take with them to the beach this summer (especially if you live anywhere near the Jersey shore). This one gets two thumbs, a freshly painted big toe, and a box full of Pop Tarts :)

I think he can dance, part 2

Here is the clip of Jamal. (You might want to put your drink down before watching...)

I think he can dance

Did anyone else see So You Think You Can Dance last night? And the hip-hop dude Jamal from Boston who looked like his mama feeds him a bit to well to really dance? Who Nigel challenged to come back with a swing dance routine? Now my boy Jamal looked like he hadn't the faintest idea what swing dancing might be, but never one to shy away from a dance opportunity, he said, "Sure - I'll be back."

And back he was. Big Jamal grabbed his smaller pal Ernest (aka "E-Wok") and they made up a dance, right there in the hall. Now, I was certain the Boston boys were going to get thumped by Nigel and Mary for not taking this seriously, and honestly the first thirty seconds of that piece had me laughing so hard I was gasping for air (Jamal stood in one place and snapped his fingers. When Nigel broke in and said, "Jamal - that's not dancing," Jamal looked genuinely baffled when he replied, "I know it's not - I'm waiting for the part where the trumpet goes, da na na na!" Hysterical.) But let me tell you, when the trumpet finally went da na na na! the boys jumped into a routine that was so fabulous, so full-out I'm gonna make this work and you're all gonna love it, that I was on my feet in the living room, cheering him on. There's a blurry pic of my new favorite dance moment here. Please, someone, get this routine up on Youtube!

It's a verrrrry special day!!!

Happy Birthday to MEG!
Happy Birthday to MEG!
Happy Birthday to my little sister who grew taller than me when I was ten and has a body like a Victoria's Secret model even after having two kids but really I'm over it....
Happy Birthday to MEG!!!!!

Hey everyone, please join me in wishing a spectacular birthday to my sister Meg, one of my favorite people on the planet. Meg's fine talents include the ability to splay her toes out to almost mythical proportions (honestly, I think one of them might even be opposable), build all manner of handy kitchen accessories from abandoned wine corks, and answer trivia questions about any TV show ever produced from 1964-the present. Meg is also raising two of the cutest children on the planet, running a business empire from the laptop on her kitchen counter (a laptop fashioned almost entirely from wine corks, I might add), and - just this morning - convinced her three year old daughter in very reasonable, calm words not to squish a wayward toad. She's brilliant, she's fabulous, and we're all better off because Meg was born :)

Q & A

Heidikins, just back from the world's longest roadtrip through Wyoming, sent me some fun questions - sort of an evolving meme where you answer someone's and then send new ones to other folks who want to play. And it doesn't require me to admit that I've read almost no classic literature and don't watch Grey's Anatomy, so I'm in :)

Here you go - the dish about Trish:

1. What inspires you to write? Either in the blog-world or in "real life"?
I think I write because I read so much. Reading has always been a big part of how I figure out life - everything from how to survive a heartbreak to how to cope when I don't like the decisions our country's leaders are making. I like the space reading gives me to process - it works better than a conversation sometimes, because I don't have to accept someone's whole perspective or make an immediate choice. No author has ever called me to say, "Hey - are you applying my suggestions???" So, to whatever extent my life experiences might be helpful to someone else, I suspect it will only happen if people have the space to take what they like and leave the rest. Writing and blogging gives you that kind of space.

2. What is your favorite thing about living in New England?
Right now, I love that the Boston Red Sox are winning, because that still feels like a miracle! I also love the people here. New Englanders are famous for being cold to outsiders, and in a lot of places that reputation is well-earned. But there is a lot of love under those gruff exteriors, and I think knowing how to recognize the signs of that caring is one of the skills you pick up here.

3. When you've had a rough day, what do you to do unwind and relax?
First, I close the cover on my laptop! Honestly, my worst days usually involve a jam up between the (seemingly) great ideas in my head and the nothingness showing up on my computer screen, so to unwind, I need to prove to us both that I'm bigger than my computer, and that I call the shots :) I'm learning that a couple miles on the treadmill gets my frustration out, as does talking with a friend who can make me laugh. After that, I love a glass of Cabernet and a romantic comedy on DVD - I'm a sucker for happy endings. If you've read this blog before, you've heard me wax poetic about my love for How to Lose A Guy In Ten Dates, Must Love Dogs, Hope Floats, Little Miss Sunshine...the list goes on and on.

4. What is your definition of a perfect day?
I have a friend who defines happiness as "When life exceeds your expectations." To have that happen all day long would be pretty cool. Here's my best guess at what that might look like for me:
It would start with me sipping morning coffee while the sun streamed in over my down comforter and THAT DOG dozed at the end of the bed.
I'd open my Bible to some random page that would happen to be one of those great passages about how God loves me, he has a great plan for my life, and I don't have to worry about the 17 little things niggling at the edges of my brain.
I'd write brilliant prose for the next two hours, then practice the things I'll say during my upcoming appearance on Oprah to celebrate the success of my books...you know, like how much I love the solitary days as a writer, but I also enjoy going out on tour, meeting my adoring fans...
Lunch would be my favorite sandwich since fourth grade: Baloney, cheese, mustard, mayonnaise, and cucumber on whole wheat bread. Big pile of Lay's potato chips on the side.
After lunch I'd surf through my favorite blogs and web sites, which would make me laugh so hard a little bit of water would come out of my nose.
Then I'd crawl into bed with a book, reading some other writer's brilliant work until I dozed off for a nap. (I'd wake with a start at some point to realize that still hadn't walked THAT DOG, but then I'd realize my wonderful husband had taken care of that).
Dinner would be sushi with a chocolate martini, after which hubby and I would cuddle on the couch and watch the Red Sox pummel the Yankees. (We'd celebrate afterwards, but I'll keep that part private).
I think that about sums it up :)

5. Do you collect anything? What? How did you get started? What do you love about it?
I mostly just collect books. I LOVE new books - it's a bit of an addiction. But because I've moved so much since I graduated from school, the urge to collect other things hasn't really hit me yet. I'm way too aware that anything I acquire I have to love enough to haul up and down stairs the next time I relocate. I think I could collect rooster figurines - they crack me up (as some of you may recall from this post - where can I get that cookie jar???) But hubby HATES them, so I guess my "Celebrate Poultry!" decorating scheme will remain a pipe dream...

So there you have it...five questions, five answers. I should probably lay in a stash of baloney in case tomorrow turns out to be my perfect day! Now, if any of you would like 5 questions of your own (personally selected by me, just for you) email me at trishstevekylie AT yahoo DOT com and resist the urge to comment on how lame it is that I have my dog's name in my email address (there are other Trish Ryan's out there, AND other TrishandSteve's...what else could I do?)

The Love of Dog

Hubbie was away this weekend, off on a retreat of burly men who all pretended it was GREAT FUN to live in cabins in the woods while the temperatures are in the low 40s. "Do they have indoor plumbing?" I asked when he called. "They do," he said, "...but it's in another building." For the fourteen-millionth time in my life, I'm glad I'm not a boy :)

In Steve's absence, THAT DOG stepped up to the responsibility plate. Both nights Steve was gone, Kylie got up off of the couch at precisely 10pm, walked over to the door leading to the bedroom, and glared at me as if to say, "Someone has to be in charge here, and we both know it can't be you." Then she herded me from one room to the other until I went to bed, ensuring I didn't dawdle. This is the most well-rested I've been in months.

Last night I watched the replay of the final episode of the Gilmore Girls. Rory said goodbye to Lane, and I cried. Rory and Loralei had a touching moment, and I cried. Luke and Loralei finally kissed, and I cried. By the end of the show, I wasn't cold anymore. I was puffy, but not cold. I went to bed feeling like I did on my last night at college, knowing that in some way, things would never be the same.

Thank God for whoever invented Kleenex.

THAT DOG needs a blanket

You guys are the best. A HUGE thank you for your thoughtful responses to my questions on the mating habits of whippoorwills and penguins :)

In other news, it's May 18th here in greater Boston (and possibly elsewhere, too, but really who can think of that now?) and it's 43 degrees outside. It's only 51 degrees here in the living room. I am cold, cold, shivery cold, but I can't bring myself to turn on the heat. It's MAY! I've planted flowers and painted my toenails, which are my official signals to God that a long string of 70 degree days is entirely appropriate from this point on. (Honestly - sometimes it feels like He's ignoring me altogether, as if He's got some greater plan or something???)

Speaking of which...I'm pulling together the proposal for book two this weekend, here in the Arctic tundra. All prayers for Holy inspiration (and for this metallic keyboard to warm up) gladly received :)

Welcome to Metaphoria

You guys have been fabulous with your input and encouragement as I wander around the the meaning of wife for book #2, so naturally, I want to ask you more. There are practical considerations, however, when discussing certain issues in the blogsphere, as any of you with tracking software that shows what people google to get to you can attest. Make no mistake, however...my questions today are about birds being birds and bees being bees. But if we're all discreet about it, perhaps no midnight googlers will end up here looking for excitement, only to find a never-ending line of entries about what book I'm reading and THAT DOG.

So, about the reading...I've been doing some fun research on this wife thing. Not self-help - more biography, sociology, rantings of various sides of the "why isn't this working the way we thought it would?" debate. Wandering through a used bookstore, I picked up a small, out-of-print book which turned out to be quite a find. It's a sociological study; it received no media attention. But it's findings blew away all my prior notions about how we women have approached the letter S followed by the letter E completed by the letter X over the decades, suggesting that our generation may have things upside down and backwards in terms of what we think is essential to relationships and what we believe we can safely let slide.

So I have to ask...Whether you're married yet or not - how important do you think the birds and the bees are in everyday marriage? Where do quality/quantity of marital private time rank on your list of "must haves"? What else is on the list?

Two requests...be specific, and be vague....

Specific: Please, please, please don't say "communication is important" without saying what that means for you! Some of us think communication is a long heart-to-heart, others define it as "he knows from the look in my eye when he's in trouble." Everybody is different (speaking of vague) so it's really helpful to go a bit beyond the pat phrases we've been taught to what that means when we try to do it personally.
Vague: feel free to be creative in the use of alternative language to describe IT...remember, this is a family channel :)

Thanks all!

Revised Revisions


Stacy adjusted this books meme to make it more user-friendly, but I'm far too embarrassed to put up a list of books I haven't read (or - let's be honest - ever considered reading) while at the same time showing that I don't know how to keep track of all those font color changes. I wasn't an English major (or a computer science major like Lynette) - I'm a poli sci girl. Ask me about Obama, Mitt, or Nancy Pelosi and I'll give you pages of thoughtful opinion that will amount to exactly nothing. What can I say? I used to be a lawyer; these are the skills I have.

Bold means I've read it. Deleted for space means I haven't. Comments will offer any applicable emotions or disclaimers surrounding the experience, and give me a chance to experiment with this button I hadn't noticed before on the tool bar:

1. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown) I tend not to get too fired up about books that everyone says will topple worldwide faith. I've been to New Hampshire where the author lives, and it's just not that kind of vibe.

2. Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen) I've even read a bunch of the knock-off books that speculate about what happened after the wedding. Some are very serious, some are funny. Even in great literature, I still like the bad guys to be taken out back and plunged in a deep cold well.


5. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Tolkien) I saw these movies - 97 hours of my life that I'll never get back.

11. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Rowling)
 I've read the first four - am hoping to get to #5 this summer.

14. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)
 I love anything by Irving that doesn't involve a dancing bear and/or a circus. Check out "The Water Method Man." Hysterical.

15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
 Fascinating.

20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte) I've reread this story for inspiration every time I've hit a rough patch in life. Hope is a good thing.


24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
 I read her incredibly grim memoir and decided that she and I don't approach writing from quite the same perspective. I'm not brave enough to try another.

25. Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
 Perhaps the strangest book I've ever recommended.

27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)


30. Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom)


35. The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)


39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
 I tried to read this, but just couldn't get into it. If I was inclined to rework a piece of literature by a famous author, I'm not sure I'd pick God.

41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
 I LOVED these books in High School. Ayla and Jondalar were like my teen Ken and Barbie.

45. Bible 
It took me five months. Leviticus is tough if you're an animal lover.

48. Angela's Ashes (Frank McCourt)


55. The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald)

63. War and Peace (Tolstoy)
 The never-ending battle scenes made me long for the cozy prose of Leviticus...ugh.

70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery) In two languages, thanks to my HS French teacher.

71. Bridget Jones' Diary (Fielding)
 Obviously, I loved it. We all did :)

74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje) My old book club disliked this book so much that we couldn't even discuss it. We spent the evening talking about cute boys and new restaurants we wanted to check out.


78. The World According To Garp (John Irving) Love, love, love it.



80. Charlotte's Web (E.B. White)
 My Mom read all of White's books to my sister and I. When I moved to Boston and saw the swan boats from "Trumpet of the Swan" I almost cried.

85. Emma (Jane Austen)


86. Watership Down (Richard Adams)
 We were forced to read this in sixth grade. I think my teacher got some sort of award for forcing us through it. I was so lost - there were rabbits being blown out of their habitat, and some larger philosophical point I was supposed to absorb about the state of humanity. At twelve, I just wasn't that deep.

93. The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)
 My Mom made me read this. Powerful stuff. Not happy, by any means, but powerful.

99. The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)


This whole thing kind of makes me wonder if I should send this to my old High School English department - maybe my parents can get a rebate on their tax dollars, as apparently, I left their school with little working knowledge of literature. I'm lucky I even learned to read... :)

On the road to nowhere

It was quite a weekend, here in the Ryan Hood. We went to Maine to see my Mom (who is miraculously ALIVE this Mother's Day...Hooray!!!!) and had brunch with my parents at this gorgeous little restaurant overlooking a golf course. I was suffering from a bout of city-itis, so it was good for my weary soul to see green grass, flowers, and a guy in a pink plaid golf shirt sprawled out near the pond trying to retrieve a lost ball.

Then yesterday, Steve and I decided, "lets take a drive - see the ocean on the north shore, get some fried clams - it will be fun!" You know, the romance of setting out without a destination, sure the road will unveil wonderful adventure and exciting opportunities? Mmm hmm. Right. We hoped on Route 127, because it would take us all up the coast. What it didn't take us by was, 1. a bathroom; or 2. food. We drove for THREE HOURS - nothing. (Funny how much less appealing the vast, wave-filled Atlantic is when your bladder is about to burst from it's own vast wavy-ness.) Finally, we stopped in this creepy little town and burst into a very formal restaurant (it had a swan theme???) horrifying the staff in our flip flops and fleece jackets. I used the ladies room (swan-covered wall paper - towels - fixtures) and then we bolted out the door. I was hungry, but no way did I want a swan burger. Another HOUR later, we turned a little corner and saw what appeared to be a little slice of heaven, right there on the windy road: it was a rustic Clam Shack overlooking the marsh. "Look honey," I said, weary with hunger, "dreams do come true!" We placed our order, then settled in, certain happiness was close at hand. Mmm hmm.

Two HOURS later, we received our plates of clams (by this point I was hallucinating, wondering if I could make a meal out of tarter sauce, ketchup, and discarded straw wrappers)
Sometimes, as the wise Dorothy said after her long trek to Oz, There's no place like home...

In happier news though, THIS movie was on cable last night, reminding us that when all else fails, apply some Windex :)

Don't be jealous - she's fat on the inside

In case any of us were feeling good today, we have this disturbing (dare I say deranged?) bit of science to put us back in place. Makes me wonder...will this lead to Oprah and Dr. Phil running full-body scans on guests to identify who the real fatties are before handing them over to trainer Bob?

Love is in the air. Literally.

Angela's post today got me thinking about bugs. Specifically, the giant bumble bees who are doing some sort of creepy bee mating dance outside my kitchen window again this year. (Romantic though I am, I still can't imagine how this sort of act can be anything less than prickly and awful. Perhaps it's all the buzzing, but I wish they'd get a room. )

One day when I was in grad school, I came home to hear THAT DOG barking her little furry head off. I went in to see what the problem was and there, before my barking dog, approximately 1 gazillion lady bugs were SWARMING over my wall. When I'd left that morning, there were no ladybugs. But in two short hours, they'd arrived in record numbers, as if declaring my bedroom headquarters for what appeared to be a nationwide convention. It was like a scene from a horror movie, when some innocent creature I used to think of as cute and lucky reproduced with such mind-blowing fertility as to make make wonder if they might not, in fact, be taking over the world.

Our apartment had never, to that point, been of the buggy variety, so we had nothing in the way of Raid or Off with which to call this party to an end. I tried flailing at the ladies with my biggest clog-like shoe, but to no avail - it was like they magically multiplied faster when I dared disturb their meeting. I'm bigger than those bugs, I told myself. And theoretically, at least, I'm smarter. And that's when the answer came: I grabbed my industrial-size can of Freeze & Shine Superhold Hair Spray, and shellacked those babies to the wall.

Our vacuum cleaner buzzed for two or three days after that, which is why now, I leave those bumble bees alone. I'll let them mate on my porch all afternoon, so long as they go elsewhere to deliver.

The Art of Provocation

As I've been thinking about this wife thing, I've been reading this book, which features what may be my favorite piece of cover art of all time. It's creative and provocative, without being offensive...it walks that fine line with precision. That, I've decided, is my new goal in life.

(Warning note: This may be the only post in the universe comparing the Gilmore Girls to Jesus, but sometimes you gotta think waaaay outside the box to figure out how life works...) Last night, I was at a talk where the speaker offered an interesting perspective on Jesus' odd teaching style (and how he seems to be thinking, "Hey, why don't I follow up every clear passage with something utterly confusing, and then say a couple things that will completely piss you off!") She suggested that Jesus' goal wasn't to hand out a divine rulebook and then take off, wishing us all good luck. Rather, she said, maybe he wanted to provoke us, to draw us into an ongoing conversation where we wrestle (rant, argue, disagree) with these things until they make sense to us in a real, personal way.

This got me thinking about what draws me to certain books, music, tv shows, blogs...even friends. As I contemplate the ending of The Gilmore Girls - and the distinct possibility that my favorite show ever won't end in any of the traditional perfect ways - I realize that what lights up my life (to quote Debby Boone) is provocation. The good kind, that is - with analogies drawn between things I wouldn't have thought of, or creative solutions rather than just an endless line of problems. The Gilmore Girls provoked me, and I'm not sure what's gonna fill that gap.

Provocation is an art. I don't want tacky or lewd; I don't want to be horrified. I want to think, and laugh, and wonder, and (yes) wrestle a bit with what an author or show or friend suggests. And I want to be all of those things, because I think it makes life so much more interesting if I can add an unexpected perspective to a conversation in a way that draws people in, rather than sending them running for the hills determined to lose my number.

So there you have it. It's the second week of May, and I'm just figuring out my New Year's resolution: Learn the art of provocation. If I win the t-shirt Swishy is giving away on her website, I'll be that much closer...

Today's question: What is the last thing that bugged you but also changed how you look at life?

The Secret of Wife

I was chatting the other day with a friend of mine about her brand-new marriage. She'd just come from a baby shower where the assembly of women (some single, some married, some divorced) shared their hopes and dreams and fears and concerns about this thing we call marriage. Seems like we're all still sorting out how to make it work, wondering how we're doing and how (if?) our efforts will sustain us over the long haul.

Her comments got me thinking. I'm working on the proposal for book #2, which (I think) will have something to do with this topic. I love being married...but there was also a time, when I was married to someone else, where I understood with every fiber of my being what is meant by the phrase "Hell on Earth."

In my happy and my sad, the one thing I've always LONGED to do was to ask questions of the women who seem to get it - the women with sexy, fun marriages to men they really like; women who voluntarily don lingerie ten years after their wedding night and describe their husbands in genuine terms of respect; women who love their lives and aren't too embarrassed to let that happiness leak out a bit around the edges.

I know a few of those women now, and from time to time, I sneak in a question or two about how they do it. But my dream is that Book #2 will give me (on behalf of all of us) a chance to ask more. After all, they won't be MY questions...they will be for THE BOOK.

So whether you're single or married, I need your help:
Think of the future - and the marriage - of your dreams. If you could ask someone three questions about married life, what would they be? "How did you know he was the one?" or perhaps something more practical, like "How did you and hubby stop fighting every night over how much you hate that he watches America's Next Top Model?"

Post questions in the comments, or email me at: trishstevekylie AT yahoo DOT com.
Here's to finding fun solutions from wise women who know how to get to where we (okay, I) want to be. :)

oh happy day...

Weekend with Sister was spectacular - thank you all for your good wishes! There were chocolate martinis, shopping for bargains (Meg is now officially the best-dressed woman in southern Maine for the seventh year running) and, of course, long conversations on How The World Should Run. (We implemented some new policies immediately; world-wide change should be discernible in about a week.)

Today, the sun is shining, THAT DOG is nestled adorably at the foot of the bed, and I discovered that the writer of one of my FAVORITE movies, How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days - Kristen Buckley - has a memoir out. Reviews indicate that it's: 1.) funny; and 2.) about her childhood, growing up in New Jersey (for those of you who think those two points are redundant, I don't disagree...); it even comes complete with the obligatory Bruce Springsteen-inspired title, "Tramps Like Us." I fell even more in love with Kristen in this great interview (thank you, Gothamist). Honestly, anyone who calls for a city-wide inquiry into why Derek Jeter's hair looks like Kid 'n Play is my kind of girl! (And yes, finding this picture of DJ's work for Avon makes this great morning just that much better :) )

Back to the Future

My sister is coming to visit tomorrow! She'll be taking the Amtrak "Downeaster," which bridges the gaping chasm between Maine and Massachusetts in something like 247 hours. (For all I know, she's on the train already.) Meg is crossing not one, but TWO state lines, leaving the gorgeous state of Maine for the shopping metropolis that is Greater Boston. When that happens, you know big things are at hand.

We've come to think of this annual spring visit as a summit of sorts, where we convene for the betterment of the world. We shop, we talk, we drink copious amounts of wine (and the occasional chocolate martini). We remember the good old days where kids didn't wear seat belts or bike helmets, and Mom would send us out to play after lunch and not expect to see us again until dinner. We talk about what would make society better, and then agree that if all that is ever going to happen, we probably need new outfits. And then we shop, talk, and drink some extra-strong coffee to keep up our stamina.

Now, it's not that I'm excited about Meg's visit...it's just that I can't stop googling "Train songs" and then rewriting the lyrics in anticipation. Monday I massacred the Monkee's "Last Train to Clarksville" (hereinafter known as, "Last Train to Woburn"); yesterday it was a hit from my parents' era, "King of the Road" (in which I made her a queen, then sold off her kids, husband, dog, and the small green turtle pool they keep in the yard so she could hop a boxcar to Belmont and shop with me at Marshalls).

Some might call this procrastination, but I'm thinking, if this book thing doesn't work out, I might have a career in jingles...

Anyway, Meg will be here through Sunday. And just wait - the world will be a better place after our Downeast Sister Summit (please note that we're not yet entirely sure how this world improvement effect translates across timezones; for those of you living west of Red Sox Nation, your patience is appreciated.)

Have a great weekend :)

Ambushed

So I was standing in my living room the other day, flipping through a library book to confirm that yes, it was indeed overdue (am I allowed to request that the $2.50 I owe in fines be applied towards specific books for the collection???) and the card you see to the left fell out. It's a bunch of cartoon rock stars, along with John Wayne. "What do all these people have in common?" it asks.

I turned the card over, I found out: They are all dead. As I could be, the card went on to say, any moment now. It even quoted the song, Miss American Pie: This could be the day that you die! Then it transitioned a bit, telling me I was far worse than a bad library patron; that I was, quite probably, a lying, cheating, adulterer at heart who needed to smarten up about Jesus, buy a Bible, and do what it said. Charming, really. As you can imagine, this changed my life.

Or not. It did, however, change my book. I sat my pajama-clad butt down and typed out a BIG disclaimer, explaining that while Jesus has turned out to be rather helpful in my seemingly endless quest to make my love life work, he never ambushed people. He didn't send postcards, or pamphlets, or sneak up on people and say, "Hey - in case you didn't know, you suck." I mean honestly, what was the person who hid this card in there for me to find thinking?

Okay, climbing down off of my soapbox now - thanks for letting me vent :)

On a happier note...thanks for all the kind words about my new picture! Much adulation goes to DEM Photography, my web designer Meg who figured out how to post the pic on Blogger, and the miracle that we got this shot before my allergy-fighting Benedryl wore off and my eyelids turned to mush.

Wise words

And today, a ray of happiness: a bit of wise, true, and good dating advice from our beloved fellow blogger, Ellesappelle (elle s'appelle what? you ask, fellow French II graduates... I don't know, perhaps she'll tell us? Or perhaps it's part of her mystery...) Anyway, on to the dating advice:

"Muscles don't last, but tweed blazers and brains do!"

Ain't it the truth??? We need to get her on Oprah!

Publishing a book is like...bowling with a snowball!

You know how sometimes you'll hear about somebody new, and then suddenly, they're everywhere? That's how the past three days have been with me and this guy I've never met named John Elder Robinson.

I first learned of John from Kim's blog - John has a memoir coming out in September, a chronicle of living with Aspergers (a form of autism). Intrigued (although it's true, I'd probably read a memoir about finding new ways to cut your toenails over the course of a lifetime if it had a good cover, so perhaps my bar is not so high...) I surfed over to his website, then promptly added his book to my Amazon wish list. Even if he never shares his toenail cutting habits, I'll read his book - this guy can write.

Then today, I find his blog. In a single post, John Elder Robinson (let me pause for a moment to confess that I also have name envy here - JER makes me want to call myself Patricia Nadine Ryan - or at least introduce myself by my childhood alter ego, Trisha Bedine) answered all my questions about how the pile of pages my editor and I are wrestling into submission will become a book. In a nutshell, a book is like a snowball, he explains. As it rolls downhill, more and more people - editors, cover designers, publicity folks - will get stuck to my snowball and roll along with it, adding (God willing) to the momentum. Honestly, this post alone makes me a JER fan for life; I may even have a t-shirt made. If you are any sort of writer or reader, or if you just think your latte tastes better in a bookstore, you're gonna love this post.

(BTW, I was going to call this post "Wanna hop on my snowball?" but I did that thing smart people advise and thought for a moment about how that might sound, how it might be taken altogether differently than I intended, and realized...that it's amazing how ponderous I can be over my blog posts when I'm procrastinating! It's enough to make me wonder if the entirety of the political correctness movement in our country isn't the inadvertent byproduct of a bunch of people who were trying to put off what they were supposed to be doing???)

Anyway, that's enough for now. This is Trisha Bedine, signing off - and returning to my snowball!

Wanna get hitched? Check fasteners

I'm not usually one to make fun of the various books and columns and well-intentioned talk shows promising to teach women the hidden secrets of finding our one true love. I read most of those books, and well - people in glass houses and all...

But yesterday, the talk show we revere as the "my best life" Bible (you know, the one with the magazine and the book club) had the SINGLE WORST COLLECTION OF DATING ADVICE I'VE EVER SEEN. I sat there, horrified for my gender, as the Divine Ms. O fawned over an absolutely slimy looking self-professed bad-boy/gruppie in his swinging-single 40s, who has done women everywhere a favor and written a book to teach us how to grovel more effectively for small shreds of male attention.

Don't despair if you missed the show, because I took notes. If you're looking to find your soul mate, here's what our expert thinks you should do:

First, move to Salt Lake City. According to Men's Health (that long-established champion of women's interests) this is where the single guys are. There, and San Francisco.

Once you've settled in, take a moment to center your inner harmony and remind yourself that you are FINE being single...you LOVE your life, you LOVE yourself...you are a woman of purpose and integrity. Then pull on your miniskirt and Manolos, and head over to Home Depot. Go to the fasteners department, or perhaps plumbing (NOT paint - there are too many other women in paint) and ask men to help you.

There you have it. That was it. And all the while, our esteemed host nodded and smiled and said to Gayle, "I told you...go to Home Depot..." ARGH. In an odd ommission, no one mentioned what you're supposed to do with all the fasteners and faucets you'll end up with this way - maybe This Old House knows of a place to donate these items? An all-female Habitat For Humanity, perhaps?

I guess this is an okay plan if you're looking for a wing-nut (I'm avoiding the obvious jokes about getting nailed). But I'm not sure something this obviously manipulative is a viable way to get hitched...

Your brilliance needed...win big prize :)

I've blogged before about the unfortunate dust-up certain books have caused recently amongst some of my favorite friends, written by grim authors determined to convince us all that no matter what we do to try and become happy, fulfilled women, we're all doomed to end up abandoned, alone, and destitute.

BUT...I am delighted to pass along this little nugget from yesterday's NYTimes, which - in my unhumble opinion - heralds a new day in feminine happiness: Apparently, we women have finally smartened up enough to stop buying these books that tell us all hope is lost. To which I say, Hallelujah! I'm not sure where we got the idea that creating a market for exposes on "how our lives all suck" was ever going to change things, but let me be among the first to say, may that era end now, today. I want to hear from women whose lives work, women who have figured some things out, women who - although they may not be perfect - have reached a place where they can honestly say, "Hey - things are better than I ever thought they'd be." I'll plunk down $24.95 for those books, maybe even buy a copy or two for friends.

In that spirit, how about a little contest? In the comments, pick a problem - something that bugs you - and tell me your solution to solve it. I've read your blogs - I know you guys have mad skills. Most of you are (hysterical, brilliant) writers, so here's a chance to use your gift for the betterment of womanity (for which, my husband assures me, all mankind will thank you...) So pick a problem and tell me how you'll solve it! The prize will be something fabulous, inspiring, and (you know me) probably book-related....

It's outa here!!!

I may be in the weeds, but watching this unfold made me very, very happy this weekend. Along with the warm sunny weather, last night's game reminded me that when you least expect it, miracles still happen...and wow, is it fun to be around when they do :)

In the weeds

Hi All. My apologies for feeble blogging. As of this morning, my book has no title and is still in several different tenses, all of which sound good, except when you try to read them together. I'll be back with pithy observations as soon as the dust settles.

This much I can say, however: whatever dating advice readers glean from my book, it will differ significantly from this.

A funny joke on a(nother) gray day

This just landed in my in-box, courtesy of my brilliant sister. I'm changing the main character to myself to avoid offending anyone (and because well, it sounds like something I might do):

One day, Trish called her husband and said, "Please come home and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle and I can't figure out how to get it started"

Steve asked, "What is it supposed to be when it's finished?"

Trish said, "According to the picture on the box, it's a tiger."

Steve agreed to help with the puzzle. Trish led him to the kitchen, where she had the puzzle spread all over the table.

He studied the pieces for a moment, then looked at the box, then turned to Trish and said, "First of all, no matter what we do, we're not going to be able to assemble these pieces into anything resembling a tiger."

Then he took her hand and added, "Second, I want you to relax Let's have a nice cup of coffee, and then," he sighed..............

"Let's put all these Frosted Flakes back in the box."

Hee.

Words for the unspeakable

Nancy French has a great article on her blog about yesterday's tragic events in Virginia, asking if our insatiable quest for information really helps us process events of this magnitude. I am so grateful for her perspective; it makes me realize that I'm not the only one out there who isn't helped by knowing more about a situation that is so unfathomable.

I tend to numb out when I hear news like what happened yesterday. In the face of tragedy, my mind reverts to what is practical, predictable, controlled. I do laundry. I bake. Anything that allows me to take some sort of mess or chaos and turn in into something neat and orderly, anything that keeps me from thinking or wondering about things I can't possibly imagine, that I don't even want to imagine (even though I feel deep down inside like I should want to imagine them, like it's the right thing to do under the circumstances). For most of us, there isn't a right thing to do.

Triumph of the human spirit, as seen from my couch

Thousands of people made of stronger stuff than I (me?) are running the Boston Marathon right now. It was a rainy forty degrees when they started, with wind gusts up to fifty miles per hour. The runners looked like a bunch of TV-dinners, all wrapped up in the tinfoil blankets you usually see after the race. One guy got up at 2am this morning and ran the race backwards, from the finish line in downtown Boston to the starting place in the western suburbs. He stopped briefly to chat with a reporter, then turned around and joined the final pack to run the actual race. Unbelievable.

The sports commentators are remarking about how running still isn't taken as seriously in this country as other sports. I'd argue that making winners wear this on their heads might be part of the problem; that just doesn't look like victory to me. I think one of our local announcers may have had a few too many hot toddies this morning - he's asking provocative questions such as, "Will the runners even need the water stations if it continues to rain this hard?" and calling the race like he's at a strip club: "The arm warmers are coming off folks, things are heating up!!!"

The women are currently at the half-marathon mark; I haven't brushed my teeth yet.

Never mind my slow start, though - I'm off to the gym to capitalize on this surge of inspiration. Three miles, thirty minutes, three-hundred calories - that's my goal. I'll be one with the treadmill, churning toward my personal best. Does itunes have a "cheering crowd" playlist I can download???

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

You know New England weather is nasty when The Boston Globe runs a feature photo section of springtime in other places. Never before have I looked longingly at a scenic view of Pittsburgh and thought, "If only...." My devoted hubby stood longingly outside of Fenway Park last night, hoping against hope that the sleet would subside and he could take his favorite seat in left field and count how many times Manny Ramirez ducks into the Green Monster to use the mens' room. But alas, it was not to be.

Is it spring where you are? If so, don't tell me. I am taking this as a WONDERFUL opportunity to get just a little more use out of my favorite scarf and gloves set. Really, what could be better?

So many books, so much time, what the heck is a meme?

I've been reading again. There tends to be a lot of that around here in March and early April, as Steve uses the Lenten season to extricate himself from the steady diet of This Old House, America's Next Top Chef, and West Wing reruns we gorge on during the long days of winter ("So what if we've seen Norm and Tom install a forced-air heating system in the remodeled craftsman bungalow three times already?" he tells me. "Who knows when we might need to do something like that ourselves???") So for the month of March the TV goes off, and we train our eyes to move from left to right across the page once again.

Right now, I'm reading a book with the most brilliant title/cover concept ever. Cracks me up - the Tiffany blue, the extended finger (although I'm pretty sure you can't actually do that with your third finger).

Last week I finished a book that absolutely baffled me. It didn't resolve. The premise was good - a collapsed relationship between a mother and daughter who never recovered from the mysterious disappearance of their husband/father, a pilot who may or may not have been shot down when flying in dangerous airspace. Great stuff to work with. But the characters were so patently unlikeable - Mom was a defeated, hopeless nag; daughter was an angry, tatooed rebel with no underlying soft side; Dad had clearly been a selfish cad who put his own adventures and pleasure ahead of anyone else in his life - that I wasn't sure that bringing these people back together would be anything short of a train wreck. And the closing chapters lost me, as the author's increasingly vague illusions to who new people might or might not be, and what might or might not be happening left me wondering if pages had been torn out of the book.

I checked out the author's website once I finished, to see if perhaps I'd stumbled into the middle of some larger literary project. This girl has skulls on her website. It didn't take long for me to figure out that readers like me (who own everything Jane Austin ever wrote and freely admit that "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days" is one of my favorite movies) are not her target demographic. Fair enough. I'm not terribly street smart, but I know better than to mess with grown women who decorate with skulls.

For more book reviews, check out my book log.

What have you all (for some reason I can't say "ya'll" until the weather warms up) been reading?

***Late breaking blog confession: So after finishing this post, I was trolling around the blog sphere catching up on all I've missed from my online friends. My favorite Texan commented Monday that I'd missed a lot of great Memes while I was gone. Which forces me to finally confess: I have no idea what "Meme" stands for. Or what I missed. Or what questions I'm supposed to answer? I think it has something to do with one of Stacy's minions inviting Sarakastic to the Ukrainian-American Heritage Ball, but beyond that, I'm lost...

More things they don't tell you in writing class

Okay, there's no more time to worry about my missing cheese - bigger problems are at hand. Apparently, along with the narrative arc no one told me I should be living out, I also missed the memo about weaving a massively controversial position statement through the chapters of my book to polarize editorialists and bloggers across the world, thus giving me loads of free publicity and making me the poster child for some cause I may or may not really agree with. Sigh.

I realized this error this past weekend. One of my favorite female friends (and by favorite, I mean - most likely to pick me up when I'm down, make me laugh so hard it counts as an aerobic ab workout, and send me back out into my life with a vote of confidence that things will work out okay) called. In uncharacteristically somber terms, she described how she'd been flattened by reading an excerpt from Leslie Bennetts' new book, The Feminine Mistake, which (apparently) spends almost 400 pages telling women that if we stay home with our children in lieu of participating in "income producing work," we're: 1. wimps, 2. a disappointment to all women, everywhere, throughout space and time, and 3. Veeeeerrrry likely to end up destitute after our husbands abandon us. Cheery stuff. Gotta love it when women band together to make the world a better place.

I will say this for Bennetts - her polemics are stirring up attention. She's gotten some media coverage (check out Salon.com's fabulous article about the whole women-bashing-women genre in nonfiction publishing these days), and she's been attacked by a former beach volleyball player/life coach Penelope Trunk for having the audacity to be fat. (I think it's safe to say you've struck a nerve when otherwise articulate women are reduced to saying, "Yeah? Well...um...you're fat!!!" as their main retort.)

Anyway...onto my point. I can neither control nor keep track of the many ways we women are allegedly doomed to fail ourselves and all of humanity. But perhaps I can be polarizing - that's a gift I suspect most of us with the audacity to blog on any sort of a regular basis share. So ladies, I need your help. If I'm going to come up with a massively controversial position statement (hereinafter "MCPS") to weave through my book, I need to do it soon. Here are some early suggestions - let me know if you come up with anything better:

Potential MCPS #1:
I could say that, based on the observations of various social scientists, women have NO HOPE of breaking through the upper layers of the corporate glass ceiling unless we understand and capitalize on the power of a good pedicure, fire-engine read toenail polish, and open toed shoes. All other shoes, I would argue, set us back into the times of domestic servitude, lace-up "Little House On the Prairie" shoes, and put us (quite possibly) on a slippery slope toward the ancient Chinese practice of foot binding.

Potential MCPS #2
I could posit that recent (unidentified) studies suggest that no woman should be allowed to parent, babysit, or otherwise get too close to a child unless and until they have kept a plant alive for a period of at least six months. (I would, of course, leave out the fact that when I recently received a plant as a gift, my husband actually prayed for it's survival).

Potential MCPS #3
I could insinuate that fairy tales, Disney movies, and (horror of all horrors) chick lit books are the cause of all feminine failure. (Oh wait, that's been done already). Yep, women supporting other women. So good to see.

How about you? What would your Massively Controversial Position Statement be???

Who Moved My Cheese?

I've lost my cheese.

Not metaphorically. Don't worry, I didn't spend my forty day blog fast reading self-improvement books and drawing grim realizations about the state of my existence. (I did that for my whole first decade of adulthood; that would hardly be worth blogging about.)

No, I've literally lost my cheese. Steve went grocery shopping Saturday. Among other wonderful items, he brought home a half-pound chunk of mild cheddar. We enjoyed several slices, then I wrapped it up and put it into our (relatively small) refrigerator. Now it's gone.

I was really excited about that cheese. You see, in addition to fasting from blogging, I also fasted from lunch over the 40 Days of Faith. So yesterday the first day in a LONG time where, when the clock struck noon and my tummy grumbled, I could run to the fridge and partake of some lunchtime happiness. And if you know me at all, you understand that cheese is a key component of my lunchtime happiness. But there was no cheese. I checked every shelf, every drawer. I looked on top of the fridge, through all the cupboards, and even around the rest of the house in case I'd wandered off to do something in the middle of taking the cheese from the cutting board to the fridge. Nothing.

My husband came home and, detective that he is, immediately had a theory. Barely able to contain his laughter, he asked if I might have "accidentally" eaten the cheese and then forgotten about it. I stared at him, horrified. Partly because he knows me so well, partly because I was pretty sure that's not what happened. "Even I, at my cheesiest," I told him, trying to sound indignant, "Could not accidentally eat a HALF POUND of cheese and not remember!"

Still, we have no idea what happened. Our only viable theory is that perhaps THAT DOG, in a surge of Easter inspiration, taught her eleven year-old self to open the refrigerator door, then pushed a chair up to the upper drawer where we keep sandwich items, opened said drawer to extract the cheese, then consumed it whole, leaving no evidence of her adventures. I believe in miracles, but that seems a bit unlikely (I guess we'll know if a one gallon zip-lock freezer bag emerges from her on one of our walks this week).

In the meantime, I'm facing another lunch today without my cheese. If you know where my cheese is - if you're holding it ransom, knowing how much it means to me - contact me. Make your demands known! Just please return my cheese!

Hope Floats

Happy Day After Easter!!!

I woke up this morning wondering what I might blog about as I rentered the world of online life documentation. Start out with a pretty picture, I told myself. Something that says 'Spring is here!' On a whim, I googled hot air balloons, which placed me squarely in the middle of my first ethical blogging dilemma in a month and a half. It's only 8:30 in the morning, so I'm not sure my resources are up to the challenge (exhibited by the fact that I just sat here for a full two minutes trying to remember the word for "figuring out the right thing to do in a challenging situation.") So here's what I came up with:

If you're easily offended, skip on down to the next section.

If you're in need of a giggle, click on this link, which I'll simply call He is risen, indeed.
I have no idea why I find this so compelling, but it is truly cracking me up. As seriously as I take Easter (it's my very favorite holiday - the hero rising from the dead to save the day has always captured my attention, no matter what age or cynicism level I found myself at - and you did NOT want to be there the year I wandered into a church that abandoned the Jesus story and instead used Easter to focus on the important take-home message of The Velveteen Rabbit), this was not at all what I was picturing yesterday as we sang our Hallelujahs.

Okay, enough with the ethics for now. The past 40 Days have been intense and fabulous, but I missed you guys. Huge thanks to those of you who commented, emailed, or even (in one case of blog fandom I will forever treasure) called to tell me you were looking forward to my return. It's good to be back :)

In update news, I got my editor's notes back on my manuscript in mid-March. "This is wonderful," she said. "But it has no narrative arc." "Narrative arc?" I replied (having never aspired to write a novel and having only a peripheral idea of what she might be talking about). "Um, it's a memoir...isn't the narrative arc just how things happened???" Apparently not. So for those of you out there who think you might someday want to write a memoir, try and give your life a narrative arc as you go along, as I suspect that is much easier than retrofitting one later on in the process. (No one ever tells you this in writing classes, so there you have it...) The good news is that after fifteen days in my pajamas, laptop glued to the ends of my fingers, a narrative arc emerged. My life story now reads more like an adventure and less like a trip to a badly-organized yard sale. Hallelujah!

How about you? How was your Easter? What have I missed????

40 Days of Faith

This is my favorite time of year in our church. As our observation of Lent, we do something called 40 Days of Faith...from now until Easter, we focus on Jesus, asking him to bless our lives in outrageous ways, fasting from things that distract or comfort us that aren't about him, and looking for fun ways to bless the people around us.

In years past, I've fasted from coffee (difficult), television (even more so), and reading (nearly impossible-imagine me for two hours at the hairdresser getting my highlights done, NOT reading...just looking out the window. I looked like I'd lost my mind...) But in the midst of the effort and embarrassment, I've seen amazing answers to prayer and even a miracle or two, which is what makes this whole thing so much fun - there's no telling what will happen.

This year, I'm fasting from computer-related distractions: blogging and blog surfing. So you won't see much of me between now and Easter Sunday. I'll miss you!!! I know that in the natural world, dropping out of the blog-sphere for over a month is a sure recipe for losing online friends. But while I'm believing for miracles anyway, I've decided to trust that these fun friendships we've developed will endure, and that Spring will bring more good news and funny observations to post about all around.

If you feel like you could use a miracle of your own, everything for the 40 Days is (or soon will be) on the website I linked to above, free for anyone to use. There's a "User's Guide to the 40 Days of Faith" you can download, and a weekly reading that goes through the book of Luke in the Bible. Ask for something big and see what happens :)

I'm off for now. Have a wonderful pre-Easter season (how's that for a bizarre exit phrase???) and I'll see you in April!

Soaking it up

As you've probably noticed, I'm on a bit of a consumption jag, devouring books and movies and music at a frenetic pace, then flinging out recommendations in lieu of blog entries. (Although, to whatever extent this blog is about what is going on with me, this about sums it up unless you want to hear about the new pillowcases I got at a discount outlet last time I went to Maine...)

I go through this stage about once a year, usually in February when everything is gray and dingy and dead from winter, and those same words describe the inside of my heart and mind. Not depressed, not discouraged; there's no need to fear (much) for my overall mental health. But I've been feeling rather dead, needing something new to revive me. This is typically when I long to move to New York City, where stuff is happening, stuff that might wake me up and give me something to write about again. Instead, I've been finding it in the four hundred word sentences of a famed octogenarian writer, a pudgy nine year old dancing to music selected by her unorthodox grandfather, and - today- the songs from a couple of singers I'd never heard before in quite this way. I listened to them, and I wrote. Real stuff, not the wow, she's trying way too hard pithy drivel I churned out last week.

So if you're looking for inspiration, here are today's suggestions:

For funky, ecclectic music talking about faith and life: Ayiesha Woods. She's like India Arie meets Tracey Chapman meets Queen Latifah. Her song Happy made me happy...what more can I ask for?

If you're feeling introspective, and want to think and feel and see the world with big new eyes, Cindy Morgan's new CD, Postcards is brilliant. An hour with this CD this morning, and I'm a better human being.

So there you have it. Now I'm off to the video store to get the new DVD by the Dixie Chicks, to see their creative process from the inside and to try to dislike Natalie Maines a little less. I'm not sure why, but it feels important for me to see her as more than one of those girls who would round everyone up to hate me in the first grade because I wore a funny shirt or sat at the wrong place at lunch. I'll let you know how it goes!

Let me entertain you!

Okay, not me, really. (Although as soon as I master internet video technology, there may be some early baton twirling footage to be seen...especially now that I know that there is a National Coalition forming in support of our advancement!)

More on that later. For now, suffice to say that this was an entertaining weekend, due to the miraculous discovery of TWO good rental movies (a first in my life) and a hysterically funny book. So now I'll pay it forward...

In the "whoda thunk it?" category, The Lake House with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves. I know, I know...it looks cheesy and dorky, and really Keanu really only works when he's duking it out in The Matrix...but still. I totally loved this movie and recommend it for those times when you want to see a creative path to happily ever after.

Next, in the, "okay you're right indie films don't all suck" category (following closely on the heals of last week's slam-dunk viewing of Little Miss Sunshine - Olive is now my screen saver because she makes me so happy) is Trust The Man - David Duchovny, Julianne Moore, Maggie Gyllenhaal, and Billy Crudup. The title has nothing whatsoever to do with the film from what I can tell, but the story is great. I never understood what the big deal was about Ms. Gyllenhaal before, but now I do. She was great, as was the writing. There was one scene where she was doing that thing we all do where we blurt out words like "I know I'm on a journey" and "I'm learning to live life in the grey area" to insist that really, we're FINE, when every feature on our face screams out "Help me! My life is going down the toilet and I don't know what to do!!!" All the actors are brilliant in this, and it's another great rental for your viewing pleasure. As my friend Gilmore Girls Fanatic would say, this movie gets FIVE Pop Tarts!!!

And finally, I'm halfway through a book with what must be the Longest Title Ever - it's cover reads:
This Publication, Proudly Sent Forth Under The Title Of THE DEAD BEAT Will Gratify The Reader With A Survey Both Humorous And Poignant Of The Wonders Enfolded In The Pages Of An Ordinary Newspaper, and Including Many Marvelous Tales Relating To LOST SOULS and LUCKY STIFFS And The PERVERSE PLEASURES of OBITUARIES. At 52 words, I suspect this was written by Gay Talese. The book, considerably shorter than the title, is pretty darn funny.

And finally, this just in from my favorite Texan. Hee :)

Happy President's Day everyone!

Things that make you go ewww

What is going on in the world that this and this are today's headlines????

Heavy Lifting

Last night, as the rest of the world watched Simon, Paula & Randy break young hopeful's hearts on American Idol, I cozied up on my couch with 448 pages of Gay Talese: A Writer's Life. It's the closest thing to aerobic reading I've ever experienced.

Talese, a longtime writer for the New York Times and the author of several gigantic works of nonfiction (not to mention the husband of power editor Nan Talese) seemed like a good bet for a little inspiration, and his book does not disappoint. Never in my life have I seen so many words - conveying such a wide breadth of information - crammed onto a single page. Two hours into this journey, my right foot was sound asleep and my eyes were wide with awe. I'd covered a mere 78 pages in that time, wherein Mr. Talese led me, like a kindly but adventurous grandfather, across three continents, four decades, two home offices, fifteen restaurants, and at least three generations without missing a beat. I've never read anything like it - I got up to go to the bathroom at one point and thought, "Wait a minute - how are we talking about his parents waltzing in the living room after dinner in the 1940s when two paragraphs ago we were wondering about the fate of a Chinese soccer player who missed a penalty kick in 1999?" I felt like a little kid again, having no idea where we were headed or what decade or industry we'd wander through next.

I was encouraged (and slightly amazed) by Talese's description of his writing process: he writes long-hand on a legal pad, in pencil. He writes a sentence, ponders it, changes it, erases it, starts over, wrestles with it until it's perfect. Then he starts a new sentence. When he's accumulated a full page of these perfected gems, he moves over to his typewriter and commits them to typeface (at which point he thinks of things that should be added or changed, which sends him back to his legal pad...) At this rate, he managed - over the course of a decade - to create 52 pages of usable prose. His finished books come in at 400-500 pages, making this man the perfectionist triathlete of the literary world. I say give him his preferential seating at Elaine's - he's earned it.

My FAVORITE part of the book so far, though, is on page 71. Explaining his tendency to drift off and eavesdrop while dining in New York's fine restaurants, Talese lets fly with a FOUR HUNDRED AND FORTY ONE word sentence. That's right - 441 words/one period. It's both horrifying and fabulous - I've never seen anything like it. Clearly, Talese ascribes to Stephen King's maxim that the road to Hell is paved with adverbs, as his 441 word creation (which, by the way, is really just a toss-off sentence where he ponders the fish someone is eating at a nearby table, speculating as to what sort of confusing day the fish must have had) contains only three.

My favorite part of the sentence (it's so long, it almost has chapters) is where he imagines the "bearded, brandy-breathed, scrawny, wife-abusing French-Canadian fisherman" who might have pulled up the net that captured the fish. Honestly, I don't use that many adjectives to describe ALL the people in my book, let alone one fictitious fisherman. Inspiring. (Although I suspect that to get this kind of monster by an editor you need to have reached a point in your career where people like David Halberstam call you "The most important nonfiction writer of his generation." I'm not quite there yet).

I'm going to type out this sentence - it may take me the next week or so - and frame it.

Straight up with one Olive

Thanks for the cheer-up guys...you all really are the best :)
I'm back in the saddle, writing wise, and it feels good in an off-key, I'll make it sound good later kind of way. I went out and bought one of those writing books on getting up the gumption to start new projects, and the threat of having to read it drove me back to my laptop in a way I never would have guessed! The only thing I dread more than writing drivel, it turns out, is reading other people's opinions on how I can generate more such drivel, and how necessary and important my drivel is. I don't disagree, but it makes very dull reading. God willing, I won't ever read that book, I'll just keep typing frantically, year after year, trying to avoid it :) (Probably not what the author had in mind, but I take solace in knowing her commission is the same whether I crack the binding or not.)

Two other things chimed in to pick me up off my duff this week:

We rented the movie Little Miss Sunshine the other night, and let me tell you, Miss Olive (pictured above) has changed my outlook on life (not to mention dance and fashion....) forevermore. If you haven't seen it, get thee to the theater ASAP. I almost maybe wet my pants while watching the closing scene.

And I downloaded "Best of Disco" on iTunes. I defy anyone to be depressed while singing, I love the nightlife, I got to boogie, on the disco arrrrrraaaahhhh Oh yeah...

I'll leave you with that audio-image :)

Notes from a narcississia

Weekend update: In an attempt to stay entertained during the cold, I saw Dreamgirls with friends yesterday. Dang, Jennifer Hudson can sing! I tend to forget that performances like that are practiced - they don't come out perfect in their initial incarnation - so it kind of made me feel like crap. That happens (I've noticed) when I forget about things like learning and rehearsal. Or, in Anne Lamott's great writing terms, crappy first drafts. I read my favorite writers and listen to my favorite singers convinced that their words burst forth (with musical accompaniment, no less) the moment they deign to put pen to paper. Not fun, especially as I've been a little shy on earth-shaking creative force lately. As I ponder the vast hopelessness of wrestling a poignant, transformative collection of brilliant nonfiction from my brain out onto my computer, you can imagine how much fun I am to be around. (If you have a moment, kindly drop me a note in the comments and remind me that the quality of your life is not contingent upon me writing the perfect book...tell me how you're doing just fine and I should get over myself, shut up, and write something, whether it's world-changing or not :) )

In happier news, the Red Sox equipment truck left Fenway Park to head down to Florida for Spring Training today. Not the players. Not the coaches. Not even a lucky fan. The equipment truck is headed for Florida, and people all over greater Boston are pinning the story to our mental bulletin boards as proof that spring will - has to - come. To which I say...I wonder if I could write something poignant about that....

Just kidding :)

Lo and behold, an epiphany...

As I was stepping into the tub last night, I realized, in one of those, "Duh - why didn't I think of this sooner?" moments, that I need a hobby. (And then I fell into the same trap as the rest of the people who have ever read books dealing with the improvement of the human condition: I took my personal revelation and flung it out onto the broader landscape of humanity, deciding once and for all that ALL women over thirty who don't yet have kids need a hobby. But that's another post).

The problem is, though - what to do? What sort of hobby can one pick up at this point in life? It seems a bit late for gymnastics, I'll admit; and I don't think that collecting blue bottles to display on the window sill is going to stretch my mental muscles in the way that I need. I considered knitting, briefly, but (as my sister will tell you) my history with handmade crafts is a brief and tortured one, and I'm not the best candidate for activities involving fine motor skills and long sharp needles.

So I'm thinking of learning to play the piano. It's absurd, I'll admit, but with those new keyboards that come with headphones, the chances of someone getting hurt are minimal; I appreciate that in a hobby. There's not much musical talent in my bloodline (we've long joked that a recording of some other family singing "Happy Birthday" would greatly improve our annual parties) but what we lack in skill we make up for in enthusiasm. I've danced to enough Janet Jackson songs to know I'm a part of the Rhythm Nation (I'd learn drums if we weren't in a 950 square foot condo...) and at the very least I can learn the chords (notes? how does piano music work?) to "Happy Birthday" to drown out our voices at my nephew's birthday party next month...

So that's my plan...for today anyway. Tomorrow I may decide to become a travel agent.

If you could try anything, what would your new hobby be?

So that's why the melons at Whole Foods cost so much....

I can't think of any way to comment on this article without sounding heartless. So I won't. (Except to say "Please, someone, tell me this is a joke..." and "Aren't there better pursuits for scientists questing for breakthrough inventions???") Okay, I guess I commented. (Note to self: work on restraint and political correctness).

Moving right along...I need your help. I recently discovered the joys of iTunes, but am overwhelmed with all my choices. So here is what I need from you, my friends (besides patience with my inability to recognize the innate humanity of crustaceans) - song recommendations! What are your favorite songs in the following categories:

1. Inspiration: Music to keep you going on the treadmill/elliptical machine

2. Relaxation: Hanging out on couch thinking about how much better than feels than being on the treadmill/elliptical machine

3. Destination: Road trip/long flight music

My ipod thanks you :)

Other great books to read while waiting in the hospital

Okay, I never thought my 2007 book log would take this particular turn, but so far, my major reading has been done in hospital waiting rooms as my Mom has been run through a gauntlet of tests. She's kept up a level of heroism (not to mention an uncanny ability to navigate narrow corridors in a cold hospital wheelchair without getting either her oxygen cord OR those little strings that hang down from the johnny tangled in the wheels) that makes me wonder if there might not be a spot for her on the next round of the MTV Real World/Road Rules challenge...

Anyway, I already shared how happy I was to have Julie Carobini's Chocolate Beach last time. Yesterday's read was Joy School by Elizabeth Berg. I'll write a full review for the book log once I finish the book and gather my thoughts, but wow, does she do a good job creating her young protagonist's voice. There are some writers who inspire me as to how I can write better. There are others, though, who make me stand back in awe. I suspect Berg is in the second catagory :)

And thanks again for all your prayers for Mom...she's still not feeling great, but all these tests show that her heart and lungs are way better than they thought...which makes me and my family a grateful bunch!

Options for my pen name

I've been tagged by my favorite Michigan girl, now known as Sbra! I love her extra now that she has punctuation in her name. There's a good chance that when I finish blogging, I'll spend the rest of the afternoon exploring my options in this area:
I could be Trish!
Or Trish%
Or (on a bad day) Trish?
Or the Spanish version (pretend the first one is upside down) ?Trish?
Wow, this could be a long weekend...

Okay, here goes the meme:

1. YOUR REAL NAME:

Trish (Patricia, actually. Not Pat.)

2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (first three letters of your name, plus izzle)

Triizzle. That sounds like a weather report, anticipating small amounts of precipitation.

3. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three of your last)

Tayn. Don't mess with me, I'm pretty fly.

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (fav color and fav animal)

Blue dog. If I ever start a career as a jazz musician, there's the title of my first album (I'll need some sort of cover for my detective career, no?)

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, Street you live on):

Nadine Ericsson. Clearly, she's a woman not to be messed with! I bet I'd have a long career in the soaps, cause they keep the villain women around forever.

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 3 letters of mom’s maiden name)

Ryatrcoll. I think that makes me the machine that dispenses cold beverages.

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (favorite color, favorite drink)

Blue Cabernet (and her alter-ego, Blue Chocolate Martini). Now there's a cartoon I'd tune in to see.

8. YOUR IRAQI NAME: (2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your last name, any letter of your middle name, 2nd letter of your moms maiden name, 3rd letter of your dad’s middle name, 1st letter of a sibling’s first name, last letter of your moms middle name)

Radosma. That should be all it takes for me to fit right in. Who cares if I have freckles if my name is Radosma?

9. YOUR STRIPPER NAME: (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/body spray)

Destination. I think I'd do better as a cruise director.

10. YOUR WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother & father’s middle name)

Amelia Russell. Now when you meet me, you'll know my secret.

These are all fine options, but I still like the look of !?Trish?! Doubt encased in enthusiasm - what more could I want in a name?

I'm tagging Lynette, Swishy, Sarakastic, and Jenny.

I wrote a book!

My manuscript has been submitted! (I'm so wiped out that I don't even care that I'm making my big announcement in the passive voice). It was too early to run to the wine store to celebrate, so I toasted the moment with a "Yay, I wrote a whole book!" bowl of toasted oat squares. You'd think that would feel anti-climatic, somehow, but I was pretty hungry...

At some later date, I'll share with you what happens when you realize, the night before your book is due, that you've switched tenses midway through your story and now have 157 pages of sentences that need to be changed by tomorrow... Suffice to say that 3:32am is not my finest writing hour. I am newly appreciative that my days of academic term papers and all-nighters are behind me!

Thank you all for your awesome encouragement. As soon as I wake up from my nap I'll post something more celebratory. Who knows, I might even take a shower and put on real clothes! Woooo Hooo!