The man who sold the world found the stars today.

It’s quite difficult to believe, really.  I watched The Dick Cavett Show tonight.  And, Bowie with his orange hair and crocked teeth … awkward.  shy.  weird.  … reminded me of myself and so many people I know who never quite fit into the molds life presents to us as acceptable.  This person reminded us all that it was OK to be different.  It was ok to have red hair and crocket teeth and to dress differently everyone else.  It was ok to be a nerd to and to want to read and to be a musician.  

(Amanda Palmer)

Today, in honor of his passing, I asked my friends and loved ones on social media to do something different.  To do something they didn’t feel confident doing.  To do something brave.  To step outside their normal lives and do something… STRANGE.  This man who was a huge part of my musical life, changed pop music, as we know it, greatly influencing what we know as mainstream music today.

I did this because...

-I remember being a little girl and running around in circles in my parents’ living room singing “All the Mad Men”;

-I remember, around the same time, watching a home-recorded-VHS of the Bing Cosby & David Bowie compilation for "Little Drummer Boy" and telling my mother it was my favorite Christmas song I’d ever heard;

-I remember watching “Labyrinth” a hundred times as a teenager and trying to understand my obsession with a terrible Goblin King chasing babies because he wasn’t a good person… and yet…;

-I remember watching “Labyrinth” a hundred times more…

-I remember when my Grampa told me his secret code name during WWII was Davey Jones and how relieved he was when he came home and could use his real name again - He, of course, didn't know this was David Bowie's given name and why it mattered even more to me;

-I remember considering the cover of "The Man Who Sold the World" and wondering about a man being dressed as a woman and what that meant to so many people around the world;

-I remember hearing the Nirvana cover of "The Man Who Sold the World"and understanding why that kid in my class wore that Nirvana t-shirt;

-I remember when The Wallflowers covered "Heroes" and I couldn't believe it; 

-I remember being almost 30 and finding out I was going to become a mama… and David Bowie releasing his second to last album the same day I made this discovery;

-I remember discovering my daughter's name is the same as a song he released before he was famous and I didn't even know it until we'd already named her;

-I remember reading Morrissey’s autobiography and understanding the influence of David Bowie on his music and really understanding his influence on our modern music;

-I remember the day he died.  And my husband said, “I am sorry for your loss” the moment I was awake.  I had no idea what he was talking about because no one knew David Bowie was sick… and I didn’t believe my husband when he told me David Bowie was no longer alive.  I didn't believe I would never be able to see him perform.

“Imagine yourself at 60…”   That’s what Dick Cavett asked David Bowie on his show.  Dick Cavett asked David Bowie to imagine the Beatles with someone there to hold up their guitars and really imagine himself at 60.   Of course David Bowie imagined himself at 60.  Of course he planned his own story of his death by writing and recording an album during his last 18 months on this earth.  Of course he passed away two days after the release of this album.  Of course he spent the last year of his life making music - simply another example of his ability to always push boundaries and be bigger than life itself.  I feel stupid for being so sad about it. But I'm f'n sad. I can't believe he pulled it off... and yet... of course he did. 

Of course  he did.  He’s David Bowie.

**We must have died alone, a long long time ago**

October in the Chair

I'm traveling to Boston for a work event today.  Brought Neil Gaiman's "M is for Magic" with me for the train ride.  Today's story was, "October in the Chair."

This short story is one that makes you smirk when you finish.  The premise is that each month, personified, takes turns telling a story - in order, January to December - and this turn belongs to October.  There is a bit of banter between the months so the reader can understand their "personalities", then October begins.  

October's story is about a bullied little brother, Runt, who runs away.  On his first night he finds a graveyard and bravely befriends a little boy who is a ghost.  They spend the evening climbing trees and running around.  Runt discovers that he is most happy in this graveyard with his new friend, seemingly a feeling he has never felt before. 

We hear a lot in the news about bullied kids today.  And it's so sad.  They feel so alone and scared.  And sometimes suicidal.  Just this week two local girls ran away because they were bullied at school.  Why don't we take more time to consider their feelings?  We think children feel so connected because they are on social media.  But we've all felt maxed out on our social media before.  Sometimes I think about how much social media I have and get confused because  I'm posting to the wrong account.  I should be work me but I accidentally post to my personal page.  Or my blog post gets shared to another page accidentally.  Which of these social media profiles is really me?  Two instagrams, three twitters, three fave books, who knows how many email accounts.  Sometimes even I feel a little confused about who I am... And I'm a working adult who has a solid group of friends.  Imagine feeling that sense of confusion and being 13.  Eek.  Though Gaiman didn't specify the era of when this tale took place, it feels timeless and I'm sure lots of young adults could relate.

Side note: know some readers feel Gaiman is too prolific and perhaps a bit commercial.  This story is one I would ask them to read to change their minds. Gaiman's ability to characterize the months of the year and cause no confusion is not something that is easily mimicked.  And, the ol' story within a story can seem trite... But not when OCTOBER is telling you a GHOST story.  So just chill, guys and enjoy it.  (Get it, chill, October, ghosts... Never mind.) 

Take the Donuts (AFP)

A friend recently asked me where this adventure would take me next.  

The answer?  DONUTS. 

I've been making my way through Amanda Palmer's recent release, The Art of Asking.  

For those who aren't familiar with AFP:  

She's an artist whose family is from affluent Lexington, Massachusetts.   She's married to my modern literary fave, Neil Gaiman.  As a student, one day she realized she wanted her "real job" to be an artist so she cut back her hours scooping ice-cream and became a statue.  You know the ones - people who paint themselves one color then stand very still until you give them a tip?  Yup.  That was her art.  She moved into an artist apartment and started a band (she had played piano her whole life) and became kind of famous! She hated being famous, though - the record companies kept telling her to stop talking to her fans.  They kept telling her she had to dress a certain way and had to play her music a certain way.  They even told her she was fat and that they'd have to edit her first music video to hide it.  So, she quit them.  In order to keep making her records, she started giving away her art for free.  She sold burned copies of her CDs for $5.  Stayed after her shows for hours signing autographs and talking with her fans.  She started an email list and responded to people who emailed her.   She put her songs available for "pay what you like" on her blog.  She became very active on Facebook.  And on Twitter. She throws house parties for free at fans' homes.  She has randomly scheduled pillow fights before her shows.  

What is Amanda Palmer most famous for, though?  Asking fans to pay for her to make a record.  And they did it.  She had a goal of raising $100,000.  Fans contributed $1,192,793.  Yup, almost $1.2 million dollars more than she asked for.  Since this successful campaign, AFP has continued making music, continued hooking fans up with free tickets, continued being a social media queen.   She even went on to do a TED to discuss her story and the success of making art and letting people pay what they want for it - even if it's nothing.  

In her book, AFP elaborates on this success.  She talks about artists often worrying that they'll be seen as frauds by the "Fraud Police" because their art is weird.  Or maybe the artist thinks no one wants to pay for their creation - how can they be legit if no one wants to give them money?  Her advice to those who fear such rejection?  Take the donuts.  She explains that even Thoreau - known for living in a tiny hand-made cabin next to a pond for years - had his mom bring him donuts and pastries on Sundays.  AFP asks the reader to consider whether Thoreau would be considered a "poser" today if he accomplished the same mission and was given donuts by his mom.  

I'm obsessed with this idea.  Be you.  Let people help you be you.  Let people give you donuts.  Recently I had a chat with a friend about how sometimes I feel like a fake because my circle of friends is extremely creative - musicians, artists, librarians, authors, video game designers - and I am not.  He told me that, though I feel like a fake - ahem, fraud - I am not.  The others see me as creative, too.  Me?  Really?  I was (and am!) flattered and hope I can continue with my artsy projects* so I feel less like a fraud.   I'll probably keep my day job and take a pass on becoming a statue, but I will most definitely continue writing.  I'm going to keep Pining dorky things on Pinterest.  I'm going to keep sending unicorn memes to my friend. 

Now, who's up for donuts?

*Disclosure Statement:  My husband is probably laughing as he reads this because I have 45,395 hobbies.  I sometimes paint, I sometimes play guitar, I sometimes take photographs, I read a lot, I try to write a lot. And by sometimes I mean rarely.  And by rarely I mean I need to practice playing my guitar.  Right now. 

Taking the donuts is hard for a lot of people. 

It’s not the act of taking that’s so difficult, it’s more the fear of what other people are going to think when they see us slaving away at our manuscript about the pure transcendence of nature and the importance of self-reliance and simplicity. While munching on someone else’s donut. 

Maybe it comes back to that same old issue: we just can’t see what we do as important enough to merit the help, the love. 

Try to picture getting angry at Einstein devouring a donut brought to him by his assistant, while he sat slaving on the theory of relativity. Try to picture getting angry at Florence Nightingale for snacking on a donut while taking a break from tirelessly helping the sick. 

To the artists, creators, scientists, non-profit-runners, librarians, strange-thinkers, start-uppers and inventors, to all people everywhere who are afraid to accept the help, in whatever form it’s appearing, 

Please, take the donuts. 

To the guy in my opening band who was too ashamed to go out into the crowd and accept money for his band, 

Take the donuts. 

To the girl who spent her twenties as a street performer and stripper living on less than $700 a month who went on to marry a best-selling author who she loves, unquestioningly, but even that massive love can’t break her unwillingness to accept his financial help, please…. 

Everybody. 

Please. 

Just take the fucking donuts.

Hawthorne: The House of the Seven Gables

I started reading The House of the Seven Gables a few weeks before Halloween. Here in Salem we talk about this piece of literature quite often. Hawthorne was born here and wrote about our little city several times.  We also have a museum dedicated to the House of the Seven Gables, which includes Hawthorne's birth house - moved to the site of the museum in the 1970s - and I have visited several times. It's one of my favorite places to bring guests when they visit. I know about the gables, and the family who actually lived in the home (The Turners, not the Hawthornes), about how Hawthorne changed his name from Hathorne because he felt shameful of his family's history during the Salem Witch Trials. I know Hawthorne married one of the Peabody sisters - wealthy women known for making the world a better place through education and through writing.


Can I tell you a secret, though? I had never read this book. Not in high school, not in college. Never. GASP. I'm not finished yet, but I had a real-life experience that related so greatly to the beginning of those book that I couldn't wait to share it with you.


This gothic novel, written in the 1850s, is about family history dealing with guilt, shame, atonement, witchcraft, and the supernatural. Although it's written in sort of a matter of fact manner, the content is quite intense. Today, we'll simply talk about the pre-story. That of the house being built in the 1700s.

In the first pages: "Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and an elm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm."

The land on which this house was built is nearby a beautiful stream, and Colonel Pycheon built the home in order to pass it on to future generations of Pycheons. The problem was, the man who owned the land, Matthew Maule, who is poor and seen by members of the town as a bit strange, refuses to sell it to Pycheon. So, Pycheon uses the Witch Trials as an opportunity... He accuses Poor Maule of being a witch - he's murdered by the "judges" in Salem, and the land is turned over to Pycheon. Terrible. Maule's last words: "God will give him blood to drink". Of course, when Pycheon dies mysteriously in his home, and when he is discovered he has blood in his mouth. Where were the lawyers?  Where was the documentation of who owned the land?

While reading this part of the book, I attended work meeting with several individuals around the county to discuss a large fundraising event I'm helping to plan. In those meetings, we talked with people who founded/work for nonprofits in the area that promote land protection for the greater good. For example, one organization uses old records from the City of Salem to determine who the official owners of land are. One individual shared stories with us about families who were given land in the 1700s in a town north of here called Essex. The land was to be used as wood lots - it was too swampy to live on and too rocky to farm on. Assignment of the properties was completed, mostly, verbally and very few actual measurements were used. Families knew their land "ended at the big, overgrown tree", for example. As coal became a primary heating source in the 1800s, the woodlots became used less and less and the ownership became more and more murky. Now, in the 2000s, there are some parcels of land that should be taxed but sit empty, and it is unclear who owns them. So, this small nonprofit uses its resources to review old records in hopes of finding the families who own the parcels, and convince them to create a conservation restriction on the land - then the land can be used for trails and other public use.

As the woman from this small nonprofit explained this all to me, I couldn't help but think of Pycheon and Maule. Their story could never existed but for the distribution of land with little or no record and the increase in use of coal for heating.   As I sat in this meeting listening to this history of the region, I started thinking about how sometimes there are lessons in life that are so obvious and sometimes there are lessons in life that sneak up on us, and sometimes there are lessons that we learn without ever even really learning them.  It never occurred to the settlers around Essex that the woodlots would become obsolete some day so they never felt the need to document more clearly who owned them.  There was a sense of trust that we can not understand in our modern society.  Was it better to leave the land ownership up to interpretation and to trust your neighbors?  Maule would say "no", that's for sure.  Would Pycheon be so lucky with his witch accusation if there was a document showing Maule owned the land?  I think not.

Books & Graves: Little Women

A few weeks ago my little family found our way to Author's Ridge at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord, Massachusetts - the grave sight of the Alcott, Hawthorne, and Emerson families as well as Thoreau.   Just the name of the place gives me goosebumps.  So many incredible individuals buried all in one place.

Ok heart, stop pounding. 

This will be the first of several posts about this incredible place.  I'm starting with a childhood hero, Louisa May Alcott.

As we found our way to the cemetery, we drove by Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House and memories began pouring in.  I'm not from the Boston area and have yet to make my way into the house.  Alcott's vision of the importance of family and being an awkward outsider resonates with me today.   For those who don't know, Little Women is a coming of age tale of four sisters who live a genteel life in the mid-1800s.

My first memory was of sitting in the local library in the town were I lived as a child.  (Guys.  I grew up in a town so small that the library doesn't even have a website!  Here is their facebook page if you want to see one of the most beautiful buildings that ever existed:  https://www.facebook.com/FriendsoftheAdamsFreeLibrary ) It was after school one day, when I was maybe 9 or 10.   I was sitting in the children's section in one of the old wooden chairs that creaked softly as we sat down, as if saying, "Ohhhhh good! You're here!" with a friend.  She read Little Men and I read Little Women.  These were small board books, not the actual novels.  We loved them.  I remember sitting in that library in my squeaky chair smelling the smell of old books sitting with my sweet friend and reminiscing about Jo March and her sisters.  Their relationships with each other were so kind and loving - and the passion they had for family makes me teary today.  Even though each was so different - Meg is the "perfect little woman", Jo is a strong-willed individual, Beth is kind and gentle, and Amy is the vain and self-centered baby - they were each other's closest confidents and friends. 

Later, when I was in middle school, I read the novel itself.  Later that year, the movie - staring Clair Danes - came out.  I was eleven.  I was obsessed.  I related to the story of Jo even more now.  She had a strong willed attitude in a time when women were expected to be demur  - She was pretty bad ass if you asked me.  Her strength in believing in who she was even though others around called her a "boy" (albeit, lovingly) was empowering to an awkward, book loving, red haired, eleven-year-old with crooked teeth and a fast smile.  Jo was my hero.

Finally, high school.  In my junior year of high school I took an advanced writing course and an acting course, both with the same teacher.  His name was Mr. Roberts and I will never forget him.  Mr. Roberts was a plump, sassy soul and taught from his desk.  He rarely moved around, which in most cases, I would say might make him a terrible teacher.  Contrary.  He was one of the best teachers I have had yet.  I was excruciatingly shy in high school (I know you don't believe me.  It's true.  One year we all had to chose nicknames for each other and I was named, "She who does not speak."  Truth.) Mr. Roberts helped me learn that through writing I could be brave.  I learned to express myself in journals, studied poetry, and, back to the point of this post: I learned that there is more to writing than just what is written down. In Mr. Roberts class we learned about the transcendentalist movement, of which LMA was a part. Her works were more than just stories written for people to read.  In order for us to understand a piece of literature, we had to understand the context of the author's life.  Transcendentalists fundamentally believed that humans and nature are inherently good.  It was essential that individuals be self-reliant and independent, and that we do not simply follow doctrine and rules for the sake of order.  We had to become our own selves so that we could best contribute to "the community."  I realized then that Jo March wasn't simply an awkward teenager who didn't "fit it" with her sisters and peers.  She was trying to be her own person, and by doing so, she would become a successful career person and happy in her marriage - a contributing member of her community, and also very happy.  Jo's life, of course, doesn't simply have a happy ending because that's not have life is, really, but she is a good person trying to do good things.  Red-headed, crooked tooth, book nerd, shy me didn't have to play sports or wear name brand clothes.  I started spending time with people I met in French Club.  I even tried track (and fell. a lot.  but also laughed.  a lot.)   Jo March is my spirit animal.

So, visiting the grave of the creator of one of my first literary role models was an experience I will always place on list of "Woah.  I did that." moments.  And, I had my brave, bright, friendly little girl, L-Bear, with me.  She laughed and waved at strangers wandering by.  I felt so proud to be her mommy.  The pile of pens in front of Alcott's grave reminded me that, although sometimes we very very alone and scared and awkward, we are all simply trying to "be".  Trying to be ourselves.  Trying to be part of this community.  Trying to be an individual.  So, write.  Read.  Shave your head.  Dress like a man (or a lady).  Do whatever it is that makes you feel like you.  Make Louisa proud.  

Untitled by Anonymous.

Leering,

Leaching,

Loathing,

Life.

Compassionate, Optimistic, Gregarious,

Lost.

Seeking.  Searching.  Missing.

Hope.

Review: Devil in the White City by Eric Larson

Woah.  

I'm not even sure how to feel.  No mystery here - Larson puts it all out there.  This is a book about a serial killer and about the Chicago World Fair.  The writing was very conversational, which at times could be hard to handle... Especially when Larson described Holmes and his murders.  But... It also added to the creativeness of the book itself.  How better to describe the doings of a psychopath than my describing his activities in a very casual manner?  

Holmes was a terrible person.  The World Fair was a perfect back drop for this tale:  The juxtaposition of his cunning murders against the ambitions of the Fair's creators - for environmental awareness, American pride, economic stability - made for a perfect foil.  

Not my usual style of book, but very well done.  Glad it's over.  Might have nightmares... But definitely worth picking up.

Literary Travels

Recently, I was fortunate enough to find myself at a new place of employment.  I'm thrilled - I am now working as the fundraising and development person for a (very) small, local charity whose mission is to preserve the culture and history of the county in which I live. I will be spending my days cultivating donors, assisting with event planning, and sustaining relationships with the board and corporate donors.  Many of you know I live in Salem, Massachusetts - home of the Salem Witch Trials in 1692.  I didn't grow up here, but was drawn to the city because of its incredible history and its attitude about using that history to prevent such a horrific event from happening again. As I've spent more time here, I have also grown to know that Salem has a great maritime history. Museums all over town, and even our city logo portray this, and it's a great way to help the city become better known for something positive.

Since starting my new job, what I recently began thinking more about is the area's literary history.  I suppose it's well known that Thoreau's Walden Pond is nearby.  And that Nathaniel Hawthorne was born right here in Salem.

If you've been reading my few posts in the last year, you may know I bought a new house, had a baby, and got a new job.  I haven't had much time for blogging!  Now that things are settling down and no giant life changes are knowingly in my immediate future, I'm introducing a new blog segment.  We will be traveling around New England visiting the homes & graves of some of the famous authors in the area.  My hope is to involve my family a bit in my literary adventures.  My plan is to chose a New England author, read his or her book(s) - hopefully it's on my fantasy list! - visit the grave or homesite to take some pictures, then blog about the experience.  

To get started, I picked up Carved in Stone at my local book store, Wicked Good Books. I've always had a curiosity about gravesyards and the people buried there.  I'm excited to include my sweet baby and my love in this reading adventure, and I hope to post more frequently.  




*These images are not mine and I claim no ownership or rights to them. I googled and found two awesome shots of two incredible graveyards in Salem.  The B&W is an image of Broad Street Cemetary - which was in the backyard of the first apartment I had in Salem.  The second is Old Burial Point, which is where Nathaniel Hawthorne's infamous Grandfather Judge is buried. 

Monster High

About a year ago, while I was driving to work, I heard a radio spot about new dolls for girls.  These new dolls were called, "Monster High" dolls and were geared toward girls who might see themselves on a more "alternative" spectrum than their Barbie loving friends.  The dolls are dressed in various monster attire - a werewolf, a vampire, a witch.  

My kind of dolls. 

I couldn't wait to get home and look up these new, alternative dolls geared toward... Well... Toward young me.  A doll that wasn't really about fashion or dating?  A monster doll that could go on adventures traveling through realms or even through time?  Sign me up! 

The marketing manager at Mattel (manufacturer of the dolls), Cathy Cline, was interviewed for the radio spot: 

*The message about the brand is really to celebrate your own freaky flaws, especially as bullying has become such a hot topic.*

These dolls are being marketing in a way that says, "I stand out. It's OK that I am different.  

One doll, the vampire, is VEGAN.  A girl after my own heart. 

I got home and Googled. 

What a disappointment. 

Have you seen these "monsters"?  Let me describe them to you: They are anorexic looking "girls" in (pardon) stripper attire:  Mini-skirts, knee high boots, giant heads, knees that can't carry their "weight" and buckle as the doll "walks", giant (pardon) hooker lips, and more eyeshadow than, well, Barbie. 

So much for being alternative.  

Imagine yourself at your favorite big box store.  Imagine yourself in the toy aisles.  Now, imagine you need a gift for a friend's daughter's birthday.  How do you know what to buy?  You go to the aisle coded with pink princesses, hair & make-up supplies, baby dolls, cooking equipment.  Where are the science toys?  The carpentry toys?  The sports equipment?  Oh, those are in the boys' section.  

And now, you can feed into your insecure, non-pink liking, bullied child's issues by purchasing her a doll "like her" - buckled knees, big hair, and stripper boots at no extra charge.  

Recently, I picked up a book called "Redefining Girly".  My Huz gave it to me for my birthday.  The author, Melissa Atkins Wardy, takes the modern concept of "girly" (i.e., pink, sexualized, weak, princess) and calls it out as a marketing tactic helping toy manufacturers segment toys so that each family must have one for each "gender" specific item for the girls and one for the boys, thereby selling twice as many toys.  Wardy makes a point to emphasize that there is absolutely nothing wrong with wearing pink/liking princesses/whatever.  She wishes there were more of a selection, and I have to agree with her, especially when it comes to dolls like these. 

Marketers say it is innate that girls like these "pink" ways, and that they are just selling what girls want.  I don't think so. 

I'm frustrated that we segregate toys into "gender specific" categories. I'm angry that these "monsters" at sexualized versions of the creatures we all know.  I don't understand why girls have to decide between Barbie with her heels, a vampire dool in knee highs, or "boy" toys.  

What do you think?  Am I overreacting? 

http://www.npr.org/blogs/monkeysee/2013/07/17/202417282/KIDS-GOTH-BARBIE

Boston Strong: A Year Later

An entire year has passed since the Boston Marathon Bombings.  Hard to believe so much has happened since then.   

At the time this all happened, we were all scared, confused, and angry.  Now, because we are tough New Englanders with tough hearts we have picked up all of the pieces.  The Marathon is slightly later in the month this year, but it is happening all the same.  Everywhere I go I hear the phrase: "Boston Strong".  I keep thinking about the strength and resilience of all who were impacted.  The first responders who ran toward those who were hurt instead of away.  The police and government officials who shut down our city in order to protect it.  What an amazing place to live.  What amazing heroes I have all around me.  

I am still conflicted about the way we should handle the case for the terrorist who harmed so many people.  He is a young college student who, I believe, thought he was doing something to make the world right.  He thought he was making a statement about  how Americans treat the rest of the world.   It's sad that our world is so segregated, and that there is so much hatred for other people that causes so much self-destruction.  

My hope is that we continue to learn from this experience.   Let's keep talking about those who helped people who were missing limbs.  Let's keep talking about how resilient we are.  Let's keep talking about how we can interact with each other to make the world a better place to live.  

Here is last year's post from a bit after the bomber was caught.  I have tears in my eyes re-reading it.  As I wrote it I kept thinking about the fact that I was bringing  a sweet new baby into this world, and that I hoped I could teach her to always fight terror with love and to always have hope.  I think we can do that.  I know we can.  Because we are strong.  We are Boston Strong.  Good will always conquer all.  

http://nerdylooksgoodonyou.blogspot.com/2013/04/captured-hunt-is-over-search-is-done.html

Fairest of Them All

I have a vivid memory of playing with my sister in our "sky blue pink" bedroom with a bunk bed:  I, being the ever-bossy older sister, turned to her and said, "I am the princess.  You have to do what I say."   She, being the ever-clever younger sister, said, "I am the queen.  You have to do what I say." 

I was flabbergasted. 

I could not fathom anyone being more powerful than a princess.  How could that possibly happen?  She was right.  She secured her position as the queen and we proceeded in our attempts to climb though our full-length mirror, mimicking as much as possible Alice as she climbed through her famous looking glass. 

I was reminded of this memory this past Monday when I took L-Bear to a check-up.  When the nurse came in to weigh & measure my dark haired, bright green eyed, smiling baby, she smiled and stated, "She looks like Snow White!"  I loved this.  For me to have a classic storybook character look alike for a daughter is so perfect.  

Later, after the doctor came in to chat about introducing solids, the nurse was back.  This time L-Bear needed to get three shots. If you are a parent, you know this is a miserable experience. Each time L gets a shot, she looks up at me while I hold her and makes THAT sad face that says, "Why are you doing this to me!?" then cries.  It's awful.  Well, this time, the usual face was presented.  She looked up at me.  Whimpered a little.  I reminded her that I was proud of her for being brave.  Then, something surprising happened:  L-Bear smiled at the nurse. It was as if she was thinking, "I know this hurts, but I am brave and I understand."  

The nurse paused, then smiled at me and said, "Pretty and brave.  Little Snow White."  

I was so proud. 

Because of the Disney version of this fairy tale, I think we sometimes forget earlier versions.  Snow White's life was so hard.  Her mother died.  Her father's new wife hated her.  A hunter tried to kill her. But, after using her wits to convince the hunter to let her live, instead of feeling sorry for herself, she found a new life with people who cared about her.  She created a happy existence for herself - became one with the natural world around her.  

I know what you're thinking - true love's first kiss saved Snow White after she, naively, ate a poisoned apple given to her by a disguised evil queen.  Do you really want L-Bear to grow up as a damsel in distress, waiting for a Prince?

You are mistaken, my friend. 

In Grimm's version, based on oral tales of the centuries, there is a prince. And there is an apple.  And the sweet trusting Snow White was tricked.   True Love's first kiss didn't save Snow White, though.  The Prince and his fellow travelers came upon Snow White in her glass coffin, and seeing how beautiful she was, decided to bring her back to his home for a proper burial.  In doing so, the coffin was dropped, the apple was dislodged, and Snow White awoke, ever grateful.  

The Evil Queen, you ask?  She, still "green with envy", attended Snow White's wedding.  While there, "iron slippers had already been put upon the fire, and they were brought in with tongs, and set before her. Then she was forced to put on the red-hot shoes, and dance until she dropped down dead." 

Yup.  Good wins again.  Snow White's ability to believe in the goodwill of human-kind enabled her to thrive, even in the worst of situations.  Her ability to trust and to continue living with a heart full of love and hope, enabled her to push through her darkest days, and find true happiness.  

So, when I think back to these early days on L-Bear's life,  I will always remember her as my sweet, brave Snow White.  Smiling through hard times, knowing sometimes life is hard, but always remembering to keep love and hope at the forefront of her being.  

Read Instead?

As you know, I'm all about reading.  I love an interesting fiction story and I love reading biographies about my "heroes" (more on that next week).  One aspect of reading I sometimes struggle with is the "Read Instead" concept.   For a long time, I didn't have cable.  I used my computer to catch up on current events and I had a roommate who worked at Blockbuster so we always had movies around to watch should the feeling strike us.   When I moved in with my Huz in 2007, I "upgraded" and we have had cable since.  Now I have shows that I greatly enjoy, and often they fit into the same genres as my favorite books - "documentaries" about mermaids, weekly series about fairy tale characters who live in modern Maine, and quirky movies and shows with sci-fi themes.   What I wanted to talk with you about today is the idea that - aside from the terribly annoying commercials that always seem to be never ending - I think I've decided that maybe television isn't so bad.  

Bear with me.

This change of heart really stems from the availability of commercial free Netflix and other streaming availability.   I hope we continue down this avenue and that our "shows" become more widely distributed without the commercial breaks.  It seems our lives are constantly more and more commercialized and I can't help but wonder if we will finally reach a point where we all say "STOP.  NO MORE!".  I really think we will, and I think it will be soon.  Personally, I've stopped watching certain shows because of annoyingly obvious product placement.  Perhaps I'm not the audience most commercials strive to entertain, anyway, because I buy most of my clothes from consignment stores and find my music on Spotify and Pandora (and often mute the commercials)... but it is easy for me to block out those screaming announcers who want me to purchase whatever it is they think I must have. 

You may be thinking - "But all of those Netflix shows are funded by product placement!".  I know, I know... but it feels better to be marketed to in a way that let's me decide I want to be more like Claire Underwood and her cool, modern, sense of style and well-organized office so I might as well buy an Apple computer!    Oh wait, I don't want to be like Claire... I do still love my Macbook, though.  I digress.

So, back to this "Read Instead" phenomenon.  Let's forget commercials for a minute.  Let's pretend they don't exist, and forget that the reason people make television shows is to make money.  Instead, let's think about why we enjoy television: We like to escape from our stressful lives for a little while.  We like to learn about ideas or concepts completely unknown to us.  

Those are the same reasons I read books.  

I'm not saying we should all stop reading.  I'm not saying that television should replace my beloved favorites - Poe, Gaiman, Barrie, Martin.  What I hope to convey is that maybe we can supplement our reading habits with other opportunities.  We can use television to learn and to take a break for a while.  

So, maybe instead of "Read Instead", we should really "Read" (at all) and "Watch Sometimes". 

Faith, Charity, Love

When I first began this post, I planned to write a breakdown of everything "wrong" about St. Patrick's Day and share the old fables about this man we celebrate every March 17.  As I began writing, I realized such a post is against my belief that believing in magic makes it real. 

So, instead, I wish you all a beautiful day full of rainbows with pots of gold at the end, leprechauns granting you everything your heart can desire, and all the cabbage you want to eat.  

Happy St. Patrick's Day.  May you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead.  

Cinderelly, or the Story of a Distracted Procrastinator

I'm home sick from work today.  Day 6 of a terrible, stupid, annoying cough that is driving me and my little family crazy.  Huz just took L-Bear with him to do errands.  I have the whole house to myself for the first time ... well in a very long time.  I should be sleeping.  My eyes are heavy, and I finally stopped coughing every other minute.  Instead, I keep staring at the pile of laundry in the bedroom - it's grown out of the laundry basket and onto the floor.  It reminds me of the Margory the Trashheap of Fraggle Rock fame.

I convinced myself that Margory can wait another few days so I can sleep, and started walking toward the couch for a cat nap, then noticed the dust bunnies scurrying across the living room floor.  I decided to check Facebook to distract myself from the dashing rabbits, and was reminded of the pile of things in my office that still need to be put away after our trip to the Berkshires to visit family last weekend.  Sigh.

So, instead of sleeping (which I should be doing) or cleaning (which I'm going to regret not doing), I found myself thinking.  I thought back to my late high school years and how my mom used to call me Cinderelly.  Growing up, my sister and I were responsible for a certain number of chores. We were expected to take the dogs out, change their water, start the laundry, set the table, start dinner, and help with the cleaning up after dinner every day - things every responsible teenager can handle.  I was notorious, though, for complaining and for disappearing just in time. My parents, knowing me well, knew that I wasn't being a jerk... I am simply easily distracted, so began teasing me about my lack of enthusiasm to assist by calling me Cinderelly.

It's funny how as an adult it is so easy to get distracted by the mundane - dishes, laundry, dust bunnies.  But as children we are so easily distracted by exciting things:  animals we encounter in our yards, games played with friends... When does that change?  Why do we seem to lose that joie de vivre and concentrate on those things that make us less happy?  Sure, a clean house is important and I'm much more at ease when things are not disordered.  But why does that make it so difficult to spend a few minutes each day concentrating on things we love to do?  

Well, my little munchkin and her dad will be home shortly.  I'm going to toss some laundry in and take a nap.  I'm happy to have taken this few minutes to share my happy memory of time with my parents with you.  

Mum, I'm definitely having a Cinderelly day.  Love you.

Happy Shelfie Day!

New York Public Library hosted a super fun event on Instagram today!  They asked for people to share photos from their local libraries!  So many beautiful pictures were submitted.  It's great to be reminded about how many different kinds of readers there are.  Here's my submittal  (circa 2012): http://instagram.com/p/HanhJ/

Happy Shelfie day! 

*All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost...*

As many of you know, my life has changed dramatically in the last year.  I became a mommy, we moved to our first single family home (with a yard!), I bought a new (to me) car, and (soon) my job is moving out of state.  Last January when I realized all of these life events were going to happen in the next year and a half, I panicked.  Who wouldn't?  New home, new family member, new commute, new job?  Eek.  

Over the course of the year, though, we have been immensely fortunate.  We have the most incredible network of friends, family, and acquaintances.  Without all of the love and support that has coming pouring in over the last year, I  would still be in that state of panic.  Although things aren't totally settled yet (my job change will occur over the spring and summer), I think things are starting to feel more normal.  Still, sometimes I cannot believe how different my life is this December from last.  A few days ago I was taking my dogs for a quick stroll trough our new neighborhood while the baby napped, and felt a little like a ghost watching my own life.  Whose house is this?  Do I really live on this quiet deadend street?  Is this incredible little baby, who I love more than I ever could have imagined loving anyone, really mine to keep forever?  

Then, this morning JRR Tolkein's often quoted poem popped into my mind: "All that is gold does not glitter..." YES.  This should be tattooed on my forehead.  My life has been an incredible series of amazing accidents.  Many of my most happy events were accidental occurrences.  Some examples:  finding Salem, meeting my husband, my current employment.  Many times, though, events immediately preceding these occurrences, appear to have negativity associated with them.  I wouldn't have found MG if it weren't for a terrible breakup a few weeks earlier, I wouldn't have found my job if I didn't leave my preschool classroom in tears one day... You see?  These "gold" events did not immediately "glitter".  

The next line of this poem also describes my life this year.  Have you seen the movie "Wanderlust"? You know, the one about a chick who can't decide what to do with her life?  Should she pitch a movie to HBO? Maybe a jewelry maker? A children book illustrator? An ice-cream store owner? 

Yes.  That's me.  Exactly.  I've talked about owning a cupcake store, opening a book store, being a preschool teacher, teaching high school English, running an animal non-profit, getting another office job because it pays the bills...  My hobbies are endless - I'm not a pro at any of them, but every so often I like to knit, play guitar, paint with water colors, dance... I'm an endless wanderer.  And I love that.  So, with this next year, I'm going to continue being that endless wanderer, and remember that I'm not lost.  The gold will glitter when it's time, and maybe I will find my way eventually.  But, if I don't, that's ok, too, because I have all of you.  Thank you for all of your kindness and support this year.

Cheers to an amazing 2013, and hopes for an even better 2014.

Salem's Lot by Stephen King

Don't hate me.

I am not a Stephen King fan.  

I have read exactly 1.5 of his books and hated them both.   The first was Gerald's Game upon recommendation of my husband, back when he was just a boyfriend - almost ten years ago.  The second was Salem's Lot - a recent recommendation for a good October read.

I didn't finish Salem's Lot even though several of you said, "It's a great book!"and "Robyn! It's about VAMPIRES! You love vampire books!" ... (dot, dot, dot...).

King's stories are horror stories, as everyone knows, but the monsters in the stories aren't what is actually scary.  What is actually scary is how hateful and despicable everyone is in his books.  His characters make me sick to my stomach.  The people in his books aren't any better than the monsters he creates.  They should know better, but their actions prove they are terrible human beings. 

As I sit here staring out my office window, looking at the leaves falling from the trees that hover over my backyard, I keep thinking about the recent news about a teacher who was murdered by one of her students.  Why would I want to read a book about hateful people who purposefully hurt each other when I see enough of it in real life?  My quiet little city is impacted enough by murders and hatred (um, Salem Witch Trials anyone?).  Honestly, I don't want to read a book about people with no hope, with no compassion, with no... dreams.  

So, as much as I respect King for being a beloved horror writer, and as much as I love that he uses New England as the back drop for his books... and as much as I loved the movie Carrie as a teenager... I've given up on his books.  

Re-reads?

I keep thinking about a few re-reads... One because I think I didn't like it, but several bookish friends whose recommendations I trust loved it so I must be mistaken... And one (a series) because it is awesome and I don't want to forget any details when the next book comes out (ahem... George...) It feels like such a commitment!  I am curious of others re-read...

Movie: "Oz the Great and Powerful"

As I've mentioned several times, my favorite movie growing up was The Wizard of Oz. Grampa Knights had it on laser disk, and we watched it practically every time we visited him.  He finally he put it on VHS for us.  I knew every line and sang my heart out with every song. I have no idea what it was about Oz that made me fall in love, but it did. We also watched Return to Oz, the very scary sequel, and loved it.  My family still references it in every day language ("Tie my feet together!")... and I think it, subconsciously, might helped contribute to a middle school obsession with the movie, The Craft.

When it was announced that Disney was creating a new version of this childhood favorite, Oz the Great and Powerful, I was quite excited.  Life got in the way, and I did not get to see it with my family in the Berkshires, but Mike and I did get it on Netflix and watched it.  Because so much time passed between when the movie came out and when I saw it, I had read lots of reviews.  In particular, I'd read that it was terrible - making a mockery of the wonderful female hero of The Wizard of Oz because of weak female leads and a wimpy love story plot.  I guess you could say that I was a little surprised I enjoyed it as much as I did.

I expected this to be a 2/5 stars movie, but it was more like.. a 2.5/5 stars movie.

James Franco did a great job portraying the wizard in his youth, and Michelle Williams made for an excellent Glinda (although it was very confusing when the Wizard kept calling Glinda "Wanda"... I thought there was another character!)  (Also confusing... the fact that the writers called Glinda the Good Witch of the South, like in the novels, instead of the North like in the movie!)  I also enjoyed the switch from black & white to "technicolor" in a similar fashion to the original.

Mila Kunis's Wicked Witch (sorry... spoiler there... she's the Wicked Witch, sorry...) was weak.   It killed me that she became the Wicked Witch out of jealousy ("Green with Envy..." so predictable) and that her character in that state was so CGI'd that she matched the background more than anything else.  I also found a plot mistake... which I'm pretty sure I've never done before!... and I kept getting distracted by it:

In the original Wizard of Oz, the field of poppies outside the Emerald City is put in place by the Wicked Witch in hopes of keeping Dorothy and friends from meeting the Wizard.  I can vividly remember her waving her hands over the magic ball:

Wicked Witch of the West: And now, my beauties, something with poison in it, I think. With poison in it, but attractive to the eye, and soothing to the smell.

Wicked Witch of the West: Poppies... Poppies. Poppies will put them to sleep. Sleeeeep. Now they'll sleeeeep!

The writers really thought Oz fans wouldn't notice such a big mistake...?

So anyway, I liked the movie but it most definitely did not live up to the original, and it is difficult to not make a comparison.  I've only read the first of the original Oz books series, and maybe I'd have an easier time if I weren't so obsessed with the original.   Did you see it?  What did you think?

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer

So, every once in a while I step away from my usual favorite genres and read something recommended to me by my husband.  We have very different tastes in books, as I am sure many of you know, but I'm open to many kinds of experiences and love to read so I make the jump.

This month, I borrowed Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close from him via the lend function on our Nooks.  Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is well out of my "usual."  It is about a boy, age 9 or so, who lost his father in the September 11 terrorist attacks.  He is autisitc, and is bullyed by the other children at school.  He knows they are bullying him but he does not know how to react or respond, and sometimes does not understand what they are picking on.  Like anyone who goes through such tragedy, he does not handle the death of his father well.  He spends his days searching for a missing lock to match a key he found hidden in his father's closet.  Along the way, he meets a number of people with the last name "Black" and learns a bit about himself and his family along the way. 

Overall, the premise of this book was interesting, and I really liked Oskar, the boy.   The story was sad - so many individuals impacted by sadness and death all around them.  Is that really what life is about?   Thelesson Oskar learns, that having a mission in life is so important, even if it is as trivial as searching for a lock you know you will not find, provides a deeper level to this indicating that although death surrounds us, we have to keep on living and finding ways to make our lives meaningful.

I was easily distracted, though, by the change in point-of-view as well as the running together of quotes.  I wondered at first if the author did this purposefully because of the young boy's autism - was he trying to put the reader "in the head" of Oskar?  Once he switched to the letter format of Oskar's grandparents, though, I knew it was a stylistic choice by the author.  Instead of letting myself get lost in the story, I kept reminding myself to slow down and pay attention to who was speaking and to whom he was speaking - it was quite distracting.  I found the letters throughout the book to be distracting as well.  They added to the story and we never would have quite understood the family dynamic without their points of view, but without a "Dear so-and-so" or a "Love, (name)" at the beginning and end of each, it would take me a few moments to understand who was speaking.  Was the author trying to say something by doing that?  Was he trying to get me to see something I am not seeing?  Let me know if you see something I don't...

One other confession... Whenever I read a book electronically and there are photographs, it reminds me of an exercise I had in a creative writing course during undergrad where we took a mismash of photos and had to write a story that brought them together.  I felt the same about Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children .  I prefer to use my own imagination instead of having the author inject his or her own images for me to use.  The only exception would be for art work - Alice in Wonderland or anything by Dr. Suess are of course forgiven.