We’ve all heard “don’t judge a book by its cover.” This month, I learned not to judge a book by its title. Or a perceived typo. It’s been a month of reading confusion. Book 1: A Circle in the Fire and Other Stories by Flannery O’Connor Flannery O’Connor is one heck of an Irish name, so naturally I looked forward to his tales from my ancestors’ land. Ah, but there the confusion lies: Flannery was a woman. She was a…
Yesterday evening, it was time to choose which book to read next. I select at least a few fancy Folio Society volumes each month, as the collection was lovingly built by my parents. As I open each new (to me) classic, I look for hints that Mom or Dad (or both) may have read it years ago. That just makes it more special. They were both tidy souls and so there aren’t any smudges or tears. But once in a…
Remember Edgar from the movie Men in Black? Gary and I thought of him the other day as we read up on the brew that must be mixed before it is carefully poured into a hummingbird feeder. “Sugar … in … water” is all he wants. And so, our first hummingbird carries the name E’gar. When I chose this particular hand-blown glass hummingbird feeder, it seemed like the decent thing to do. According to the online description: Blue: Represents resilience…
By sheer coincidence, all of July’s reads are also available as films or TV shows. From Where the Crawdads Sing to Hillbilly Elegy, they all moved from the page to screen. Which is better? I’ll probably never know, as I’d rather read than watch. But since I’m a member of “the book is always better than the movie” society, you know how I’d vote. (The one generally accepted exception, of course, being Jaws.) Book 1: Benjamin Franklin: His Life As…
Postcard 1: Six decades of hedgehog love As proof that memories and assumptions can be faulty, let me confess that I’d always believed my first encounter with a hedgehog was through Mom and her love of Beatrix Potter characters. We brought those tiny story books – just the right size for a toddler’s hands – home from the library every chance we got. I was just four years old when I met a hedgehog by the name of Mrs. Tiggle-Winkle:…
Each month as I sit down to write about the books I’ve read, I look for a theme. It’s never planned out ahead of time, but sometimes a theme does emerge. This time, it’s stories about the post-war era. Not all of them, but five (if you count The Longest Day) out of six is a theme, right? Book 1: The Diary That Changed the World by Otto Frank Over the years, I’ve read plenty of good books about Anne…
Confession: If you’ve followed these blog posts through the years, you may remember that 14 months ago I started reading Charles Dickens’ Bleak House following the author’s original monthly-installment schedule from 1852-3. His novels didn’t get released as a complete volume until after his readers had endured many months of three- or four-chapter installments trickling to them in magazine form. As much as the concept of following the original schedule, and stretching out Bleak House over 20 months appealed to…
This morning, between rowdy thunderstorms, I heard an odd sound. Gary and I were sitting together in our sunroom, gazing into our backyard, which – after all the recent rain – looks like a jungle. The noise was pitched high enough that Gary couldn’t hear it. Years of high-frequency milking machines will do that to you. It almost sounded like an alarm: two tones in fairly rapid succession and then silence. By late afternoon, I’d forgotten all about it. Then…
About halfway through April’s books, it struck me that nearly all the main characters had the same problem: they lacked impulse control. Book 1: The Moon’s a Balloon by David Niven This memoir is an absolute trip. David Niven found success in spite of himself. Over and over again, his unfiltered mouth got him in trouble. From boarding school to the military. From the stage to screen. Story after story revealed Niven’s severe lack of impulse control. All the same,…
In the last few days before today’s total solar eclipse, I couldn’t resist checking to see if Mom had ever written a poem about this all-too-rare occasion in nature. Sure enough, she had. But, as often as she wrote about the moon, that’s not what this poem from 1971 was about. Eclipse I saw two wagons passing by the sea:one full of letters from my love to me.The other held a cargo of such strange designthat I could only pray…