The Florist's Daughter

Author: Patricia Hampl

I started reading another of Patricia's memoirs (A Romantic Education) a couple years ago and I liked it but didn't have the time or patience then to be sucked in and therefore I never finished it. I've been wanting to return to her work for sometime now, especially as I am visiting the cities (Minneapolis and St. Paul, the setting of almost all her work) more often and am contemplating possibly living there myself or at least having it as my closest city when I move back to the farm. When I saw this memoir, her lastest, still in hardcover and costing more than I really should spend, displayed at W&CF, I couldn't help but pick it up and carry it around the store with me. My friend says she likes to grocery shop by walking into the produce section and seeing what vegetables she picks up. She believes her body will tell her what food she needs if she just surrounds herself with the options. I almost didn't buy it. I can wait until it comes out in paperback, I thought, or maybe get it from the library. I should read the one I started first and then come back to this one, I thought. But I wanted this one. The connection to her father's work in the title, but a summary that made it sound like it was actually more about her mother, and the Pat Conroy praise on the cover: "Patricia Hampl writes the best memoirs of any writer in the English language." I needed it.

For the next couple weeks, I would read a chapter or part of a chapter before bed, and like A Romantic Education I liked it, but whether it was me being busy and tired or her meandering, I didn't get sucked in. I brought it with me to Memphis last weekend but didn't open it up to read until Monday morning when I was waiting at the airport for my flight. I continued to read after I boarded the plane, as we waited longer than usual to take off, in the air, back on the ground in Chicago and waiting again for O'Hare to lend us a gate, on the blue line (I took a quick break to call work and tell them I would be late), and then on the red line. I laughed at the Belmont stop. I cried at the Lawrence stop. I finished the book at Berwyn, with just enough time to reread the last page before I got off at Thorndale. So good. I didn't mind paying for hardcover, and I definitely didn't mind showing up to work late because of a delayed flight.

Genre: Memoir

The Church of the River

I went to Memphis last weekend to meet up with Leslie, my roommate from college who was there on a grad school interview, and stay with my friends Sara and Lauren who I've been promising to visit since they moved there. Before coming, Sara and Lauren asked what I wanted to do when I came. "Graceland? Beale Street?" they offered almost fearfully, but I told them I was coming to see them and that I wanted to see their Memphis, not the the tourist packaged Memphis.

It was great. We drank Budlights at a (the) trashy dyke bar, BBQ'd salmon and chicken on their backporch, drank coffee and ate whole wheat bagels at the "hippie" hangout, chilled in the park by the art school where all the "different" people of Memphis hang out, watched tevo'd reality MTV, played guitar hero and a little bit of real guitar. On Saturday Sara and Lauren mentioned that they had been attending services at a Unitarian church. I had learned about the Unitarian Church from living with Leslie in college, but I had never been to a service, so on Sunday morning the four of us went and I have to say it was one of the nicest church experiences I've had. The music was pretty and the sermon was thought-provoking (although I think it could have gone deeper), but what really got me was the windows. The pews are tiered and face a front wall of all window that overlooks the river. (This is the best picture I could find of the church, but it doesn't really do it justice. And we also didn't stand up at the front like that.) It was so nice to sit there and watch the trees and the river and feel the music and contemplate the sermon. And to be with a whole room of people that are sitting with you watching the same river and feeling the same music and contemplating the same sermon. Afterwards the four of us got brunch together and talked about what we had been thinking about and that was pretty damn great too.

The Translation of Dr. Apelles

Author: David Treuer

This is the novel Krystle gave me for Christmas this year. I started reading it a couple weeks ago when it was below zero temperatures in Chicago. The book begins with two villages of Indians dying off in northern Minnesota because of a cold spell. Only two children survive the "bloodless massacre" as Treuer vividly describes it. So as the rest of Chicago complained of the cold, I couldn't help but feel lucky to have a house and a furnace and lots of blankets. It was an appropriate book for me to read right now. I could be feeling cold, but the setting of this novel is colder. I could be feeling lonely, but the characters of the novel, the only who remain of the community they were born in to, are lonelier. I'm beginning to think I'll always be able to count on Krystle to pick my winter reading. This was last year's pick.

Dreams from My Father

Author: Barack Obama

Part of why I love Obama is because his activism so obviously grows out of his life experiences. He does what he does (like run for president) not just because he feels like that is a good thing to do, but because he couldn't NOT do it. This book reminded me in a way of Michael's The After-Death Room: Journeys into Spiritual Activism. In both books the authors' journeys are simultaneously inward and outward. Ultimately they are able to make peace with their pasts and use it as fuel for their future work, yet the complexities of this journey, this peace, and this future are all present as well and I feel that is what makes the book, and the person, so affecting.

So yeah. Go Obama.
https://donate.barackobama.com/momentum

Six Feet Under

Where do I even begin? I have never been so affected by TV. Davi and I have been watching this show via DVD over the last few months and last night we watched the final episode. Not only was the last episode wonderfully crafted, bringing together beautiful writing, cinematography, acting, and music, it also had four seasons of rich material and characters to draw from. As we had been warned we would, Davi and I wiped tears and blew our noses constantly through the last twenty minutes. And then rewound and did it a second time. Even today, I will recall an image from this final scene and it will make me teary--partly because I have become attached to the characters, feeling as if they are my own family and friends, but mostly because I see myself in them. It has been interesting to note which scenes over the past couple months of viewing have really a struck a chord for one of us as the relationships between family members, friends, and significant others in the show echo our own current or past relationships.

The timing for watching this final episode couldn't have been better. It has been so good to watch and learn, to see myself reflected in the show, and to think to myself, "I want to be able to do this in my own work." And as Claire drives across the blank slate of desert, cheesy as it sounds, I feel as if I am in the car with her, as if I am her--affected by the lives of everyone around me and finally ready to create my own life.

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

Author: Sherman Alexie

A good young adult novel is the best because 1) when I was a young young adult I was starved for good reads and usually resorted to sustaining myself with re-reads or checking out whitebread Sweet Valley High and 2) even though the language is simple, it doesn't mean the truths of the story don't run deep, if not the deepest because of it's accessibility/universality (think Hemmingway).

This was the sort of book that made me exclaim out loud--laughter, gasps, and the mmm sound you make when something tastes just right. Obviously, I'm a little biased--I'm a sucker for anything about Indians and sports and family and community and making the most of the cards you've been dealt and this book definitely has all that. Plus it has inserted little personal drawings/doodles/comics like the ones that Davi draws and I never get enough of.

Me and You and Everyone We Know

Director: Miranda July

I watched this movie when it first came out a couple years ago and besides remembering I liked it, I really only remembered the "back and forth, forever" scene because it is so funny and oddly touching.

I just checked it out from the Bayfield Library and watched it again with my mom and this time the scene that stood out to me was when Christine goes to the art museum to drop off her tape and the art lady gives her a business card and tells her to mail the tape to the address on the card, the address of where they are standing, and says it will be easier that way. Throughout the whole movie Christine is trying to break down this wall to be directly intimate and everytime she is cast as crazy for doing it, yet the rest of the characters are so closed off and can only let themselves be intimate through devices like internet chatting, posting signs on the window, code words, etc. And yeah, of course it is "easier" (as in less awkward, less scary) to only let your guard down when there is already a wall in place, but it is also so ulitmately sad and lonely and literarlly sense-less.

So yeah. Beautiful. And I promise the next blog will be about a book.

Speaking of, Miranda July has a pretty cool new book too.