Book review: "The Geography of Bliss"

This month's selection was the memoir by Eric Weiner, an NPR correspondent who was tired of reporting on war and conflict and decided to take some time to visit the countries that ranked top in a happiness study.

I'm usually not a big fan of non-fiction (it almost always feels like I'm reading a textbook and let me tell you, nothing puts me to sleep faster than reading a textbook) but this was a great read. Not only was the information interesting, but Weiner's style of writing was witty and fun. He had a few "I couldn't help but wonder..." Carrie Bradshaw-esque moments, but I just snorted and moved past them.

The book was great. I recommend it to everyone.

My favorite part is what Weiner sums up what he feels he's learned from his experience: "Money matters, but less than we think and not in the way that we think. Family is important. So are friends. Envy is toxic. So is excessive thinking. Beaches are optional. Trust is not. Neither is gratitude."

It was my turn to host this month, so I went with things that make me happy when it came to planning the menu: My Aunt Sylvia's cheese enchiladas, margaritas, watermelon, salad, chips and avocado. All that got trumped, though.

My friends. My wonderful, beautiful, amazing friends surprised me with a cake and champagne for a late birthday celebration. They sang to me and had me blow out candles and said sweet things in a champagne toast. I almost cried. I'm almost crying right now just thinking about it. Just a few posts back I was sad about not feeling like I have super close friends and then this happens. My book club is full of fantastic friends and I love them all so, so much.

Bliss for everyone!

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

I am newly obsessed with "Gone With the Wind." I'd never read the book before, so when I remembered I had a copy on the bookshelf I dove in. It took a few days because it's a damn long book. It would have taken longer if I hadn't skipped over the pages upon pages of description of landscape and dresses and war stats. I don't need to read an entire paragraph on the way the sun slants through the magnolia trees. It's the South. We love the South. I get it.

Scarlett O'Hara is a bitch, but you know what... I love her. And I love Rhett Butler, to the point of giving him a perch on a literary pedestal equal to that of Mr. Darcy. And it's going to drive me stark raving mad if I allow myself to continue wondering whether or not those two end up together. They have to. Right?? I mean, who else could either of them possibly be with? They just have to end up together. He has to give a damn. He just needs a little time and then they'll be ok. (I'm trying really hard not to curse Margaret Mitchell for not writing a sequel herself.)

Another confession: I haven't actually seen the movie in its entirety. Can you believe that? A movie buff like me?? I swear I thought I'd seen it, but I think I've just seen clips. A coworker let me borrow her copy as soon as I mentioned it, but I have yet to bring myself to watch it. I'm afraid I'll never recover.

I know I'm like 75 years late on this (only 30, if you just count the time I've been alive) but my God! I am obsessed. I want Rhett Butler. I love Scarlett despite her hatefulness. And I needed to get all that out in hopes that I'll be able to sleep tonight without thinking of Tara or Georgia or dashing men with mustaches - a look, I've decided, that Clark Gable and Clark Gable alone can pull off without looking ridiculous.

Thirty. 30. Treinta.

Well, here it is. The big 3-0. The day I'm supposed to have dreaded since I turned 20. I was doing great until a couple of weeks ago. Suddenly I'm overrun with thoughts and emotions about this day.

I think the reason it suddenly started to affect me is because at this point I thought I'd know more about myself and things in general than I do. In the interest of full disclosure, when I was a teenager I thought I'd be married and probably have kids by this time, too. I hope you believe me when I say that THAT is not what I'm thinking about. It really isn't.

I look ahead to my life starting tomorrow and I don't feel any more sure of what's going to happen than I did when I was 20 and looking ahead to my life. The more I thought about this, the more I realized that it's ok. Because I have, in fact, figured a few things out.

Here we go.

1. There's no use in being afraid of things. Fear will cripple you and keep you from what you want. The only thing to be afraid of is fear and what it can do. Try not to be intimidated or hesitant. Instead, just be. Things will work out.

2. Not knowing isn't a bad thing. There are so few surprises left in the world. Allow yourself to be surprised.

3. Stand up straight and don't look at your feet when you walk. You will feel strong.

4. It's ok to say no. And yes. It's ok to put your own needs in front of someone else's, just like it's ok to put theirs in front of yours. It's ok to let people in, and it's ok to kick them the fuck out if they deserve it. Trust your instincts and you'll never go wrong.

5. Do not lie. It kills you a little bit each time.

6. If you have something to say that you know is going to be upsetting, say it with compassion and diplomacy. Put thought into every word you speak, and people won't just hear you. They'll listen.

7. Be the bigger person. Always.

8. Making your hopes and dreams and wishes and desires known, allowing your emotions to be seen, admitting you don't know something... these things don't make you weak.

I'm looking forward to the 30s. I've said it before and I'll say it again -- I think it's going to be a good decade for me. Maybe I'll figure some more stuff out. Maybe I won't. I'm not going to worry about it because life isn't about answers and plans and definitions. The only consistent thing about it is it's inconsistency. It's a work in progress, as are the people living it. Take care of yourself, have patience and try to see the big picture. Live with purpose. These are my goals, and I welcome the life that happens along the way to reaching them.

25 more things

I'm still awake from the previous post, and I'm in a grouchy mood so I will write 25 things that make me happy to snap out of it.

1. Lady Gaga's wardrobe. Yes, even the meat dress.
2. "Glee"
3. "The Vampire Diaries"
4. The fact that the dancing Ellen Degeneres' audience does is mandatory. LOL!
5. Food trucks.
6. My new mattress.
7. Cooking.
8. Painting.
9. Writing.
10. Reading.
11. Bubble tea.
12. Being outdoors.
13. Dia de los Muertos art.
14. Entertainment Weekly.
15. Adele's new album. So, so, so good!
16. My nephew.
17. The word "pink." It's just fun to say.
18. Pedicures.
19. Sleep.
20. Seafood.
21. Watermelon. (Is it in season yet?)
22. Zachary Levi. HOT!
23. Going to the movies.
24. Live music.
25. The beach.

Easiest $5 I ever made

If you get a blue and white envelope in the mail from the Nielsen Company (the TV folks) don't throw it away! It's got something green inside!

Thanks, Nielsen Co., for buying my next bubble tea. :)

Also, see this (at least until the opening credits):



"So much power!"

Book Review: "Away"

Do you remember a while back when I reviewed two books by Marisa de los Santos ("Love Walked In" and "Belong to Me") and complimented her linguistic craftsmanship? She obviously takes great pleasure in playing with words and putting them together so well that reading them silently isn't enough. You want to say them out loud, and they are as much fun on your lips as a big pink bubble of gum.

I mentioned this to Dianna, who told me that one of her favorite language artists was Amy Bloom. Then, being the super cool friend she is, Dianna sent me (higher postage be damned) a copy of Bloom's "Away" and posted on her own blog that she would cyber-stalk me until I read it.

Well, I read it. Here we go:

"Away" is the story of Russian emigrant Lillian Leyb, who escapes to New York City after her parents and husband are murdered and her daughter vanishes and her home burns to the ground during a wave of Jewish persecution in the early part of the century. Physically, she couldn't be much further away from her past when she becomes mistress to the father-and-son proprietors of a Yiddish theater on the Lower East Side. Mentally/emotionally, her past is always with her and Bloom lets us know from the very first page that THAT is what is going to carry Lillian through the story.

Bloom does this through her artistry. The writing doesn't pack an obvious punch; it's very stream-of-thought, with otherwise-unnoteworthy observations and details strung together, and it's not until the end of the paragraph that you realize you've just read everything exactly as it is and exactly as you would have thought it yourself if you were in Lillian's shoes. Have you ever walked into someone's home for the first time, looked around and in a split-second have a feeling that you know so much more about that person based on the way they've decorated, or the smells coming from the kitchen, or the type of pet they do or don't have? Bloom writes it out, so that we are Lillian and we are watching Lillian at the same time.

When Lillian gets word (true or false, she doesn't know) that her daughter is alive in Siberia, she sets out to find her. We don't know until the end of the book whether that information is or isn't accurate, and it's because that's not what the story is about. The story is about the perseverance of women. Lillian's comes from the love for her child and her true nature as a caregiver. Gumdrop Brown's, a Seattle prostitute Lillian is saved by on her journey, comes from her strong sense of self-worth. Chinky Chang's, a Chinese convict Lillian meets in a Canadian women's prison, comes from her intelligence and adaptability. Mrs. Gilpin, who doesn't play a huge role, perseveres from a place of superficial to genuine comfort. Even dead Mrs. Mason is treated with the utmost respect via Lillian's care of her children. (None of this is to say that terrible things don't happen to each of these people... however all of them, with the sad exception of Mrs. Mason, knows exactly what they're getting into.)

For those who hate to wonder "what if," Bloom does us a favor and gives us a couple of pages on what happens to these people after Lillian has parted ways with them. The men - who I don't bother to mention because all but the last one she meets contribute on only a physical, trivial level - live and die tragically. The women make lives for themselves and are able to distance from their difficult beginnings. They never forget, of course, but they live long enough to have more to remember.

I didn't cry. I was never sad or even that moved, not even when we finally know whether Lillian's daughter is alive or whether they are ever reunited. Not even the awful descriptions of Lillian's physical torment compelled me as much as the power within her that kept her going. The women in this book know themselves and what they need and are able to identify that and latch onto it when they see it, even if it means turning their backs on everything they've known up to that point. That is strength. The special kind that women especially understand.

Set Fire to the Rain

This song inspired the idea for my next painting:



The painting is a literal interpretation of the title. There's a hand holding a match in the center of the canvas. The flame of the match is exaggerated, extending to the top, dividing the canvas in half. One on side, the canvas is gray with blue and gray rain, but as it passes through the flame the canvas becomes pink and the rain is red and orange and yellow.

*Shrug* It's an idea. We'll see how it really turns out.

Evolution/revolution

I feel big changes coming. I don't even know what that means, so I'm afraid I can't be more specific. All I know is I turn 30 this month and I feel big changes are part of this switch from the 20s to the 30s.

On that super vague note, I'll go ahead and apologize for sucking at blogging in February. The month was crazy. I was on a committee to raise money for my college student newspaper, and we threw a big party on Feb. 19 that consumed my life. Work also got busier, my nephew had his 5th birthday party and all of this in a short month. Crazy!

(I saw movies and read books, but I can't even recall them that well to blog about them. Sorry.)

So March. The upcoming weekend is the only one that I know I for sure have nothing planned. I'm going to take the time to write, and clean (I'm getting the carpet shampooed on Monday so there is no choice but to clean, which is a good thing because my place, as usual, is a wreck.)

Tonight I did something I haven't done in years. Here are some clues:

I have a picture in my head of how it's going to turn out, but it almost always turns out different - and better - than I expect. Here's what I have so far:

We'll call it Layer 1. There are at least two more. I'll keep you updated. :)