Hello all. I got the idea to write another entry about books from a comment I left on Mighty Maggie’s blog. (Humorous blog. Never dull. Go read her! Wait, finish me first!) I have written previously about the different books I’ve read and the books that are now movies, and the books I can’t help buying from Hastings. But now! Oh, now I have two classics to read that I’ve never gotten around to reading before, and I can’t wait to get more into them.
I borrowed them from baby sister. As mentioned recently, she is an interior designer, so she has a lot of things on her shelves that are basically just meant to look good. But her back room bookshelf is just where she keeps her books, and after she explained her system (books organized by genre and then by author) she was kind and trusting enough to let me borrow a couple of them! I’m sure she had misgivings- as much as I love books, I’ll be the first to admit I’m not as careful with them as I could be. They tend to get abused, a little.
In spite of her fears, she loaned me two books: Vanity Fair and Mansfield Park. I realize it’s hard to believe that as an English major I managed to graduate without reading either of these, but I did. We could get into a whole long debate about canon and classics and so forth, but it’s enough to say that I did read a lot of other books in college, and I enjoyed reading them. Except this one book Dr. Spencer assigned that I never DID get through, whose title escapes me now, but it was dreadfully boring, the first chapter or so that I actually read, so I gave up. OH! Tristram Shandy. Lord in Heaven, but I struggled with that book!
Anyway. I started reading Vanity Fair last night. It was very difficult to get into at first, but I’m thinking it will get better. I had told little sister she was going to get her books back this weekend when she brings Daughter S. home, but now I’m afraid she will not. I won’t even be finished with VF, let alone MP. I’ve been writing too much, so she’ll just have to wait.
And speaking of writing. I was looking through my poetry files yesterday, trying to find the poem I wrote for the last class reunion, to read it again at this class reunion, because I’m just an attention hound like that. Anyway, I started finding all this work I’d written and while some of it makes me want to throw on a fake mustache and move to another country, some of it makes me just want to do a little victory dance and go “Damn, I’m good!” I’ll put some of it on my poetry page soon. I know I said a while back that I would be putting up a lot of new stuff on that page and none of it has materialized, but never fear. This time I mean it.
Hmm. I started to talk about how posting poetry is so much more difficult for me because it’s generally much more personal and deeply felt than my blogging, but really it’s not that different. My writing in this blog is personal and I often write about very deep feelings and hurts and fears, but somehow poetry seems different. I have more apprehension about the critique of my poetry than my blog. Many times, the Therapy Journals just feels like something I do, but the poetry is something I’ve given birth to- it’s part of me. And much of it is written from my worst pain and deepest dark places, so it’s pure vulnerability scrawled across the page.
Anyway. I’ll pick out some particularly good ones and put them up as soon as I can. And since I used that word, particularly, it reminded me of the new book I’d really like to read. I’ve been seeing reviews for it in magazines, and mostly I just like the title. But it’s called “The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake.” It’s about this girl who realizes she has an ability to “taste” people’s emotions in the food they cook. And through their emotions, she discovers all their secrets and all the things she never really wanted to know about anybody. It sounds very intriguing. If somebody really loves me, they can get me that book for my birthday. It’s coming up in September, you know, but I’m trying not to think about it, because I’m turning 38 and that feels like Almost Dead! I know, it’s ridiculous to be thinking like that, especially because one never knows when one might unexpectedly be dead. 38’s not that old. That’s why I’m trying to learn to love life every day and every minute. It’s a work in progress, but I’m getting there.
Until next time,