Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Yeah, I missed another post–and I wasn’t going to. Once I got in the shower, though, it slipped my mind. (Not that I should have put it off that late, but still.)

Today, however, I finished listening to one of THIS YEAR’S Newbery Honor books. (Can you believe it?!) Alicia Williams’ Genesis Begins Again sounded painful to me, and honestly, I wouldn’t have gone for it so soon after it won if I hadn’t noticed it as ‘new in audio’ while checking Libby. Since I had the print copy checked out, it seemed like fate–something else I could read during Quarantine, so that it could actually go back to the library after it reopens. And so–I jumped into Genesis’s world.

Wow. It was painful–there’s no denying that–and yet it managed to still be an amazing read. It didn’t just beat me down with depressing (I’m looking at you, Poisonwood Bible); instead, I cared about Genesis and rooted for her and wanted to hug her and rock her as if she were my own. (EVEN when I also wanted to shake her for some of her choices.) This isn’t an easy book to read, but it’s a good read, and I don’t always say that about books that make me hurt for a main character that much. It’s powerful, it’s engaging, and it’s hopeful while not being unrealistic; it also makes you think about skin color in the specific sense. Not white or black or brown, but shades of skin color. And I could keep writing for another 10 minutes and not do it any more justice, so I’m leaving it there. So good, Alicia D. Williams. SO GOOD.

I missed again, and I’m sorry about that. I’ve been struggling lately!

Anyway. Last night I finished listening to The Color of Water: A Black Man’s Tribute to His White Mother, and I have to say–it was fascinating. How an Orthodox Jew born in Poland spent her girlhood in the American South and then met and married a black man in New York–in 1936–seems baffling (to say the least–this is why “truth is stranger than fiction” is a thing), but James McBride relates his and his mother’s story with a compassion and directness that makes for an exceptionally readable memoir. (And one well worth reading.) Pick this up when you need to enter someone else’s world and be reminded of what human beings are capable of; I can almost promise that you’ll be glad you did.

I was feeling pasta-y the other night–it’s a thing, I promise–and looking for something new; what I found was this 15 Minute Broccoli Chicken in Cream Cheese Sundried Tomato Sauce. It used up more than one item in the fridge, which was nice, and it was a change from our recent fare, which was, you know, also nice. I would have preferred it over regular pasta, which I just plain like better than whole wheat, but one makes healthy efforts when and where one can and feels up to it, right? I also added some chicken broth and might have added more, since there wasn’t much sauce to speak of. (Partly because it really wanted 12 oz of pasta–or even 8–rather than a pound.) Reactions were mixed, of course. The youngest was not pleased at the sundried tomatoes (which isn’t something I’ve really cooked with before), and my second girlie doesn’t like it when broccoli is friends with other foods. My son loved it, however, so that was something! As for me–I’m thinking that with more chicken broth and 12 oz of regular pasta, I just might make it again.*

*I might also add bacon. Because bacon.

Because of the way I ‘library’, so to speak, we still have plenty of library books at home to read. (And plenty of non-library books. Really, if you’re looking for something to read, just let me know.) The worst thing about the library closure, though, is when you get to one of those books, and it’s part of a series, and it’s SO GOOD, and you’re totally still in the mood for more, and you’d love to read the next one, and–yeah.

The library’s closed.

Sadness.

On the other hand, that doesn’t make Patina–the second book in Jason Reynolds’ “Track” series–any less good. And it IS good, I promise. It’s possible that the story arc isn’t as tightly and solidly woven as its predecessor’s, but unless you’re in the mood to be nit-picky, who cares? This is a series that combines hard things with moments of joy, held up by real friendship. Patty’s story–the mother in a wheelchair that she and her sister visit, the aunt and uncle that they live with, the track team that Patty’s still learning to depend on–grabbed me from the beginning and held me all the way through. In fact–to be honest with you–I’m pondering just buying the box set for $21 (and change), plus tax. I wouldn’t have to wait that way, and I’m not going to regret owning it for my kiddos…hmm.

I’ll just think about that one for a bit. And really? You should probably think about it, too.

One thing about the library closure–I am, in fact, getting to books that I haven’t gotten to in quite some time. Tonight’s victory was finishing Julia Gillian and the Art of Knowing, which I rather think my 10-year-old is going to enjoy. It’s one of those almost-300-page-but-big-font-illustrations-and-almost-double-spacing kind of books–perfect for a reader transitioning into longer books but still prone to being overwhelmed. (That’s not particularly my 10-year-old, by the way.) Julia Gillian is an only child with a dog named Bigfoot; her parents are taking summer classes to improve their teaching and she’s frustrated with her domestic world. As she endeavors to maneuver her way around–and then through–her difficulties, she meets both the expected (not always good) and the unexpected (not always bad).

There are also pretty great illustrations. (I noticed, though, that they appeared to purposefully not mirror the details of the text. It seemed intentional by the end, as if the illustrator was adding his own scenes to the story; I felt it happened too frequently to be an oversight.)

Ultimately, this is a book aware of itself in a way that could have been off-putting but–for me–wasn’t. Alison McGhee co-authored the “Bink & Gollie” books with Kate DiCamillo, and there’s a bit of the feel of them here. I’ll definitely be reading the subsequent books before passing them on to that 10-year-old!

That is, when the library opens back up again.

Sigh.

So, go me! I was way more productive today than I’ve been in quite a while. Turns out, though, that I reached the end of my productive capabilities 20 minutes ago. Guess I’ll see you on the 9th?

Seriously–I love that man’s books SO MUCH. I listened to Pay Attention, Carter Jones over the weekend, and I don’t know how he does it, but WOW. The first night I listened to it on my outside walk, I was (quite literally) laughing out loud (and probably looking a little nuts in the process). The SECOND night, I was trying not to cry, since crying while exercising is problematic. But that’s how it always is with him, right? You laugh and you cry–I mean, really laugh and really cry–and by the end of the book you want to hug it. (The book, I mean.) This particular book is about middle schooler Carter Jones and his family, who live in New York state and discover (on the first day of school) that–upon their grandfather’s passing–they have acquired a butler (although he prefers to be called a gentleman’s gentleman). Since Carter’s father is deployed and his family struggling, a thoroughly English butler with quite particular ways of doing things happens to be precisely what is needed.

You can read the rest. I couldn’t possibly do it justice, and anyway, I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you. For devotees of Schmidt, though, watch for a small nod to characters from Okay for Now. For newcomers–you’re in for an incredible treat.

That, my friends, was a bad play on words–as in, I’m done with The Golden Fleece and the Heroes Who Lived Before Achilles AND I’m SO done with reading about Greek myths. I’ve never been much of an aficionado, but as an adult women, the sexism and raging immaturity and lack of self-restraint made me want to beat my head against a wall. I suppose it was their way of making sense of what probably seemed a harsh and often senseless world, but OH MY GOSH. If you like Greek myths, you’ll probably enjoy this, but be warned–it was published in 1921, which (combined with the topic) makes for a very stylized, bard-of-old kind of storytelling. If you’re feeling that, go for this one. If not, well, probably don’t!

Yeah, I haven’t got any. And I know I’ve been playing on my phone too much, but with online school I don’t feel like my morning options are legion. Here’s my plan for tomorrow, though–change out my winter and summer clothes with my son doing his work on my bedroom floor. YOU, legions of faithful readers, are going to hold me accountable and check up on my progress!

Please?

Yeah, I know, I missed ANOTHER blog post. And there wasn’t much of a reason this time, unless you count choosing to finish another book instead…anyway. Perhaps I was also avoiding this particular review, because I found much of Laurel Snyder’s Orphan Island to be simply–maddening. I’ve liked the few other books by her that I’ve read, but this one is getting a review in list form, because I’m not quite sure what else to do with it.

1) The writing is excellent.
2) Read Rick Riordan’s review on Goodreads to get a better sense of the book and its general
direction; if you’re looking for dystopia or, you know, ultimate resolution,
you’re out of luck.
3) On the other hand, this can totally be read as a chilling example of why adolescents don’t make
good parents.
4) Oh, the poor decisions! And the avoidance of reality!
5) I was sucked in, but it took longer than I wanted it to.
6) Being sucked in doesn’t mean that I really enjoyed the book.
7) Which, to be fair, is partly because it isn’t really so much my thing; on the other hand, I’m at a
complete loss as to what audience this book would be right for. Adults and parents are going to
have an entirely different level of appreciation for it, but I doubt that a majority of the
adolescents it’s presumably written for are going to get out of it what would be most beneficial
for them.
8) Did I mention the LACK OF RESOLUTION?
9) Bottom line? This is an excellently written metaphor. If that thought appeals, you should totally
read it; if not, well–I probably wouldn’t.

Oh, and happy birthday to my mother. I’m so glad she was born!