Good Read?

Last month I joined a book club at a friend’s Presbyterian church. The club is all women, mostly of the elderly variety, and filled with retired teachers and librarians. I am the youngest member by literally decades (which is fine by me. I like the role of spunky young thing I guess). Last month we read Teacher Man by Frank McCourt. The book was an easy read, funny in parts, with some lively dialogue. The discussion was a bit rowdy, more so than usual, apparently, because all the teachers had stories to share. It was, in short, a blast.

So, I was eager to return for this month’s meeting even though I was warned that the book was a little “on the dark side” and “maybe a little depressing”. I picked up a copy at Bookman’s and was a bit surprised to find that it was 819 pages long. I had a moment of reservation about starting a depressing book of such length. I have a tendency to hang on to things. Depressing or gruesome or sad books or movies just stay with me longer than most people, I think. I regularly self-censor my movie watching for this reason. I’ve made exceptions, of course, and have sometimes wished I hadn’t (case in point- the movie Boys Don’t Cry. Great film, but it seriously upset me for days afterward. It took me a solid week to stop having rape dreams).

I read the book anyways and found that it was, in fact, completely depressing. The book starts with 150 pages of set up where the reader learns that the protagonist family is a good family. They are happy. They love each other well and deeply. I read with gut clenching anxiety, knowing that awful things were bound to happen to them. No one could stay that happy for 700 more pages.

Finally bad stuff does happen. Lots of it. There are Nazi’s and a concentration camp victim. There is a teacher who molests dozens of little girls, who never tell anyone. There is a little girl raped and murdered. An innocent and heroic young man is falsely accused, beaten by the police, convicted with virtually no evidence, sent to prison, and raped. He is eventually released and is then diagnosed with a terrible disease. The happy family falls apart in multiple ways and is never restored. The book ends with the revelation that the little girl was raped with a corn cob (!) and killed by two other 9 year old girls.

I finished the book and was exhausted by it all.

As I prepare for book club tonight, I find myself wondering what to say about this book. We have to rate the books on a 10 point scale and I have no idea how to rate it. The writing was powerful and the author has a fine descriptive voice (though she could rein it in a little bit. This book could have easily been 100 pages shorter) but I hated reading it. She has some scenes and moments in the book that are pitch perfect and I admire that but… ugh… it was all so bleak.

So, my question for all four of you who read this blog…what makes a good book? Do you have to actually enjoy reading it to count it as good? How important is the pleasure of the read compared to the quality of the writing? Finally, what is a “good” book (a classic perhaps) that you hated reading?

I like to cook

I like the weight of a nice knife in my hand and the way it slides through an onion or a bell pepper. I like the pop and sizzle of garlic sauteing on the stove. I like the way the tips of my fingers smell faintly sweet after I clean and slice a quart of strawberries. I like the way nothing, just a collection of ingredients, becomes something warm and solid and sustaining.

I didn't remember that I liked cooking until I started cooking for Michael after we were married. Years of living alone and eating microwave popcorn and diet coke for dinner made me forget the sensual pleasures of firm bell peppers and creamy mashed potatoes. I remember now and rejoice in my cook books.

I've come to enjoy cooking on Sunday afternoons best of all. During the week I tend to make standards, meals I know I can do well and quickly. Ah, but Sunday I can linger and putter and bake. On Sundays I make breads and roasts and new recipes that have recently caught my eye.

I find that I genuinely love to cook for Michael and the boys, though I do mourn the loss of the cheese and dairy based meals I can't make for my allergic husband. I feel domestic and caring in the best possible way.

So, what's on the menu for next Sunday? Chicken cacciatore, homemade bread and an lovely salad. Anyone want to come over?

Dark days for the cheapo candy fiend

I am a sugar whore. I am. As anyone who has ever met me or walked past me or even glanced at this little blog can tell you, I love me the sweets. I am also quite the cheapskate these days, which is why I have been compelled to tell everyone who has complimented the cute new skirt I am wearing today that it was a $12 clearance find at Old Navy. I feel that the cheapness actually adds to the cuteness. I feel that getting something on clearance is a small victory, a little way of sticking it to the man.

So, I am quite obviously going a little crazy these days as I try to resist the siren song of half- priced Easter candy. I *love* Cadbury Easter candy. LOVE it. I love the Mini-eggs, I love the Cream Eggs. I get a little thrill after Valentines Day because I know it is coming. In the past I would usually allow myself a couple of Cream Eggs and a couple of bags of Mini-Eggs in March and pre-Easter April and then I would wait. I’d wait until the Monday morning after Easter and then hit a Target or Walgreen’s and thoroughly stock up on the half-price treats. I felt virtuous in my self restraint and my good fiscal sense. I would always promise myself that I would ration them out but invariably I’d lose all semblance of self control and would live the next few weeks in a pleasantly numb sugar coma. The best I ever did was the year when my friend Sarah bought me 65 Cream Eggs and I managed to make them last until the end of May (yes, that works out to an average of about 2 eggs a day. Cadbury Eggs are a fantastic breakfast food and are delightful as a frozen bedtime treat). It is, when I consider this, a small miracle that I have any teeth at all that don’t have cavities.

The thing is that I am getting older and maybe wiser and I get that my candy lust is bad thing. I know that, given that I don’t, can’t or won’t exercise any self restraint in the face of an open bag of Cadburys, it is best to not even have it around. I know that not spending money at all is even better than buying something on sale. I know that I am working hard at the working out and that unrestrained sugar orgies basically negate the treadmill time. But still. I want and obsess about it.

When I was a little monkey, I went to a birthday party and ate too much pizza. When the birthday cake came out, I was sick to my stomach and couldn’t eat any, even though the pieces were served in individual baseball cap bowls and I wanted one so badly. To this day, that is really the only thing I remember about that party. I don’t remember who it was for or how old I was but I remember not eating that cake and regretting it, even though I probably would have thrown up if I had made myself eat it. The candy lust feels a bit like that.
As I read this over, I realize that if I changed the word “candy” to “alcohol” people who loved me would be staging an intervention. That can’t be good.

News Flash--

-- I am awesome.

Yep indeedy.

Question for you-- who kicked ass at the gym tonight and ran not 5, not 10, not even 15 but 16 whole minutes in a row?

I'll give you a second to think about it

*insert Jeopardy theme music here*

No, it wasn't Michael.

Nope, not super crazy Kenyon running superstar.

It was me. Me!

My plans for the evening now include basking in my own glory, working my 16 minute run into conversation, subtly of course ("Hi Honey, welcome home. Enough about you. I ran 16 minutes at the gym") and planning for my eventual Summer Olympic glory in a specially created event- the 16 minute treadmill shuffle. Bob Costas is going to think I am so inspirational.

Sad but true

Total number of calories in a .69 cent bag of regular m&m's: 260

Total number of calories burned during a 30 minute walk/10 minute run: 262

This is very distressing to me.