Resolution wrap-up

Ah, the end of the year and the great once-a-month resolution experiment. Overall, it really did what I hoped it would: force me to concentrate on one particular improvement at a time and help those improvements to become a more constant part of my life. On the other hand, it had the somewhat unexpected result that I wound up focusing on all the things that needed improvement in my life, which made me feel down on myself and anxious about all the things that weren't changing, or weren't changing fast enough.

So, going backwards—
December was a lovely break month! Nice to take a break from all the focus on improvement.

November (supposed to be writing month) was a total wash. I think I was just too burned out by then to concentrate on something new.

October (time with my kids month) was so-so. I still don't spend as much quality time with them as I really would like to, but I have developed certain key words that I drop everything for if possible (Mommy, will you read to me? Do a puzzle with me? 'Nuggle? etc.).

September (money) was a success. I developed a budget for non-essential expenditures, and have really stuck to it and stayed within it.

August (diet) - yikes. I tried the "no sugar" diet again, which went badly this time (and I fell off the wagon way too many times). My goal for February, once I've recovered enough from the reduction surgery to get back to my exercise routine, is to rededicate myself to a healthier diet. One thing I did notice over the course of the year is that strict attention to portion control (which I have exercised successfully) has shrunken my appetite. Once upon a time, I could devour a frightening amount of food at a sitting, and now I find myself getting full much more quickly, which can only be a good thing. I'm also much better at recognizing my body's "too full" signals before I get to that groaning, uncomfortable feeling. I'm also making an effort to get a full 64 oz. of liquid in every day (surprisingly difficult—I'm a 'sipper'), which seems to have helped.

July ("Lou month") is a bit iffy, and really up to Lou to determine whether it was successful. It's certainly not an issue that has been resolved this year, and will need further effort to improve.

June (waking up earlier) has also been so-so. Mostly not so good, honestly, especially since the fall time change. The kids are waking up later, as are we. On the other end of the spectrum, though, I have significantly improved my insomnia issues by starting to exercise in the afternoon instead of in the morning, which tends to make me more tired at bedtime. I kind of miss being a night owl, and I wish resolving the insomnia led to me waking up feeling more rested, but I suppose one sleep issue at a time should be sufficient!

May (don't yell month) went pretty well. I discovered the powers of surprise and laughter. If you laugh when they expect you to yell, you can get your point across much more easily sometimes. If they expect to be sent to their room and instead you sit them down for a quiet talk, they're often more willing to listen. And, bottom line, they respond better to controlled discipline than they do to shouting and anger. An important lesson, and one that I'm glad to have discovered (if not learned entirely) this early in my life as a parent.

April (keeping in touch month) I think went okay. I have made a greater effort to expand my network, and a greater effort to keep in touch with the people who matter the most. It's still something that bears some thinking about—there are only so many hours in the day and the week, and you can't see or speak to everyone. So how long between contacts is too long? How often do you need to interact to keep the sparks of friendship glowing? Still working on it.

March (exercise) was the year's most resounding success. From no exercise at all December 31 of last year I've gone to 30 minutes a day (rounds out to about 6 days a week) of running on the treadmill, with a base speed of 5 mph, plus working out with weights, doing sit-ups, and managing to hold my own with a bunch of teenage guys in a cardio tae kwon do class. It's been a real triumph, and something to feel good about in 2006.

February (time management) was a bit of a joke. When you get right down to it, my time is not my own to manage. I can't predict at 10 am what will be happening at 2:00, and so on. All I can really do is get the most out of the time I have available, and "managing" will have to wait until I have a bit more autonomy!

January (computer time month) did actually work, although I didn't think so at the time. Now, if I sit down to aimlessly web surf, it's a choice and not a mental shut-down (mostly), and I've streamlined the list of web sites I visit regularly and the level of involvement in some of my online communities. Overall, I feel like I make much more judicious use of the resources the computer and internet have to offer, both in the educational and the entertainment senses.

So what will I resolve for next year?

forgiveness

One of the reasons that I can't make up my mind about my religious beliefs is the problem of "forgiveness". Frankly, I'm not sure I believe in it. And I'm very sure that you can't make yourself forgive someone—it seems like an emotion that's either there, or it's not, and all the 'want to' in the world can't make it come until it comes from inside you. (Actually, that's a pretty good description of my feeling about religion, as well.)

I've been thinking about forgiveness in the last few months because I think I have finally forgiven my mother. When she died a couple of years ago, it was my hope that her death would mean I finally had my mother back, that I could see her as she was when I was a child instead of having to focus on the alien that inhabited her body in the last decade of her life. Sadly, it didn't happen that way immediately. Instead, all my anger and my sense of betrayal and disappointment came to the surface and I rejected the good memories because they were too badly tainted by the bad ones. I was disappointed by that, but I didn't think it would do any good to dwell on it, so I put it away in the back of my mind and tried to leave it alone.

Then, a few months ago, I started noticing that I was thinking about her more. Thinking about things I wished I could tell her, or things we had done together, or just seeing pictures in my head of our moments as a family. Surprisingly, it kind of sucks—because now I miss my mom. I'm still angry with her for choosing to throw her life away with both hands instead of embracing it and being here for all this good stuff that's happening now, but I think I'm beginning to understand that it wasn't as clear-cut a choice as it seemed. And maybe to accept her for who she was, instead of placing her on childhood's pedestal or condemning her for her human frailty.

lovey woes

In many ways, it's good when your kids have loveys. My boys each have one "special animal", much beloved, tattered, battered, and worn to a high level of uniqueness. Their loveys make them happy, give them comfort and security, and provide that extra dose of cuddliness to everything they do.

But then there is the dark side of the loveys: the need for strict, almost draconian rules to keep them from being lost or permanently damaged; the constant fear that the lovey will be lost, ruined, or simply fall apart from too much love; the need to periodically remove the lovey so it can be washed (and the related fear that each wash will be the last, and said lovey will simply disintegrate in the washing machine); and the big worry—what will I do if I have to replace it?

Charles's lovey I have a replacement for. And in a pinch, it might work ... although his elephant has a threadbare nose, a worn-out tail, and a broken music box (he rattles instead of singing. Too sad.). Frankly, I think Charles would know the difference. Greyson's, on the other hand, is utterly and completely irreplaceable. His lion bears no resemblance whatsoever to its original form, it's so matted, shredded, and hairless. Which is why I've been watching a recent trend with a certain amount of bittersweetness. It's the slow fade-out of the faithful lovey. A small parade of new "special animals" has come in—a puppy here, a puppy there, a pillow somewhere else—and now the lion sometimes gets left at home while the new friend comes along. The practical parent in me sighs in relief that maybe the lion will make it, and maybe if the lion is lost the reaction won't be as catastrophic as it once would have been. But the Mommy in me is sad that the lion's star appears to be falling. (And no, not because I'm extrapolating my own eventual fall in some far-reaching metaphor!) Mostly, I just want to hang on to the little boy who used to walk along clutching clumps of that poor lion's chewed-up hair as if they were precious diamonds.

(With the third baby, I got smart—when it became clear that the lovey had been chosen, I went shopping and brought home two other similar but not the same toys and have been rotating through those ever since. The first one is definitely the favorite, but the other two are accepted in its place readily. And since in her world, lovey in hand = thumb in mouth, loveys live in the crib unless special circumstances, like an imminent tooth, exist. I don't mind the thumb-sucking at this point in her life, but if I can keep it confined to the crib, so much the better!)

the best show you should be watching

I just finished rewatching the first season of How I Met Your Mother on DVD, and was struck again by the sheer genius! The cast really seem to be enjoying themselves, and seem to genuinely be friends with each other, which is a top criterion for a show's enjoyability to me. The characters are all basically sweet people who have affection for one another, and the sense of friendship is the kind of thing most of us are looking for. Who doesn't want a small, close-knit group of friends who are more like family that you can hang out with in your favorite spot? (Yes, so that describes Friends as well, but HIMYM is a lot less glossy. These characters seem like people you might actually meet and be able to get to know. Well, other than Barney.) I really enjoy the overall sense of humor of the show, particularly Ted's dry wit, and the relationship between Marshall and Lily is so sweet. It reminds me of my honey and me.

The point being? You should watch it. Just so you know who I mean when I say "Swarlos". Yeah.

are they real?

On my way up to bed the other night, I caught sight of the most recent picture we had taken of the kids, and I had to stop for a moment—struck, as I so often am at bedtime, by the fact that we really do have these three little people. It doesn't seem that long ago that having children was just a dream, something we were going to do someday. And now here they are, in all their chameleon moods, with their little comments and sayings. There is a part of me that goes to bed every night expecting to wake up in the morning and have them all be just a dream I had. Maybe that's why I have such trouble getting up!

photographs and memories

Today was the holiday production at Greyson's preschool. I find this a pretty stressful event, all things considered, trying to keep Charles and Veronica occupied and quiet and pay attention to Grey. But that's really beside the point. What I thought about this morning, as Lou stood there with his video camera and I used the new mini-digital to point and shoot one-handed while balancing Veronica on the other arm, was what the heck we're going to do with all this footage!

I'm a person who believes that if you own it, you should use it. This is why I go through such elaborate systems to reread all my books and to rewatch all my movies, and why it bugs me so much that my grandmother's and great-aunt's china is all in boxes in my attic where it never gets used. So with an ever-growing archive of pictures and now video to deal with as well, I'm feeling a little over-memoried. The video gets me in particular because I know I'm not going to edit it, and as Lou claims he needs two solid uninterrupted days to figure out how to edit it (like that's ever going to happen), it'll just sit there gathering dust until someday we've lost all the tapes that we never watched. The pictures we do a little better with—sending them to relatives, hanging some on the wall, using them as our screen saver in a fascinating slideshow. (We like to play "Which baby is that?" I have an edge because I remember the fabric on all their infant car seats!)

I guess I'm just not a visually sentimental person. My mother always said she was going to "do something" with all the pictures we took ... and what wound up happening was that I sorted them and most of them eventually got thrown out. I kept a photo album (not a scrapbook!) for particularly special pictures, but again, most of them eventually got thrown out. When I went through my mom's house, I tossed most of the pictures. I kept a few, the good ones, here and there. But to me, less is more. A few really good pictures are better than hundreds of so-so ones. Sometimes I wonder if my kids are going to hate me for it someday—but then I think to myself, are they really going to care that much if they don't have pictures of me nine months pregnant? (There are none.) Or would it make that much difference if they had 10 pictures of my mother instead of 2? In the long run, I guess these are the decisions we make for future generations. When I threw out my mother's wedding album, I made the decision that no great-grandchild of hers would ever get to look through it and wonder who the heck those people were and what on earth they thought they were wearing ... but under the circumstances, it would have hurt me to know it was in my house, and that trumped my future grandchild's enjoyment.

I'm just rambling now, afield of the original topic, but still ... I restrain myself from going overboard with the "delete" key as I download pictures into the folder, mostly because I know Lou hates it when I dump too many pictures. But at this point, I'm sure we have over a thousand, probably a lot more, and now two cameras and a video camera adding more all the time. It's great to chronicle the kids' lives, and I'm sure they (and we) will appreciate it later, but I'm still left with the question: what are we going to do with all these pictures?

the missing wish

As I was thinking about the nine wishes Delete got, and what I would do with nine wishes, I was struck for really the first time by the question: Would I wish for Matthew?

I'm very clear that I would never wish to have not had him. And that I would not wish to have been pregnant with him but have him not die. Because I assume that to rewrite history that way costs me one of my current children—or possibly changes the identities of all of them—and I don't have the right to do that, even in an imaginary wish. Plus, Matthew's life and death are very important in my life, and to wish those away would change who I am, possibly not for the better.

So I'm left with this—if I got those wishes, would I wish for my almost-6-year-old son to join us today? Obviously, being well-versed in wish lore, I would wish to have him here healthy and with no brain damage (we don't know that he would have had any, but it's a strong possibility given his constellation of defects). Just, poof!, and suddenly we have our fourth child here with us, taking his rightful place in the family. It's a really seductive idea, and if wishes were real and I could have it, the temptation would be strong ... but at the same time, something about the idea feels wrong. Willow bringing Buffy back from the grave wrong. I think in the universe where I get to make those wishes, I would probably come around in the end to the idea that wishing for Matthew would be a good way to start a horror novel (and no, I'm not going to write one with that premise!), but probably not a good way to have a happy life. No matter how much I really do wish for my littlest boy, any way I could have him.

9 wishes

I was watching an episode of Cyberchase with the boys the other day, and one of the characters, Delete, was granted nine wishes by his fairy borg-father. (Don't ask—and in case you're curious, Delete, who isn't the brightest bulb, created chaos and havoc with his wishes, causing the kids from the real world to have to come into the cyber world and use math to resolve the chaos and havoc. Feel better now that you know that?)

So I started thinking. What would I ask for if I got nine wishes? (Note: yes, they're all completely selfish. But hey, they're my imaginary wishes—maybe if I got faced with real ones my underlying altruism would kick in!)

1. A house on the ocean.
2. A guaranteed publisher for my first book.
3. The ability to eat anything I want and remain fit and healthy.
4. The guarantee that none of my children will ever smoke, do drugs, commit suicide, or be alcoholics.
5. Complete financial security for my family for my lifetime and my children's.
6. An executive producership on Prince Caspian and all future Narnia movies.
7. Ownership of the Minnesota Vikings for my better half.
8. The guarantee that no one would ever lose a baby before birth again.
9. The ability to stop time every time I sit down to read a book. Think about it—reading a book would officially and literally take me no time at all! I could read every book ever written ... and never have to worry about having enough time to fit them all in. Man, would that be cool.

There's a wish missing here ... more on that later, as well as yesterday's promise of the flip side of last baby-itis.

last baby-itis

As Veronica hit about 11 months—the point at which it became clear that our last baby was moving out of the babyhood phase whether we liked it or not—Lou and I both got hit with a little bit of last baby-itis. You know, the nostalgia for the pregnancies and the childbirths and the bringing home of the new babies, and the smallness and cuddliness of a brand-new baby with nothing to do but sleep on your lap. "Would it be so bad to have just one more?" we thought. "They're so little, and so cute, they wouldn't take up much room, right?"

Fortunately for us and our future sanity, calmer heads had prevailed months before (before Veronica was even born, in fact), and steps had been taken to make sure she would be our last. But that doesn't prevent the nostalgia factor from seeping in. I think for me it has boiled down to a few things that I will be sad not to have again:

— The first joyous couple of weeks of announcements. Nothing beats being able to say "I'm pregnant!" or "We're going to have a baby!"
— Naming. The lists of names, the deliberations, the lying in bed at night playing with various name combinations and trying to imagine the future child who would own that name.
— As a subset of naming, I will miss the idea of having a Joscelyn, an Illyria, a Dashiell, or a Joss.
— Labor and delivery. Weird? Maybe. But my labors and deliveries grew to be progressively more positive experiences, with the last one being nearly perfect. And the L&D staff at our hospital treated us wonderfully from first to last.
— Announcing the baby. "So-and-so has arrived!"
— Two days in the hospital, "recovering". Both physically restful and emotionally. How often, as a mom, do you get to be in a situation where everyone around is all about taking care of you?
— Fat baby legs. Nothing beats a plump, cuddly pair of baby legs, all fat and round. Even Veronica's are starting to slim out now that she's thinking about walking.
— Baby clothes. All those cute, tiny, adorable little outfits that I no longer have any reason to buy. Have babies, friends and family! Have lots of them!
— The "get out of dieting free" card provided by being pregnant and knowing you're going to gain anyway, so why worry about it? (For the record, I gained hugely with each pregnancy, whether I worried about my diet or not. By the last one, I just enjoyed. Alas, for those bygone days!)
— Being slept on. All my kids are really too big now to fall asleep in my arms, unless very sick.

I think that about covers it. Next time, the companion piece: All the reasons I'm glad we're done!

flu

Sickness sucks. It messes with my organization and my scheduling, and pretty much keeps me from getting anything done. Many, many lists must be made to catch up, presuming that the flu has gone by me by tomorrow (and that nobody else winds up coming down with it).

I will say, though—if you're going to get sick as a mom, you better go the whole hog and just get really nonfunctionally sick. At least that way you get enough rest to get well on!

book report XI

Time for another quick book review—as I sort through my desk trying to figure out which are the books I've read recently and which are the ones I've retrieved from the floor. Veronica has reached the "pulling books off the shelf" phase, another entry on the "reasons I'm done" list.

I've got three Perry Masons finished: Grinning Gorilla, Hesitant Hostess, and Vagabond Virgin. It consistently amazes me how Gardner manages to avoid writing the same story over and over again, and manages to throw in twists and turns in a very formulaic setting. For example, in Hostess Mason actually goes to trial! He begins the book in the middle of a robbery trial that he was handed as a pro bono thing. Gorilla starts because he bought a diary on a whim and gets caught up in the mystery involved. All three are solid entries into the Mason canon.

Two Louis L'Amour's: Last Stand at Papago Wells and The Outlaws of Mesquite, a book of short stories. L'Amour, as well, manages to keep every story fresh and unlike all the others. Papago Wells was a fascinating story about a stand-off, a bunch of people stranded at a watering hole under attack by Indians. There are always a few similarities—most often, in the character of the protagonist, who tends to be the rugged mid-thirties tough guy who really just wants a home and a family. But L'Amour draws the men well and they all have a bit of a different voice.

I also read From British Peasants to Colonial American Farmers, by Allan Kulikoff. I came to this book in a way that is unusual for me. Kulikoff was an author for one of the journals I proofread, and I was impressed enough by his article that I noted down the name of his book and searched for it for a couple of years before I found a copy. It is very much a scholarly text; packed with information, and fairly narrowly focused. It's a dense read, but the author's passion for his research comes through. Basically, the book describes the early colonists' journey to become Americans—their reasons for coming over, the lifestyles they brought with them, the ones they evolved into.

And, finally, I reread an old Sterling North novel, So Dear to My Heart. If you haven't read Rascal or The Wolfling, also by North, I highly recommend them. So Dear isn't quite on the same classic level as the other two, but as a picture of a lifestyle and a time that has gone by, is quite evocative. It was written in 1947, probably set in the early 20th century in a small backwoods community—probably much like that in which my own grandparents grew up. (Maternal, that is.) Possibly why it speaks to me!

sticker charts

Motivation has been troubling me for a while now. Not so much in the arena of things I have to do for other people (errands, grocery shopping, classes for Charles, etc.), since there's external accountability where those are involved, and not really in the arena of downtime ... although my downtime pursuits have become a lot more escapist and less intellectual. Mostly, the lack of motivation has appeared in the area of things I need to do for myself that aren't necessarily pure fun. Running; diet; some of my heavier reading; writing. (Including, as you've noticed, this blog.)

Tis the holiday season now, and I'm noticing Advent calendars everywhere (I promise, Your Honor, I'll connect this up!). They're in the grocery stores, the catalogs, heck, I even got one in the mail. Last year at this time, there were none to be found anywhere that I looked, and I had really wanted to do a countdown to Christmas for Greyson. So, lacking an Advent calendar, I made my own. And every day of the Christmas season, the boys picked out stickers, put them in the space for that day, and we counted down to Christmas. After the holidays, both the boys enjoyed putting the stickers on so much that they asked to have another calendar. And I got the bright idea that they would earn their stickers by taking good naps every day. Why is this related to my motivation issue? Because in the last couple of weeks the Advent calendars I've been seeing have reminded me of this and made me really start thinking about how the sticker charts have kept my kids napping. I really believe that without them, we'd have lost the naps sometime last summer ... and I would have truly lost my mind. It's noticeable that whenever we slack off on the stickers—get a week or more behind—the naps get much more erratic.

So I thought, since I was looking for motivation, a sticker reward chart might work for me, too! So I get a small sticker for running every day, working out on the weight machine and/or doing a lot of sit-ups, blogging, and drinking 64 oz. of liquid a day. (I know, it's supposed to be water. But drinking 64 oz. of anything in a day is hard enough for me.) And at the end of a month, if I get enough stickers, I earn a dinner out or a new book or something, depending on how many I have—just like my boys.

book report X

Yes, it's been a long time. Kind of an eventful month, definitely busy. More on that later. Right now, time to catch up on the books I've been reading.

Stephen King, The Colorado Kid: Written for publication by Hard Case Crime, in an attempt to return to the "dime novels" (i.e., affordable crime novels with a noir bent) of a bygone age. It's very King-esque—rich in details, character, and setting, and with a twist ending you'll either love or hate. Well, okay, I didn't love it ... but I liked and respected it. A keeper.

Gardner, The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom: A decent Perry Mason, but the plot was a bit too over-complicated and the characters a bit too unsympathetic.

L.M. Montgomery, Kilmeny of the Orchard: I love Montgomery. Her last novel in the Anne of Green Gables series, Rilla of Ingleside, is one of my favorite books of all time. And most of her works tend to be, while very similar to each other in style and tone and underlying themes, very good. This one read like a short story hastily fleshed out into a novel (well, even at that, more like a novella). I think the short story would have been a better read. Still, though, good characters and a sweet story.

Cornelia Meigs, Fair Wind to Virginia: This is an old children's lit, set in pre-Revolutionary Williamsburg. The town, the people, and the era come to life through the eyes of the two young protagonists, and you find yourself wanting to know what happens next in what would surely be two very eventful lives.

Louis L'Amour, High Lonesome: Really inventive, well-drawn characters, interesting action. It constantly amazes me how different each of L'Amour's books are. He doesn't stick to what you would think of as "traditional" western plots, on any level.

Kiowa Trail: I'll be honest, I have no idea what the title of this book has to do with the plot. But it doesn't matter, because this is one of his most poignant novels. It really explores depths of human emotion that I don't think most people would expect to find in a western, and marries those with an exciting plot and characters you care about.

Over on the Dry Side: Completely different from each of the other two. From point of view, to plot, to characters, an entirely new reading experience. L'Amour always surprises, and rarely disappoints.

More substance next time, which should be in less than a month!

book report X

I'll have something new for you soon! I had a backlog of finished books on my desk, and this is the last of them. Two newly finished nonfiction!

Love Untamed: Romances of the Old West was a series of short vignettes on famous Western romances. Emphasis on the 'short'. I didn't find it inspiring, and the authors themselves admitted their source material was a bit sketchy. Not a keeper.

The other book, Testament: A Soldier's Story of the Civil War, was much better. The first half is a narrative account of the author's ancestor's experiences during the war, and the second part is the recovered letters of the ancestor. It isn't the best Civil War narrative I've read, but definitely a solid addition, and with a more Western-theatre-of-the-war focus than most.

book report IX

Trying to catch up with my rising stack of read books! (Sadly, it's not rising as fast as the to-be-read stack ... must read more.)

Recently finished:

The Portable Coleridge. I love Coleridge. So dark, so gloomy, such rich details. I'm not sure he makes the best bedside reading! As a side note, my mother used to call me her "friendly albatross", after the bird from "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" (which you should read. Really. Even if you read it in high school.). Which always made me wonder whether she completely misread the poem ... or if I should be really insulted.

The Atlas of Languages. A glossy, much-illustrated overview of the world's language families. It had quite a few problems. For one thing, many of the illustrations were placed on the wrong page, so you would read a picture's caption which had nothing to do with the text, then read the same thing in the text on the next page. (So not only were the illustrations misplaced, the captions were the same as the text, which is pretty lazy.) It also suffered from the "too much information to deliver" difficulty. It was often hard to follow, trying to fill in too many gaps at once. Not a keeper.

Uncle Wiggily and the Sugar Cookie. By Howard Garis. I rescued this from my mom's house, as it really stuck in my head over the years. It's a hardcover oversized children's book, and the images are hard to forget. I read this one to the kids—I think Greyson found it hard to follow (I know the other two weren't listening!). But I'll hang onto it in hopes they enjoy it later.

A Little House of Their Own. Some intelligent person at Harper came up with the idea, about 10 years ago now, I think, of writing series based on the lives of Laura Ingalls Wilder's daughter, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. Mostly, they're pretty good. Not as good as the original Little House books, but those are great works of literature. Hard to live up to. This one was the end book in the series on Caroline Quiner Ingalls (L.I.W.'s mother, for those of you who don't know). As she and Charles Ingalls, as drawn by their daughter, were very intelligent, very interesting people, the book left me wondering what more was left out—how it was that a conservative, quiet, bookish young woman who wanted to live her life in one place and a restless, active man with a terminal case of wanderlust came together and lived what appears to have been a pretty happy life together.

And A Little House Reader. A collection of L.I.W.'s writings over the years. Most of which I had read in other places, but it was nice to have them collected. She was a woman of strong opinions with the writing skill to express them well.

book report VIII

Further series fiction. Recently completed: Perry Mason's The Case of the Buried Clock, The Case of the Drowning Duck, and The Case of the Gold-Digger's Purse. Also, James M. Cain's The Postman Only Rings Twice, and Louis L'Amour's The Empty Land.

Mason first. The Buried Clock was a bit too convoluted, hinging on some minor complications with time and various people's versions of what time it is. Some good characters, but most of them were left hanging and had no resolution. One particularly good one disappeared halfway into the book, never to be seen again. The Drowning Duck struck me on one particular point—the number of people who immediately scoffed or expressed wonder at the idea that a duck can drown. Now, once you think about it, I suppose that's obvious ... but I suspect today's audience wouldn't be that quick to remark on the idea. And The Gold-Digger's Purse struck me funny. I didn't think it rang true the way Mason got himself stuck with the case, and the defendant seemed to change personalities halfway through.

The Postman Always Rings Twice strikes me as a lesser work than Double Indemnity—less well crafted, less interesting in general, more broadly painted. It's definitely a classic, but not one that I have any great longing to read over and over again.

And, finally, Mr. L'Amour. Who hit another one out of the park. The Empty Land was unlike any other work of his that I've read. It reads as a "Who's Who" of Western characters (not actual people, but the types you would have found). There are dozens of named characters, and each is fully fleshed out with his own personality. Instead of being the story of a man, it is the story of a town, and each cog in the town's wheel is painted vividly. Quite a book!

10 years - a love story

Once upon a time, there was a girl who had just learned a big lesson—that it was more lonely to be with the wrong guy than to be with no guy at all. Armed with this knowledge, she went off on a trip, to the wedding of some friends.

She arrived at the church and found a group of fellow wedding guests gathered on the steps, waiting for the ceremony to start. Among them was a tall, dark, handsome guy who was just her type.

The ceremony was short, and afterward was the reception. Much fun was had—the girl danced with several friends, but never with the handsome guy, who was holed up with all his friends at their own table. Finally, the reception over, the girl was going back to the place she was staying to change clothes when she was waylaid by a friend. With him, the handsome guy. They were introduced by the friend. "Hi," said the girl. "I'm sorry, what was your name again?" said the guy.

And the girl turned and left. Life is too short to worry about guys who can't get your name right, don't you think?

But then, there was the post-reception reception. The party for all the 'younger' people. Changed and comfortable, the girl arrived, looking forward to chatting and having fun. And there he was. The handsome guy. Still handsome, by the way, even out of the formal attire. (Actually, somewhat better-looking out of the formal attire.) And they talked. And the girl made merciless fun of him for hours, much to the amusement of all his friends.

After a while, he decided to leave with a bunch of his less-entertained friends, to go and play games somewhere else. She waited for him at the door, wanting to make sure he didn't get away without a good-bye. (Contact information had already been exchanged.) As he was leaving, they said good-bye, and he gave her a nice hug. A nice, platonic, friendly hug. She was a mite disappointed in this.

So she did something about it. With her most winning smile, she convinced the same friend who had originally performed the introductions to take her to where the rest of the people were gaming. The handsome guy seemed happy to see her. And he began, one by one, to check off all the boxes on her 'list'. He wanted to learn dancing. He picked up and held (without being asked) the host's small child, and was natural and comfortable with her. He was employed and out of school. The list went on. Until finally she found herself saying good-bye again at the end of the night in an embrace that was not so platonic and friendly.

And then, as the couple's 4-year-old son was heard to say today, "they made a family."

That was 10 years ago today. 10 years; 3 moves; one college graduation and one MBA; one job change for him and 4 for her (5 if you count one day as a Merry Maid); 4 children; 1 dog; losses of 1 parent, 2 grandfathers, and 1 child; 3,653 consecutive days of talking to each other.

Thank you, honey! They've been the best 10 years a person could have asked for, and I look forward to many, many more. Happy anniversary.

book report VII, part 2

I've read a lot of books, fiction and nonfiction, set in and around the era of the Civil War. But none of them have carried as powerful an impact as the one I just finished: Our Army Nurses, collected and edited by Mary Gardner Holland.

Apparently, in the late 19th century, Holland sent out letters to every Civil War nurse she could find, asking them to write back and tell her about their experiences as nurses. Then she collected the entries and made them into a book. Some are as short as a paragraph, others up to 10 pages. Most end with some variation on "... and now I am old and my health has never been the same since." A remarkable number of the women were forced to leave their work due to 'broken health'. An equally remarkable number left small children at home with relatives to go with their husbands and 'do their duty'. It's easy to forget the sacrifices made by entire families in the prosecution of the war in the overwhelming tide of numbers, battles, men and their actions. This book was a poignant reminder.

book report VII

Subtopic for today is history. I've finished Everything in its Path, by Kai T. Erikson, on the Buffalo Creek flood in West Virginia in the early '70s; Captors and Captives, by Evan Haefeli and Kevin T. Sweeney, on the Deerfield raid in the early 1700s; and Battle Cry of Freedom, by James M. McPherson, a one-volume history of the Civil War.

Battle Cry of Freedom was quite an achievement. It's hard to imagine trying to get a single-volume overview of the Civil War that still reads well and doesn't seem too crammed and overly dry, but also doesn't have any obvious gaping holes. McPherson even found room to go into details. The volume was particularly good where it covered the events leading up to the war, which I find many histories tend to pass over quickly in order to get to the battles. An excellent addition to my reference library!

Everything in its Path had a lot of really interesting things to say about the mountain mentality. My mother's family is from West Virginia (not that far from where these events took place, I believe), and so it was interesting to get an insight into their lives. I also appear to be amassing quite a collection of disaster literature! Johnstown flood, circus fire, black death, influenza pandemic ... not to mention, of course, the Civil War. Apparently something about people's past suffering—and the ways they rose above it—resonates with me.

The one I'm not entirely sure about is Captors and Captives. Here again, disaster literature: the Deerfield raid was Native Americans and French attacking a small frontier English settlement, carrying off a number of the settlers to France and Indian village. I have another book on this event, The Unredeemed Captive, the story of minister's daughter Eunice Williams, who chose to remain a Native American rather than return to the family and culture of her birth. But I was
looking forward to C and C to help paint the picture of the event more clearly ... and I'm not sure but what there were too many details. It all sort of swam together in my mind—the French, the Indians, the English, the captives. And so I'm still not sure if it's a keeper or not. Do I really want to try and slog through it again? Will I really use it as research? Probably not, to both.

Tomorrow night, the next entry in history books: Our Army Nurses, by Mary Gardner Holland, which deserves an entire entry all to itself.

only children, take 2

A little background here first: hanging on the wall, I have a framed series of pictures of Greyson. He was small (maybe 6 months), and they're of him sitting up, smiling at me, and then falling over. With spit-up on his foot. They're not amazing pictures, but they're cute, and they're among the first cute pictures that I took, back when I was something of a stranger to the business end of a camera.

Yesterday in the mail, I received a package from a relative. Inside? A set of two framed "picture series." One featured Charles and the other Veronica. Now, the pictures weren't very good. The picture quality was awful (and I usually don't notice these things, so it must be pretty bad!) But the thing that bothered me most (well, really, besides the fact that said relative didn't ASK if I needed/wanted new pictures to hang on my wall), was this concept that because I had a framed series of Greyson pictures, I had to have same of the other two.

Now, maybe this is another only child thing—but I don't want to treat my kids "equally" like that. If I have good pictures of Greyson, I want to feel free to hang them up without having to hang inferior pictures of Charles and Veronica just to be alike. Because we take lots of pictures of all three kids, and someday there will be good pictures of the younger two. Maybe not a series, maybe just one. And shouldn't that be okay? Another relative used to send Charles and Greyson matching presents—so for Grey's second birthday, she sent him a toy cell phone. She also sent one for Charles. Of course, it was GREYSON's birthday, so I don't see why Charles needed a present. He has his own birthday. And, also? Charles was 8 months old. The toy cell phone was for 3-year-olds with teeny tiny parts. Neither of them would ever have noticed if the other one had something different ... or nothing at all, for that matter. (Especially since Charles didn't get that toy until his second birthday, since I put it away without him ever seeing it.)

It's not a huge problem for me, but it's one I genuinely don't understand. Each of my children has a different personality, so I treat them differently. And, if I ever stopped giving one of them a full share of my love and attention, all the exactly alike photos in the world couldn't make up for that. So, by the same standard, it shouldn't matter if Greyson is the only one with a framed photo series ... as long as each of them knows that he/she is loved for who they are.*

(*Not that I expect—or am even planning to try—to change the relatives' minds on this topic!)

only children

Long ago, while reading Cheaper by the Dozen (the book, written by Frank B. Gilbreth, Jr., and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey—well worth a read), I came across the comment (paraphrased): "Father only raised 12 children; Mother raised 12 only children." And it stayed with me, because that's what I would like to do. Raise three only children.

Now, I'm an only child. (Technically, I have a half-brother, but he's 21 years younger and I've seen him less often than he is years old.) And I don't like it. Because you can't replace that relationship, no matter how hard you try. A sibling is a special person in your life, and I am so glad that my children will grow up with that relationship. I'm not knocking it, at all. But.

Today I was reminded of that line from Cheaper by the Dozen—I spent the afternoon shopping with one boy, and the evening taking a walk with the other. And particularly the time I spent alone with Charles was a potent reminder of the way their personalities blossom when they have the parental spotlight to themselves. It's beautiful to listen to them play together when they don't know you're there ... but it's also really nice to spend some time one-on-one and to really hear what they have to say. They're calmer, more focused, and more there when it's just you and them. With three kids, I find the usual. The oldest one is easy because there are so many more things you can do. The youngest one, no worries, because there will be so much time while the others are in school. The middle one ... the opportunities must be made because they don't come as naturally. Simple things like taking a short walk together make such a difference in helping each child to feel, in turn, like your only child. Something to remember.

parenting with grace

Or, perhaps, acceptance. I was watching an episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (which I love because not only do the "straight guys" genuinely wind up looking and seeming better, but because the Fab Five seem so truly committed to making these other people's lives better—even if appearances are deceiving, it makes for some good TV) in which the guys were making over a transgendered young man, and was struck by the grace with which this young man's mother accepted her daughter's choice to become her son. And I thought how much I hope I, in my turn, have the kind of open mind and heart that takes. How much I hope that I am able to understand and really appreciate my children for who they are and who they become, rather than clinging to a vision of them (my vision) or losing track of their growth altogether. And that they grow into people I can respect and like.

I know that I never particularly felt free to be "myself", outside the constraints I felt were placed on me. Lots of emphasis on being an individual ... but always within a certain box. You know how it is—be unique, kid. Now let me tell you how to do it. With the result that in order to find myself, I had to break the box, and in the process my relationship with my parents. So they lost track of who I was, and didn't know enough about me to judge whether they could accept me or not. My father still doesn't know me. He sees what he thinks is there (and in many cases, I think, what he is afraid is there—too much like my mother, not enough like him, too eager to accept the first thing that comes along, too afraid to stick to something long enough to be successful), and in the process, loses the things that really make me who I am. And, of course, my mother thought of my only in terms of the new chance she had to be who she always wanted to be ... in my place. I felt, as she and I got older, that if the world of science fiction were real, I might very well wake up one morning finding that she had taken my body and my life. If the afterlife hasn't cured her of her constant dissatisfaction with her lot, she may be considering that wherever her spirit is lurking now.

I hope that with examples like that, and with what I like to think of as an open mind toward other people's choices (I do find I'm struggling with a certain degree of narrow-mindedness as I get more set in my own ways—hoping to nip that in the bud as much as possible!), that I can be accepting, open to, and supportive of my children's choices as they grow older.

Perry Mason and other potboilers

Continuing to move through Perry Mason in chronological order. (Or, at least, through my personal collection. Which includes many Masons, but not the entire set. Yet.) Since my last posting, I have read The Case of the Haunted Husband, The Case of the Silent Partner, and The Case of the Baited Hook.

Of the three, Haunted Husband was the first Mason I've been disappointed with. It went the slightly unusual route of having Perry and the police cooperate, but of course that situation was short-lived and ended in the usual grudging respect of acknowledged opponents. But the plot was over-convoluted, had too many people involved, and didn't wrap them all up well at all. Loose ends, characters you liked and wanted to know what happened to disappeared and were never referenced again ... Gardner's sloppiest book to date.

Silent Partner, on the other hand, was quite good. Characters were interesting, plot complicated but followable (and logical), and some unexpected twists. Baited Hook, as well, had some unusual elements that were inventive and still fresh, even 66 years later! Overall, Gardner deserves the sobriquet "Master of Courtroom Drama".

I also reread James M. Cain's Double Indemnity (and may I also recommend the movie, starring Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray, who I much prefer in this darker role). Double Indemnity is a pretty short book (as is Cain's other work, The Postman Always Rings Twice—up next on the reread list), but packs quite a bit of action in a few pages. Twists and turns, dark plots and themes, and a finale you're definitely not looking for.

In newer works, I picked up a mystery written by a guy who's blog I am a big fan of. I was hoping to also like his books, but unfortunately was not wowed. Which is why I'm not giving the details—since I like his blog, I don't want to mess with anyone else's chance of buying his book! I found it a take-off on Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series (a series I like for the writing style and characters but that is getting a bit formulaic as it ages. Although, I haven't read the last 4 books in the series, so I have hope!), but the characters just weren't as well-drawn. They didn't live, their dialogic felt forced, and overall tension failed to grip me. Except for the bits written from the murderer's point of view, which were very good. I had some other criticisms of this nameless mystery, but most of those were put on hold when I realized I had inadvertently picked up the second book in the series! I may, in the spirit of fairness, try the first. Just to see. Since I really do like the blog.

demotivated

I think that pretty much says it all. I'm not motivated to get out of bed in the morning, and not motivated to go to bed at night. And everything in between, basically. The work is getting done, the kids are getting taken care of ... but the things for me are getting left by the wayside. The writing, the reading, the organizing, the friendships, the exercise—those are the things that I just don't feel like keeping up with. (And yes, I do find organizing fun. :)) A couple years back I had something of an identity crisis, probably based on adjusting to life with two children (and on having taken three very long car trips with same!). And while this isn't a crisis, it feels similar. At that point, it was that not enough of my life was taken up with things for me. That I as a person had gotten lost in the middle of all the child-rearing, etc. In this case, it's less that I've gotten lost ... and more that I just don't have the energy. Part of it I'm sure has been the massive volume of paper I've been buried under, with all my journals having deadlines in the last month. I also wonder if I may have overdone it in the first half of the year with all the self-improvement ... too much pressure to be better at everything? So the point really is that since I don't know what the problem is I'm not sure what the solution is. But then, since it's my stuff that's going undone, and I'm the one who doesn't want to do it, is it really a problem? Hm.

amusement parks

Recently, Lou and I got to spend a lovely long weekend (alone!) at Disney (-world or -land, I always get them confused; the one in Florida) and Universal Studios. And I recommend such a trip to all parents of very small children.

There are three main reasons for this recommendation. (Over and above the obvious pluses of time spent connecting with your spouse while your children form lasting bonds with grandparents/responsible adults who aren't you. That's a whole 'nother topic right there.)

First reason: You remember all those cute and adorable things your spouse/so/etc. used to do when you first got married? The ones that allowed you to see the little kid lurking inside the adult and just melted your heart the way only a little kid can? Also, not coincidentally, the ones that became sources of constant irritation once you had kids and wanted your spouse/whatever to be an adult? The beauty of the amusement park is that it allows those cute little-kid-like qualities to come back out and be heart-meltingly adorable again. Reminding you once more exactly what it was you fell in love with.

Second reason: The first night we arrived, we went straight to Universal Islands of Adventure to get in some time on the good rides. On our way up the first hill on the Hulk ride, I closed my eyes and thought, What am I doing here? I'm too old for this! And on the heels of that panicked thought, I wondered how in the heck I was going to go on roller coasters 10 years from now when all my kids are tall enough to ride, if I couldn't go on one now. Then the ride took off. And once it ended, I was young enough to keep riding roller coasters for years to come. :) 2 minutes and 15 seconds of speed and steel took 5 or 6 years off my age. Well worth it, don't you think? The sheer exhilaration of the ride brought out the little kid in me—and I can't wait to share that whole experience with my own kids. Years from now, when they're old enough to enjoy it. Which brings me to reason #3:

Going to Disney by ourselves helped us avoid a similar trip, with kids, too soon for the enjoyment of the family. See, we're big suckers, and we love to spoil our kids. So time and again there was the "Oh, wouldn't they enjoy ..." or "Wouldn't they be so cute doing ..." But every time one of us said that, the other one could point to the: a) little kid having a meltdown because s/he was overtired and overheated and didn't get x; b) little kid separated from his/her parents, lost and crying (always with a member of the park staff helping out); c) harried parents trying to keep track of and make happy their miserable, tired, hot, children.

Now, this is not a cautionary tale for others. Remember, my youngest is under a year old, and the oldest not tall enough to ride a single non-kiddy ride. But for us, it was a great reminder not to spend a lot of money on a family vacation that wouldn't be enjoyed by the whole family. Plenty of time for amusement parks when the kids are old enough to ride the good rides.

Now, if we can only agree on which park to hit first—he says Disney, I say Cedar Point. We only have about 5 years to decide! Hm. Maybe we'll have to try out Cedar Point next summer ... just to say we've sampled them both. :)

Rereading

Well, thanks to Google, I stand corrected. I always thought it was Thomas Jefferson who said that if a book wasn't worth reading twice, it wasn't worth reading the first time. Apparently, it was Winston Churchill. Either way, how true.

Several years back—probably 7 or 8 now—I realized I had so many books it was highly unlikely I'd ever be able to read them all again. And that idea depressed me so much that I promptly started on the task of rereading my entire library. Remember, 7 or 8 years ago. I now have only a shelf and a half left! (Probably another year or two worth of rereading.) I've accumulated a bunch more books since I started the whole project, which means I'll have to reread again once I finish this go-round. I figure maybe I can read every book in my library at least once a decade. It takes a lot of organization to make sure I get them all, but it's worth every single moment.

Some people may wonder why bother? You've read it once, the story doesn't change and neither do the words. But of course, that's not entirely true. Every time you read a book, you pick up on nuances you didn't see before. Sections that maybe you skimmed over or that didn't jump out at you with the same significance before you knew where they were leading. Plus, the person reading the book isn't the same twice. A book you read at 20 is going to say something different to you when you reread it at 30. Or sometimes at 21, depending on what happened to you in that year! Plus, I feel there's a fair amount of arrogance in the idea that one read-through (maybe it takes you a day, a week, even a month) is enough to really experience and ingest the artistry that took the author 6 months to 10 years to create.

But lofty pronouncements aside, I reread for one simple reason—to revisit old friends. The places, the people, even the pages themselves of my favorite books, are all very much like home to me. I'd miss them very much if I never went back.

Dear John Hughes

I have two words for you: Special. Edition. Everywhere you look, you can see extras-loaded releases of many, many mediocre (and worse) films. But you look for a true classic like The Breakfast Club and what do you get? A bundle of three straight movie discs with a bonus music CD. Please, Mr. Hughes. Like we don't already have all the good songs on MP3.

Seriously. A commentary track (surely there must be a Brat Packer out there who wants to relive the glory days, right?), some bonus footage, maybe a blooper reel or a behind-the-scenes documentary—is it really asking all that much?

the grass is a different color in the Midwest

I recently had the opportunity to head back to Ohio, my personal definition of "the Midwest", and I got to drive through a lovely rural slice of the middle of the state. And the grass is a different color. Something about the combination of the grass and the light mixes together to create a color with more blue in the grass and more yellow in the sky than we have here on the East Coast. It's a color you can almost smell—late afternoon/early twilight mixed in with slightly damp freshly mown grass. A green, buttery kind of smell. And with it, that perfect temperature—hot, definitely, but not too hot. With a light breeze and the slight touch of the evening's coolness.

For me, that combination of light and scent and feel means summer evenings at my grandparents' house. The times we went down to hang out when my aunt and uncle were in town. With late-night 8-handed games of euchre, and my mother, aunts, and grandmother talking late into the night. What were they talking about? I don't remember. I don't think it matters.

I drove by my grandparents' old house while I was in Ohio. It was for sale, boarded up, and the surrounding neighborhood had taken a few steps down since I was last there. How clearly I remembered the rusting swingset on which my cousin and I had played Dukes of Hazzard; the back lawn where my grandfather's garden had been and my grandmother's collection of ceramic ducks and chickens. The front porch where the family would gather on summer nights, perching here and there and talking, talking, talking. It was in that house where I heard Santa Claus. No, really. Every time we stayed over there on Christmas Eve (probably 4 or 5 times), I would wake up in the middle of the night distinctly hearing sleighbells. (I have a theory about them, but I'll keep it to myself. I prefer the magic.)

My grandfather is gone now. He survived my mother by two years; my uncle Bill by 7; and my grandmother by 11. The last three siblings are scattered by distance or choice.

But I can still smell the night air and hear the laughter like it was yesterday.

the in-law effect

My in-laws have come and gone on another visit, leaving me to ponder the interesting effect their visits have on me. Months in advance of their scheduled arrival, I'll find myself watching the kids and thinking "Wait till your Grandma sees you!", imagining the pride and interest my MIL will take in their growth and development. I see each new accomplishment and long to share it with other family members who will feel the same sense of wonder I do in these little people who are the glue that bind us all together. Especially since we don't speak that often between visits, so I feel like I save up those moments, enjoying them to myself while imagining the reaction of other doting relatives.

Then they arrive, and I get the chance to point out each new wonderful thing. And mostly it is really nice to watch grandparents and grandchildren together—Charles, in particular, follows "Drama" around like a puppy.

But toward the end of the visit, the wonder of sharing my children with their family begins to pall, and I start to want them back. Pretty normal, I suspect—wanting all my usual hugs and kisses, my usual role in spoiling and disciplining, my established place of importance in their little minds, back. And so the ILs head home, leaving a certain amount of chaos in their week from children who have suddenly gone from the nearly 24-hour-a-day attention of grandparents who are here solely to cater to every childish whim to the ... um, not so constant attention of their parents. Who are not here solely to cater to every childish whim, no matter what my children might think!

In a few months, though, that reaction will have faded, and I'll be right back to "Wait until your Grandma sees you!" Which in the grand scheme of things, is a pretty good place to be.

resolutions - time to get back at it!

Just to wrap up all my commentary on this month's resolutions in one day—this month I'm trying to restart a few things. Definitely get back to the exercise, which my vacation really enforced some slacking on. Also, restart my diet. I have done so much slip-sliding, it's a wonder I haven't put every ounce back on! So as of tomorrow, having had my fill this weekend of birthday cake, time to get back to SparkPeople and be good about keeping within my calorie limit. And, finally, get up earlier. We've been sleeping later and later, and our morning routines are really suffering from it.

Last month was really a success, I felt. I think I've done a lot better at finding creative ways to talk to the kids instead of yell at them. And it has helped me realize all over again that nothing works lie novelty. If you yell every time, they get immune to it ... and so do you. But if they expect you to yell, and you laugh, then they're off-balance and somewhat relieved ... and so are you.

And, finally ... again ... still ... trying to work on my writing schedule. Also trying to settle on a project to work on, but mostly trying to first find the time.

resolution shake-up

Since I've had to shuffle resolutions the last couple of months, I've completely messed up the schedule! So now I need to redo the schedule for the latter half of the year.

The new order:

June — waking up earlier. (Lou's sharing in this one.) Morning routines are getting more and more challenging, and we both need to rise earlier to those challenges. (This replaces "eating schedules" from the original list of resolutions—see December 2005—since the morning routine needs more work and the eating schedules issue is really out of reach for a while.)

July — "Lou's month." Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink.

August — diet month. Time to really focus on improving my diet in the long term, and probably try the "no sugar at all" again in the short term. It worked well for me the first time ... even though it was quite painful!

September — money. Obviously, spend less, but I'm still working on where precisely the fat most needs to be trimmed. (Lou would say, toys, but considering the number he buys for himself, not a lot of room for talk there!)

October — time spent with the kids. More quality time spent enjoying their childhoods!

November — writing. Just in time for National Novel Writing Month, if they're still doing that.

December — month of rest. Relax, reflect on progress, etc. Maybe spend a whole month just enjoying my life without worrying about how to improve it. Since it really is pretty darn good.

have you hugged your dog today?

My poor dog. He is such a long-suffering animal. Run from pillar to post to escape the "affection" of our children, he gets so little attention from us (me especially). It's a legitimate grievance. Once upon a time, he was our only "baby", and received all the hugs and love any dog could ask for. Now that three other small beings inhabit the house and take up most of our time and attention, poor little Zathras gets the shaft. As I say, especially from me. I am going to try and make it a priority to hug him at least once every day—his patience, his loyalty, and his position should earn him that.

book report VI

Read a bunch of new books on my recent trip to Ohio. Starting with Zane Grey, Wild Horse Mesa. This I thought was one of Grey's better works. Less florid and over-written than many, more grounded in plot and action, instead of drifting off into fancy descriptions and long essays on the ideals of western men and women. Just much more tightly written. (And a note on names: if all the prospective parents out there looking for unique names for their sons need a new place to look, I strongly suggest flipping through the works of Grey and L'Amour. Their heroes have some unusual names. This one? Chane. With younger brother Chess.)

Next I read Edna Ferber's Cimarron. I had apparently read it before ... at least, it seemed very familiar. I found it a bit dark this time around. Ferber's view of people left something to be desired. (For fun sometime, try reading the original Show Boat and then watching the movie. Talk about Hollywoodization!) But here was the really fascinating bit. Cimarron is about the founding of an Oklahoma town, and the process by which it became civilized. And I have never before read anything which did such a good job swaying the reader's sympathies to both sides. You could feel the justice and righteousness in Yancey Cravat's deeply held beliefs about the raw deal the Indians were given; you could just as easily feel the justice and righteousness of Sabra Cravat's struggle to carve a life for her family out of the wilderness, and her inability to accept that it was at the expense of someone else's life and land. The two opposing viewpoints—and the strong wills that put them forward—were very compellingly drawn.

Next up, Indian Captive: The Story of Mary Jemison. This is a YA title that I remember reading years ago. (Probably when I was a young adult.) And frankly, I remember it being a better book. This time around I could see it playing fast and loose with the historical facts, and had a rather hard time maintaining my interest. It moved slowly, and just didn't make me care. Of course, in the time since I read it as a young girl, I've read several other very good captivity narratives (John Demos, The Unredeemed Captive, and Follow the River, whose author I can't remember and which was fictionalized but still fascinating), and Indian Captive suffers by comparison.

And finally, the second in Jan Karon's Mitford series, A Light in the Window. I had read several of the books in the series years ago, and didn't get much out of them at the time. Interesting characters, but somehow they didn't grab me. This time around, however, I'm finding them much better. Maybe they speak to me more now? I think I prize the setting—the small town, the old-fashioned values—more than I used to. I was a little disappointed in some of the oh-too-typical plot contrivances that made this one read more like a romance novel than I was looking for at times. (You know, hero is made to look as though he's cheating on heroine, then vice versa, and of course neither one actually ASKS the other one what's going on until after they've acted like idiots. This may be common behavior, but as a plot device it's beyond common and well into over-used and cliched.)

authors I enjoy

In discussing things I can do with my time that will be steps toward getting more writing done, my brilliant husband suggested that as I read (and reread) my favorite authors, I start to take notes, keeping track of what it is that makes them my favorites.

With that in mind, I've been reading my favorites more critically, noting every time a passage moved me or stood out in my mind. The first thing I've noticed that I look for in a good author is relationships. The characters' relationships with each other have to be natural, and they have to be deeply felt. Louisa May Alcott, particularly, impressed me with the many shades and nuances her characters display toward each other. (The book in question was Rose in Bloom, sequel to Eight Cousins.) In the case of this book, the relationships were all about love, but all different kinds. Sisters, cousins, friends, lovers, parents and children; good love, tragic love, lost love, love that harmed and love that helped. It was all there. And it all felt real—the people seemed like old friends, and I felt their trials and tribulations along with them.

April/May resolutions

A quick note on the state of the current resolutions. April wound up shifting to "keep in touch" month. I felt like I was doing an iffy job, until I had to leave town unexpectedly in early May and had to send out about 12 different emails letting people know I would be out of town and unable to keep to my social calendar! I heard from several people I hadn't spoken with in a while, and feel that I took a good step toward making some new friends. Keeping up my level of staying in touch may be a challenge, but I'll do my best.

This month was initially scheduled as marital bliss month (so to speak), but due to my spending a week out of town/sick and Lou spending two weeks basically living at his office, he asked that this not be "his" month. Which seems only fair. So now it has been transformed to "no yelling" month—my focus will be on finding ways to make my children listen to me and behave themselves without yelling at them. I think it's good timing for it. I've been reaching the yelling stage a little too quickly recently, and it's not fair to them. This past week, I was pretty much forced to not yell, as the combo of sore throat and extreme tiredness had me too voiceless and not energetic enough to yell. I was speaking in monotones ... and found they actually worked better. Who knew?

So here's hoping for a quiet month. :)

women's roles in history as seen in Texas Ranch House

I just finished watching the recent PBS series Texas Ranch House. I love this series, watching people plunked down in the middle of history and living the way people once did, facing the same (or similar, anyway) challenges. I find it somewhat marred by the continual soap-opera style dramas that seem to take over every installment (at least, the ones set in America) ... while at the same time I'm sure the drama is part of the draw. Gotta love human nature.

Texas Ranch House (TRH) suffered from this drama in a particular way. The show was taken over by the wife of the rancher, who sought to intrude herself into the business portion of the ranch and run the ranch in partnership with her husband, and by the girl-of-all-work-turned-ranchhand, who fought to put herself in a role that would normally have been filled by a man, to prove that she could be a contributing portion of the ranch. Both woman made continual claims that the men on the ranch were "sexist", that they were not respected as the 21st century women that they were, and that women's roles on the ranch were not given their proper weight.

A number of people wrote in to PBS about it, complaining that these two women had not set out to live in 1867, but rather had clung to their 21st-century sensibilities. The executive in charge of the series posted explicitly making it clear (for the first time, to my knowledge) that the women had been charged with going as their modern-day selves to immerse themselves in the ranch, and so their attempts to assert themselves were appropriate to the show.

So much for exposition. Here's my problem: there was sexism going on at that ranch, and the women's roles were not given their proper weight—by the women. The women themselves looked with such disdain on the typical roles of rancher's wife and maid that they did not fulfil them, instead forcing themselves into roles that were not half as necessary to the success of the ranch. I was reading recently an essay by Laura Ingalls Wilder on how farmer's wives of that era were their husbands' business partners in a very real sense. It was the farmer's wife who kept the household running smoothly: she managed the resources; she kept the mouths of the ranch (animal and human) fed and looked to their health; she kept things as clean as possible; she husbanded her own resources (specifically in most cases egg and cream money, but also the fruits of her labors in sewing, canning, etc.) for sale, to eke as much profit out of the farm as she could. It was only with her help that the ranch or farm could prosper, and her job was neglected at the cost of everyone on the ranch in health and prosperity.

On TRH, the ranch owner's wife and maid apparently failed to realize the importance of the roles they were sent there to play. (And we won't even mention the daughters, who seemed to spend most of their time sitting around—I'll assume editing left out a lot of work done by all the women, but no matter how much was left on the cutting room floor, it wasn't enough.) They neglected their garden; neglected basic lessons in sanitation and cleanliness; spent more time beautifying their home than turning their hands to production or trying to aid the running of the ranch. (I'm not saying beautification wouldn't have been on their minds—but I can't imagine any rancher's wife taking a whole day off to make a corn husk doll while her family's very survival was at stake.)

I felt very much that both the adult women, in their desperate struggle to carve themselves a 21st-century niche on the ranch, displayed a disrespect for the vital roles played by women in 1867. And for all their protestations that they weren't respected, I would suggest that had they had more respect for the roles they had been sent there to fulfil, they would have earned more respect (and been more successful therefore in their efforts to expand their roles) from the rest of the inhabitants of the ranch.

You know, it don't come easy ...

As I've recently been struggling to find some direction for my future life, and to choose from the many directions I would interested in going in, I've come to realize that this may be my problem. Because "it" pretty much has always come easy for me. School was easy—so much so that to this day I don't know what people mean when they say they're going to 'study'. I just don't have a clear idea of the activity associated with that word. (And no, I don't blame this issue on my schools—I went to too many for it to be an across-the-board issue. I think if you're bent on taking the easy way, you'll find it. And I did. For example, at my excellent prep school—where I gained a good education in spite of myself—I got around the need for work by taking the least challenging class schedule I could come up with.) Work was always very easy. And while personal relationships weren't necessarily easy, there were always books and imagination to make up for those.

I think it's one of the challenges I ran into with motherhood. Because I expected that to be easy. I thought I'd breeze right into it and know exactly what to do, enjoy every minute, and just be a 'natural'. I have since learned, through association with a large cross-section of other moms, that there is no such thing as a 'natural'. Every mom has her own stumbling blocks, and it seems that most moms feel that they fail to live up to their mothering potential a good half the time. (Or more. For the record, most of them—at least the ones I know—are wrong and are much more awesome than they think they are.)

Anyway. So since I've moved out of the "having babies" portion of my life, the idea of what to do next, my next goal to focus on, has been on my mind quite a bit. There are so many things I can think of that I would like to do, so many interests that I could pursue, so many boxes to think outside of. But none of them are particularly "easy". All of them require work, either logistically or mentally. Or both. (Not so much physically, and that's not really my issue anyway. I have no difficulty with physical work—it's so much easier because it's tangible.)

And I don't know if recognizing my basic lack of interest in doing things the "hard" way is going to help me decide which path I want to go down. I don't know if I can decide that now, with three kids under the age of 4. But I think it helps me feel forewarned—that any path requires an initial struggle with my own inertia. And no matter what I choose, learning to stop taking the easy path will be one of the crucial first steps.

Mother's Day

I was reading another blog that was talking today about Mother's Day, and that invited comments on the question: What do you want? I was going to comment, then I thought, might as well bring my downer to my own blog instead of depressing someone else's.

Because I can't get excited about Mother's Day anymore. My own experiences and watching the experiences of others have shown me the dark underbelly of the day, and I don't want to celebrate a day that makes so many people feel badly.

How many people out there dread Mother's Day because their mother is dead? Or sick? Or doesn't deserve to be celebrated?

How many women out there are sick with grief as Mother's Day approaches because their child has died? Or is sick? Or they've miscarried? Or they haven't been able to get pregnant at all? So many women face Mother's Day every year knowing there's a great possibility that they will never be mothers—or remembering happy years when their children were with them.

And if you don't want to think about the extreme stories, think about the everyday ones. How many women are going to be happy with what they get for Mother's Day? For every woman whose husband (cause, let's face it, it's on him for most mothers of small children) gets it right, there are probably 5 who will swallow their disappointment because he didn't think it was important. Or didn't think it was his job. Or spent more time/money/effort on his mother.

The way I see it, Mother's Day is a day of heightened expectations that leaves many women feeling unappreciated, disappointed, and neglected ... and many more devastated and miserable in their grief. I can't celebrate that.

(I know, it's not everyone's problem. And if you feel that Mother's Day is a day that speaks to you and gives you joy, I hope it is a very happy day and everything you're looking forward to. I'm not advocating the overthrow of the day ... just putting forth the many reasons why I don't celebrate it.)

new books and movies

Finally making good on another part of that IOU—new books and movies.

Actually, only one new book. Christopher Corbett, Orphans Preferred, on the Pony Express. Overall, it was so-so. I think the author was trying to underscore his main point, which is that there are only so many facts that people know about the running of the Pony, and the sheer volume of myth that has grown up around the story has pretty much drowned out those few facts. But in the midst of trying to make that point, he left the reader (well, this reader, anyway) feeling unenthused and a little bit bored. The debunking of a lot of myths wasn't what I picked up the book for, and I didn't find it grippingly written.

Movies, now—after a long hiatus, I'm back to burning through my Netflix list. I watched an old Oscar-winner, The Best Years of Our Lives, about three WWII veterans returning home and what happens to them there. Starred Myrna Loy, Fredric March, and Dana Andrews, and a veteran named Harold Russell. Russell is the only actor to have won 2 Oscars for the same role: Best Supporting Actor and a special Oscar for giving hope to his fellow veterans. Watching this man on the screen, using hooks instead of hands, was really inspiring. And the technology was surprisingly good, given that it was 1945. He could do pretty much anything. The movie as a whole was quite good. It's always nice when watching an Oscar-winning film to say to yourself, "Now, there's a movie that deserved Best Picture."

I also watched about the first 10 minutes of a documentary about Gettysburg, called Gettysburg: Three Days of Destiny ... and it was awful. The voice-overs that purported to be in the words of historical figures were dull, their accents atrocious, the action confusing, scenes jumped all over the place. I'm sorry I wasted a Netflix pick on it!

I've also been watching the History Channel series, "10 Days that Unexpectedly Changed America". Highly recommended! I saw the ones on Antietam, the Gold Rush, the Scopes Trial, and the Mystic Massacre (which I had never read about and am now feeling is a gap in my colonial education). Nice overviews of historical events, and a very controlled focus on the big picture—the way the lives of Americans throughout history have been changed by these events.

writer's block

Not in general—actually, I'm filled with ideas these days, when I get the chance to sit down and let them flow—but in specific. I was sitting here trying to do an exercise about writing sentences in opposition, and the first assignment was to write a sentence about birth and then a sentence about death. I couldn't do it. The birth sentence was okay, then I went off on a tangent and wrote a poem (two in one night! My first two poems in 5 years) about my mother. But I couldn't go back to the exercise, because the only thing I could think of in writing about birth and death that close to each other was Matthew ... and I can't write about him. For years I tried to write a poem for him, but nothing felt special enough. And in a lot of ways I feel like he took that particular muse with him. Maybe I felt like he took all my muse with him—that may be why I've written so little in the past 5 years (well, along with the three more babies, anyway!). But I had to leave the exercise for another time. It felt too close, too raw. It doesn't bother me hugely—when it's right, the words will come—but I did find it very disturbing how almost afraid I felt to tackle that second sentence. Afraid of what, I'm not sure.

gardening

I tried an experiment this year, one that I've been meaning to try every spring for years but kept getting distracted by children, pregnancy, etc. I started seeds indoors! I did broccoli, watermelon, sage, chamomile, and lavender ... and carrots, because the boys wanted to help and carrots were what they chose. And I've been really excited that the plants are actually coming up in their little pots! I have no idea where or how I got my green thumb, but plants do seem to thrive under my care (unless there is forceful neglect, which is how I lost all my indoor plants ... see above children and pregnancy).

The strawberries are starting to green again, and I need to get out and weed my herb bed and pull up all the little shoots off the raspberry bushes. They try and take over every year and have to be yanked back into their corner. Probably the beginning of next month I'll get the veggies going outside.

I'm still working on what to do with the front yard. The assortment of bulbs are popping out all over the yard ... which is nice, but looks a little chaotic. I think the plan will be to pull all the bulbs this summer, and replace them in a neater fashion next fall. And this summer, plant a bunch of annuals for a nice colorful flower display. It's a little surprising to me that I enjoy gardening, since I'm not what you'd call the outdoor type, but it certainly is effort that yields tangible results, and I'm all for that.

scrapped so soon

Clearly, given the shortness of my temper today, the staying up past bedtime to write is not going to work. A mommy on her own does seem to need her sleep. (I've actually been trying out the plan since this weekend, so I'm really on about 4 or 5 days of short sleep rations, and they're catching up with me.)

It's a challenge, though, finding a dedicated time to write. I think I really need that, an hour or half-hour that is devoted to nothing but writing ... but there are so few hours in the day that are within my discretion to allocate. I never know what time the boys will nap, or how long they'll sleep—and the frequency with which they spend an hour or so running around in their room before going down makes it difficult to say "I'll write for the first half-hour of naptime" because some days I'm not entirely sure when naptime started!

Possibly the next try would be to start small. Instead of going for an every-day time frame, try instead devoting the whole of the evening hours one night a week to writing. I believe I will try that next week, since I'll be done with most of my journals by then and starting a couple of months hiatus between publishing schedules.

writing

After a meeting with a fellow writer on Sunday, I was inspired to figure out what I'm doing wrong. Not so much in the writing itself - but in the getting it done. Because I'd have to be writing in order to do something wrong there!

Part of the problem - well-covered territory here, I know - is the time management issue. Trying to figure out WHEN to write. Because I need a plan in order to get things done, and I have a hard time writing while the kids are around ... and when they're not around I tend to have things like journals, house, husband, and down-time that take precedence.

But I think I've figured out the major issue - I'm trying to bite off too much at once. I tend to think about "writing" as "sitting down and working on a major project", which tends to lead to the question of which major project to work on, then further down the path to what genre I want to work in ... which leads ultimately to so many major life questions that it's too daunting to think about. (Culminating in "What do I want to be when I grow up?" - a question to which I am nowhere near to having the answer.)

So I think the "plan" will be this: instead of worrying about which project to work on, take whatever time I have to write and either work on some writing exercises (I have a book of them just waiting for me) or write whatever comes to mind at the time. At some point, I suspect inspiration will hit and I'll find myself working on a major project without ever having had to decide which one.

And for this week (since Lou is away and I'm soloing with three small children), I'm going to try writing after bedtime. Instead of going to bed at my usual midnight, push it to 12:30 or 1:00, with that time devoted to writing. We'll see, during a week in which I HAVE to get up with the kids in the morning and get them moving, if my body can handle the truncated amounts of sleep or not. (And yes, before you get too concerned for the kids, if I see it's not working after a day or so, I will go to sleep earlier. I promise.)

IOU

Dear Blog (and blog-reading audience):

I owe you discourses on writing, and plan therefore; houses; the adorableness of three small children I happen to know; TV; and on new books and movies. Sadly, tonight will not see payment of any of this debt, as I am deep in mid-article, trying to catch up and get ahead on #s 2 and 3 of the 5 journals currently on deadline. Better luck tomorrow.

slight alteration

... in this month's resolution goal. I wasn't mentally prepared to do money this month, and so didn't have any kind of a "system" or really any thoughts on how to go about working on my spending.

So instead, I've decided to take on the task of keeping in touch this month. The goal being obviously to reestablish and maintain contact with old friends and to actively work on making stronger ties with new friends. Part of this is being aware during my interactions of "listen more, talk less," and part just being comfortable. It sounds both simple and obvious, but being comfortable in your situation and confident in yourself makes it a lot easier to meet and interact with people. It's not something I manage all the time ... but I really feel like I'm getting better at it. I don't feel harried and overstressed when I'm out with the kids as much, and I feel that I'm paying more attention to the world around me and have less tunnel vision.

book report V

Been a slow book month! I was reading one long work for most of the time. I have recently finished a journal issue on the restoration of Colonial Williamsburg. It was written in the '30s, so right at the time CW was being renovated. Interesting details on how the restorers knew what materials to use, etc.

I also just finished a Louis L'Amour book of short stories, Yondering. It was basically stories from his own experiences as a sailor and merchant seaman. Still the usual standard of quality, but not as much to my taste as the westerns.

The book that took up so much time this month was Jeff Shaara's Rise to Rebellion. I've read most of his other works: Gods and Generals and The Last Full Measure, picking up where his father left off. (Michael Shaara was the author of the really excellent The Killer Angels, which was later made into the movie Gettysburg. He wrote in a unique style that his son has kept up in his own writings.) And the sequel to Rise to Rebellion, The Glorious Cause. The latter two chronicle the Revolutionary War and its inception. Now, having read all these works by this author, I felt they were good, but lacked the passion that infuses The Killer Angels. Until I read Rise to Rebellion. This book really seemed to be the one Jeff Shaara had always wanted to write. His enthusiasm for the time period enriched the book immeasurably.

Still moving through the life and times of Perry Mason—Erle Stanley Gardner's detective from first to last. Interestingly, Gardner wrote about Mason from the '30s through the '60s, and Perry Mason, Della Street, and Paul Drake never age. Nor does the relationship between Mason and Street ever progress. Right now I'm deep in the works of the '30s, enjoying seeing how Gardner's writing is maturing.

And still working on Alan and Iris Macfarlane's excellent Empire of Tea, on the history thereof. Long read, but well worth it.

April resolution

So a logjam of journals (three arrived on Friday, with one already in process and two more due in any day now!) has forced a slight change in the resolution schedule. April was supposed to be focused on writing ... but I'll be so busy editing everyone else's works I'm not going to have the time to devote to my own. So, we'll be working on money management this month. Toys and clothes for the kids, trips to Dunkin Donuts, dinners out solo, etc.—figuring out where the line is between treats and self-indulgent and overly expensive habits.

March resolution wrap-up

Firstly, sorry it's been so long. Been a long month, not entirely sure why.

Secondly - March's resolution has, for once, been a resounding success. With the addition of the treadmill to our household inventory, I've been able to run every day, plus take a class at the Y that has been very good. In addition, I've started tracking my calories with www.sparkpeople.com, and that has really helped. I actually lost some weight, finally! And most surprisingly, I kind of enjoy it. I mean, I would far rather go out to eat, read a good book, etc., but the time I spend working out isn't "wasted time" to me, which I was afraid it would be.

Top 50 Movies - The Top 10

Here they are. I'm sure you're all waiting with bated breath ... but honestly, I found it really interesting to sit down and quantify all these movies I love and rank them. (Even more interestingly, I find I could never do it with books. There's just no way.)

#10 - L.A. Confidential:

Contains one of the finest single moments of acting I've ever seen (by Guy Pearce, in his unutterably fabulous portrayal of Edmund Exley). Pearce, Kevin Spacey, Russell Crowe, James Cromwell - all turn in subtle and excellent performances. The movie does justice to the book, but stands alone as a separate entity (and I LOVE the book and highly recommend it - Ellroy is the Dickens of our time). It is just very well-crafted all around.

#9 - The Blue and the Gray:

A friend once asked me what kind of thing I wanted to write, and I pointed to this miniseries as the example. Earthy, honest, well-cast, epic, finely acted, it manages to be an overview of a very complicated era without delving into the realm of the soap (as North and South did).

#8 - Lord of the Rings trilogy:

I take these movies as a whole because they really form a single body of work - and are probably the greatest technical achievement in film since Gone With the Wind. The advances in special effects made in these movies should revolutionize the effects industry - and the debt the literary world owes to Peter Jackson and his belief in staying true to the story cannot be overstated.

#7 - Rear Window:

Talk about a classic. Who doesn't try to look into the windows of the houses nearby, wondering what the lives of the people who live in them are like? Then you add a murder mystery, the odd but wonderful combination of Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly - and magic!

#6 - On the Town:

New York shows up again! This time with Ann Miller and Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra, and the wonderful Jules Munchin and Betty Garrett. The dancing is superb, the love story touching, the camaraderie between the cast charming.

#5 - It's a Wonderful Life:

Must I, really? I think this one is about as obvious as it gets. "No man is a failure who has friends."

#4 - The Breakfast Club:

An '80s classic. A statement about relations between people - and not just in high school. Funny, sweet, angry, pointed ... and eminently quotable. "You think I'd speak for you? I don't even know your language!"

#3 - Westward the Women:

Probably the best depiction of the westward journey I've ever seen. Certainly not 100% true to life, but the movie pulls very few punches in showing the bleakness, the hardships, and the sheer effort involved in walking across half a continent toward a new life.

#2 - Pleasantville:

To me, this movie is sheer art. Beautifully shot, beautifully acted ... and the messages pack a powerful charge.

#1 - The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe:

Are you surprised? Really? Go back and reread my review from December - there was really no question.

Top 50 Movies - 11-20

#20 - The Shawshank Redemption:

Beautiful movie. Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman are awesome, and the whole thing is a really good adaptation from the story. (It's from Stephen King's short story volume Different Seasons - also contains "The Body", from which Stand By Me was made. Both stories well worth reading.)

#19 - Who Framed Roger Rabbit?:

A pioneer in the field, the animation/live action combo is extremely well-done. The story is fun for all ages. (This one is very different from the book, Who Censored Roger Rabbit?, which is quite good but much darker.)

#18 - How the West Was Won:

A movie that gives new meaning to the idea of epic. Again, from a book (this one by Louis L'Amour ... need I say more?) - but the movie displays the sense of the breadth of work these people had to do. It is, of course, out of date from a political correctness standpoint and does not deal with a lot of the less heroic aspects of the westward expansion. It's still a fantastic movie - and it's hard to go too far wrong when you have Jimmy Stewart, Debbie Reynolds, George Peppard, and Gregory Peck all in the same movie. (Not to mention an appearance by Carolyn Jones, better known as Morticia Addams.)

#17 - Stand By Me:

This movie gets bonus points considering that the four very fine actors it contains were all in their preteens when it was made. (Also contains John Cusack, which gives a bonus point to any movie!) It's a lovely adaptation of the story (see above, #20) and manages to combine nostalgia, little boy crudity, the poignance of growing up, and the gravity of death without a jarring note anywhere.

#16 - Paint Your Wagon:

What a romp! Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin singing, the complete collapse (literally) of the camp, the supporting characters - it's all fun and sweet and completely muddy all at once.

#15 - Glory:

I defy anyone to watch the ending of this movie and not cry. I've seen it time and again, and it still moves me to great sheets of tears. Denzel Washington, Matthew Broderick, Cary Elwes, Andre Braugher, Morgan Freeman - all turn in fantastic performances. It's a moving tribute to the men of that unit.

#14 - Say Anything:

John Cusack at his most raw and sincere. A love story that gives hope to anyone who has ever been a Lloyd Dobler. (Or, for that matter, a Diane Court.) And, of course, a fantastic performance by John Mahoney.

#13 - When Harry Met Sally:

A tribute to love and to New York - two things I never get tired of seeing. I'm not a Meg Ryan fan, but I think this was a great performance by her (there's also Addicted to Love, which is well worth seeing, but in a very different way!). Nice delicate touch with the directing, and of course the classic "interview" framing device.

#12 - Same Time, Next Year:

Another movie that moves me to tears every time. It's such a touching love story, of a completely unique kind. Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn are both amazing in very complicated roles - they manage to pull off a relationship that has love and friendship and respect without at any point seeming tawdry.

#11 - High Society:

How can you go wrong? Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Grace Kelly - beautiful music - love stories crossing love stories - a fantastic supporting cast that includes Louis Armstrong. Awesome movie!