In which I dust off Ye Olde Blog

A few nights ago, I had a dream that Amanda Palmer and I got bow tie tattoos together, and then she had a house concert in our apartment. At one point, she decided to have an intermission so she could grab some drinks and just chew the fat with people, but somehow a friend of mine from college offended her deeply. She got all upset and she zoomed off in a car made of pizza that had pepperoni for wheels.

Later, we found out she was caught in a dust storm.

I guess I’m not entirely sure what a dream like that would mean. Maybe you want to take a crack at it. Let me know if you come up with anything.

The rest of the week, literally every night, I dreamed I was wandering through the aisles of a pillow store, searching for just the right pillow. Aisles and aisles of pillows. No front door or back door or restroom to be found in this store. And all the pillows? They all looked exactly the same, felt exactly the same. But none of them were the *right* one. I couldn’t find the right pillow.

I have a slightly better idea what that dream is about. I think I need a new pillow.

I guess what I’m saying is, I haven’t been sleeping very well.

And, I guess what else I’m saying is, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed moving around in this space. It feels good to be back.


Book Review: The Book of Lost Things

The Book of Lost ThingsThe Book of Lost Things by John Connolly

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

While there are certainly a few things about this book that I could pick apart and criticize, I’m slapping a huge 5 star review on it because it just sucked me in and made me enjoy it so gosh darn much.

David is a boy who’s life is in flux. Changes are happening in the world around him, both in his immediate family and the world at large. While World War II threatens on the horizon, David’s mother passes and he finds himself retreating in to books and fairy tales as a way to cope. Amidst these changes, David notices that the line between the fantasy world of his books and the “real” world becomes less and less clear. We are flung, with David, in to a world of legends and fairy stories where the choice to be honorable can be a matter of life or death.

I LOVE Connolly’s twisted fairy tale world. I love the empathy with which he treats his characters – the good ones and the bad ones. Connolly is clearly a master of storytelling who knows the power of restraint.

Augh, I want to tell you how it ends. But I won’t. I’ll just leave it at this: the prose is beautiful, the story is engaging, the characters are real. Go pick up this book as soon as you have the chance – and be prepared to be a little scared.

View all my reviews

Belated Mothers’ Day

Sunday marked a strange (and wonderful) transition time for me. There are changes afoot – a baby on the way. And even though I feel nauseated most of the time, the idea is still settling in that all of this rigamaroll is going to result in a new human being.

That is to say, I spent most of the day a little shocked when people wished me a Happy Mother’s Day.

And I tried to say something here all day, to express gratitude for my amazing mom, my grandma, the women I love… but for some reason, the words weren’t there. I’m deep down happy, but also a little scared to be joining those ranks.

More than that, I’m acutely aware that mother’s day can be a hard day for so many people. My heart is achey and thumpy for women who want to be mommies – for the men who are also moms – for children (of all ages) that missed their moms this weekend.

Because my own words are failing me, I’m leaning on a friend. Even though I don’t have a dance teacher, or education professors,  CheekyPinky‘s heartfelt words struck me as honest and true. They reminded me that I’m not joining ranks…I’m already in them.

So I’m sharing her words with you.

To my girl friends,

who have held me and loved me at my most unlovable,
some of whom are mothers themselves,
the kind of mothers I pray to God I might become someday;
to my girl friends who aren’t mothers,
but are sisters of my heart,
who keep me close
while my own sister is so far away.

To my education professors, to my pastor’s wife,
to the women in my church who take my breath away
with their faith and kindness;
to The Bloggess, to my dance teacher;
to all of the women who taught me that grace is better than anger
(even if I’m still Bad at That),
that it is Okay to be smart and funny and…

that God doesn’t just love women who are all doilies-and-teacups;
that it is Okay that I am not my mother’s Perfect Daughter.

Thank you.

I love you.

Happy Mother and Sisters’ Day.