I’ve read two books in the last week that both combine food and sex. Make of that what you will.
The first, Cleaving, is about a marriage breaking up, full of butchery metaphors that I was too wussy to read properly.
The second, Like Water for Chocolate. Again, recipes and food. Again, infidelity.
The latter is fiction with spoonfuls of magical realism, which can sometimes irk me if it isn’t done well, which is not the case with Like Water for Chocolate.
I really wanted the lover, Pedro to get his connupance for being a coward. Tita betrayed her own strength by giving in to him. I hope I am not ruining the story, so SPOILER SPOILER Pedro marries Tita’s sister instead of Tita, who he apparently loves. So Tita suffers for quite a few pages, until Pedro gets jealous of Tita’s suitor who actually cares for her. Pedro shows up again, and later has his sexy way with Tita, under his wife’s nose.
If I were Tita, I’d have shown him the door, but perhaps I have the benefit of being born of a time of raspberry Stolichnaya and a disco Karoke remixes of “I Will Survive.”
This is the perfect book for a lazy Sunday afternoon. Do not touch it if you are recovering from a broken heart. It is what my dear father would call a “mooshy” book.
Other news:
* future blog entry: fun games to play on the subway
* my laptop is broken and will have to be repaired. all my music is on that computer and so I can’t update my iPod. whatever the passage is that connects the brain to the ear drum is getting worn out from the same bloody Bach sonatas. sorry brain.
* I start singing lessons in a few weeks.
* Moving house this weekend. Packing up is like a very unaesthetically pleasing and unfun Christmas where you wrap ugly paper around things you already have.
* Vynl in Hell’s Kitchen is becoming my weekly watering hole. Gotta love any place with a Dolly Parton shrine in the toilet.
*A brief fantasy of becoming a burlesque dancer died rather quickly.
“If you wait for a better time to create, better than this very moment, if you wait until you feel settled, divinely inspired, perfectly centered, unburdened of your usual worries, or free of your own skin, forget about it. You will still be waiting tomorrow …wondering how you did such an excellent job of disappointing yourself.”
- Eric Massel
‘Productivity Tips’ from WriteaLot: “Start with the vision by creating the book cover or the poster for your work.”
Ira Glass on Storytelling: Learn to live with the gap between greatness and your own work for as long as possible (paraphrased)
I cannot, in all fairness, say I read this book because I skipped nearly half of it. Julie Powell’s new memoir is partly about working as a butcher’s apprentice, which was a little graphic for lentil-munching vegetarians like me. So here is my review of about half of it.
Good things: She is very honest and has a good turn of phrase. Takes guts to put oneself out there. Sexy bits. Good descriptions of NY life. The meat bits were probably well written.
Bad things: Not compelling. Quite a few pages are dedicated to the family Christmas dinner which really lacks intrigue. And the book is a bit of a structural mess. Too many pop cultural references, especially to Buffy dialogue.
I was quite willing to forget Amy Adams and take Julie Powell on, warts and all. I like Julie Powell, I am happy for her success and I really wanted to like this book.
She’s copped a bit of flack about this book already. All I will say is that I hope she keeps writing and gives herself and the husband a bit of space! Reading this book made me feel like the end of Thanksgiving meal: exhausted, over-stuffed and ready to go home.
I have been so overwhelmed with the BIG Questions lately: does God exist? Is there a supernatural, personal Deity out there? Where does Science fit in?
Which is why sitting here watching Tabatha’s Salon Takeover is such a relief. Bloody good stuff!
“We must never sacrifice principle to short-term approval. It is a life lesson hard-won on the institutional ladders, cocktail parties and coffee klatsches of the world, but it may be the only lesson worth learning at all.”
Sr. Joan Chittiser, OSB
Last night I felt challenged by Minna Proctor’s statement: “I don’t think I believe in a God who sends psychic messages through bureaucratic processes.”
John the Baptist didn’t need committees to bless his way. He went out there to fulfill his calling: to be the one to prepare the path for Christ. He was a wild man, totally in love with God.
His feet and face are dirty, caked with street dust. His hair is thick and wooly, matted like a beavers tail. He smells sickly-sweet: urine, sweat and honey. We might mistake him for a homeless person, until we looked closer and saw that he is glowing with light. His eyes danced with joy, his face aflame with divine purpose.
Too often, I seek official sanction before I can serve God, be it a rostered time to serve at the altar or a fancy looking place to pray. I keep the poor at a safe distance by only serving them in certain times and supervised places. I am more interested in being an Officially Spiritual Person than letting the rugged, unscripted God speak to my soul.
In our spirituality, our creative projects, our activism, our relationships, sometimes we need to do things for which we don’t feel we are allowed to do. We need to unlearn. We need to fear the wrong type of security more than the right kind of insecurity. We must risk being wrong or foolish. We must sit in the wrong section of the bus or break the rules of the metrical form. In the words attributed to John the Baptist “I must decrease, He must increase.”
It is impossible to receive inspiration, love or grace with clenched palms. We can begin by opening our hands and let God/Universe/etc guide us into new places.
John the Baptist, this smelly and inconvenient prophet, shakes us from the pages of Luke’s Gospel. He challenges us to let go of our petty securities and comfort zones so that we can start to welcome God.
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
-Mary Oliver
We are back from the monastery thanksgiving with plenty to be grateful for.
Ethan, being a non-monastic type, took to the place very well. I was a bit painful at the beginning and felt I had to keep reminding him how wonderful everything is, until I finally kept quiet and let the monastery work its magic. He was impressed with the goodness, intelligence and theological reasonableness that radiates from the monks and the guests.
The Gregorian chant at Holy Cross is one of the most sublime music experiences I’ve ever had. At one point, they harmonized during a Compline hymn and Ethan and I just looked at each other: “…wow.” Those silent “wows” happen between a couple every now and then, I imagine moreso when children come into the picture.
One of the gifts of visiting Holy Cross monastery is the silence and slowness. The first time I entered the chapel, the silence felt like a third person in the room. It is so palpable and delicious. And the slowness isn’t immediately felt, until I start wishing the chant to hurry up or start scheduling myself. Then I remember where I am and why they are here. They have all the time in the world to praise God. It isn’t on their to-do list; it is their reason for being.
We were allowed to stay in the same room, in separate beds. While we lay in bed reading, it felt like a 1950s sitcom! Thanksgiving feast was unbelievable, thanks to good old Benedictine hospitality. Don’t know if we would have gotten whipped cream at the Carthusians!
At night, we worked on our nanowrimo projects; I am now around 21,000 words.I felt a little ashamed to bring my laptop into the hallowed grounds. I figured God and the monks wouldn’t mind if I worked on a creative project. There was no wifi, so I couldn’t check email or Youtube (I tried!)
I always walk away from retreats with inner resolves for my life. The big one from this time was that I caught myself praying that “I may achieve inner peace.” The word “achieve” hit me sidewards- surely, this is part of the problem! I am trying to achieve inner peace with the same bull-headedness that I would attack a dirty kitchen floor! So my new prayer might be that I may be peace in the world, in fact, that might become my new personal slogan.
Be peace! Would make a good bumper sticker!
Here’s the view of the Hudson River from Holy Cross, taken at an earlier visit.
“Mrs Taylor was the one who vastly increased my dominion over the earth and its creatures by teaching me the art of naming them. It was not till years later that I learned what a fatal art that is because if, on one hand, to name a thing is to be able to address it, to appropriate it, to have a way of understanding it, it is, on the other hand, to erect a barrier between yourself and it which only on the rarest and most inspired occasions are you ever able to surmount again.”
- Frederick Buechner, The Sacred Journey
“A hater is someone who is jealous and envious and spends
all their time trying to make you look small so they can look tall.”
Maya Angelou, “Hater“
I used to be a hater. I used to look at websites of people who were doing creative things and in my head, I’d make fun of them. Who do they think they are? I’d mutter. How pretentious! How egotistical! Gee, I bet they are going to fail, and then they’d be really embarrassed.
Looking/Hating these people was a time consuming hobby. Addicted as I was to feeling smug and righteous, I sought my “hit” of hatred every day, sometimes multiple times. It made me feel better for neglecting gifts, for my laziness and lack of effort.
I don’t think it is any coincidence that in the past few weeks, when I have allowed myself to be more creative, the hating habit has stopped. I have no desire to tear these people down. In fact, I’d like to see nice things happen for them, just as I am starting to wish for nice things to happen for me.
