Read It Again

I'VE TRIED BUT I JUST CAN'T DO IT; NOT YET ANYWAY. I have a friend who challenged me to choose six books. Here’s how the challenge went down: If you had to choose six books to be the only books you would have on your shelf to read from now on, what would they be?

“Comme l’on serait savant si l’on connaissait bien seulement cinq ou sìx livres.”

— Flaubert

Translated: “What a scholar one might be if one knew well only some half a dozen books.”

Obviously the Bible would be first. Not because I’m holy or anything, but because it has everything in one book: mystery, intrigue, poetry, philosophy, love story, history, science, etc.

“You can’t choose the Bible. In fact, let’s narrow it down to novels, literary fiction.”

Even as a kid I loved to read and be read to. When I think about this challenge of picking just six books, I think, “Why?” But kids prove that stories can be read again and again and again and again. In fact, I can hear my Grand-Girls now: “Read it again, Pops.” 

karlee and pops

Growing up, once I began reading beyond picture books, my list-of-six would have included: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Call of the Wild, Treasure Island and City High Five.

But then, the Call of the Cool came in early adolescence. And you couldn’t be caught reading or admitting you really liked reading. You would be pummelled with your copy of Red Badge Of Courage. And then there were those books that teachers insisted we read…

“Nothing ruins a book faster than a teacher who insists it is important.”

— Alex Miller Jr.

Some teachers I trusted. Some teachers would make you read a certain book (by assignment and threat). Some teachers would make you want to read a certain book (by there obvious love for the story).

Why is it important to have six books (or whatever number) that you could and will read again and again? Because one of the things that makes a great story a great story is that you can hear it over again, and it is fresh and compelling each time. And then there’s this, from The New York Review of Books:

The ideal here, it seems, is total knowledge of the book, total and simultaneous awareness of all its contents, total recall. Knowledge, wisdom even, lies in depth, not extension. The book, at once complex and endlessly available for revisits, allows the mind to achieve an act of prodigious control. Rather than submitting ourselves to a stream of information, in thrall to each precarious moment of a single reading, we can gradually come to possess, indeed to memorize, the work outside time.

As I said at the start, I can’t quite whittle the list to six; yet. But I do have it to eight. Oh, as you read my list, don’t judge me. I’m not in seventh grade anymore, your judgement doesn’t matter to me, but I would love to hear your opinions and your list. I’ve shared my emerging list with a few people. Some of have questioned whether some of these qualify as “classics”. That’s not one of the criteria. Remember, this is about books you could read again and again.

Specifically, I’ve been critized for having Catcher in the Rye on my list. It is, in fact, a book I read about once a year, and have for years. One said: “Jane Eyre! Isn’t that a chick book?” I hit him over the head with my copy. And if you’re familiar with Jane Eyre you know it (the book, not Jane herself) is large and packs a wallop.

So, [drum roll] here’s the list, not necessarily in any order:

• To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
• Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
• Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
• For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway
• East of Eden by John Steinbeck
• Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry
• Gilead by Marilynne Robinson
• The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

What's on your list?

Going Up or Down?

IN ONE OF THE BUILDINGS where I work there is an elevator. The building has two floors. For some reason the control panel on the inside of the elevator has a button that says “1” and a button that says “2”. It really bothers me. It is a choice that promises options, but there is only one way you can go, up or down, depending on what floor you are on. Why not just have one button that says, “Go”!

I feel suddenly old. This feeling (reality) was brought on by an event that has made age more apparent to me than any passing birthday ever has. I signed up for Medicare.

I didn’t want to do it. I plan to work for several more years and have health coverage at work, but Big Brother sent me an ominous warning that if I didn’t sign up NOW, I “c(w)ould” be penalized with higher premiums for the rest of my days here on earth.

There was a questionnaire. Best I can remember the questions went something like this. I’m paraphrasing because I don’t actually remember the questions. I was under a dark and ominous cloud as I was reading it. The answers seemed to be like the buttons on our elevator—promising options but really only having one choice.

___YES: You freely admit to your government that you are elderly?
___YES: You understand that you have no choice but to nuzzle up to the teet of Uncle Sam’s big ol’ sow (mother pig)?
___YES: Aren’t you glad now you paid all those taxes?
___YES: You do realize and acknowledge that the actual dollars you and your employers have coughed up over the years are actually vapor, your government may or may not have saved your money on your behalf?
___YES: You understand that the Republicans could kill the fatted sow (mother pig) with the next election if the Democrats don’t drain her dry first.

Maybe I’m sounding a little bitter and cynical. Get over it. I’m old. It’s my right. Satire is fun, isn’t it? Or is it (satire)?

Do You Wu Wei?

Call it Wu Wei or going with the “flow”, or just slowing down, or whatever you want, it apparently is a very good thing.

While I have been to Italy and a few other stops along the Mediterranean, I wouldn’t say I know much about living like a Mediterranean-ite, but I’m trying to learn. I’ve read the diet books because there is no doubt that it is a better way to eat. Not only am I not a Mediterranean, I am also not a dietician or nutritionist, but I do know this, for a few years now I’ve been eating closer to the Mediterranean Diet and I feel much better for it.

But it turns out it’s not just their diet we should adopt, but the way they eat too: slower, and with people we like, taking time to enjoy every bite, appreciating the nuances of flavor and texture, with conversation that leads to gratitude and laughter and joy instead of alienating and pissing people off.

“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. ”

— J.R.R. Tolkien

As I mentioned a few posts back, I have a new turntable and a rediscovered appreciation for playing music on vinyl long-play records.

Here’s the deal, there is a process to it, kind of like Mediterranean eating: First you look through the albums and make a selection. You remove the inner sleeve from the cover, and then the record from that. You place it on the platter and turn it on. Then you gently lift the tone arm and place the needle on the smooth outer margin of the record. Now you listen as you watch the platter spin. The process requires you to slow down, to pay more attention, to engage more with the music. Probably there are photos and great artwork on the album cover and maybe the lyrics to the songs are printed on the sleeve. It’s all very real. And the sound… Oh, the sound. You can almost see the musicians playing. If you are young and have only heard digital music, I invite you to come over for a listen. Seriously.

Imagine sitting with headphones on and listening to Simon & Garfunkel sing this:

Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feelin’ groovy
Ba da da da da da da, feelin’ groovy
Hello, lamppost, what’cha knowin’?
I’ve come to watch your flowers growin’
Ain’t’cha got no rhymes for me?
Doot-in doo-doo, feelin’ groovy
Ba da da da da da da, feelin’ groovy
I got no deeds to do
No promises to keep
I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me
Life, I love you
All is groovy

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I think I can live in this state, in the groove so to speak. But it beats “the rut”, right? We can slow down, pay more attention, listen more carefully, see more clearly. Think back, and remember if you can, what child-like wonder was like. 

Remember, for example, the first time you “fell in love”? Like water in a stream, you go with the flow, you’re just sort of carried along. My first love was doomed from the start though. The girl of my dreams had another.

Maybe Elvis was right about what wise men say—that only fools rush in. And the Drifters too, when they sang:

Well, fools fall in love in a hurry
Fools give their hearts much too soon
Just play them two bars of Stardust
Just hang out one silly moon, oh, oh

Image by Cerith Wyn Evans

Speaking of playing two bars of Stardust, here’s an experiment for slowing down to see if you can experience Wu Wei. You’ll need a good version of Stardust to listen to. I recommend Willie Nelson’s version, but Nat King Cole’s is the classic. You can get either on iTunes for a buck-twenty-five. Also have a cup of really good coffee or beverage of your choice.

The Willie Nelson version is nearly four minutes long. Take those four minutes to listen and savour, blocking out everything else. Be careful though—you might fall in love (again). Just go with the flow.

“Young lovers see a vision of the world redeemed by love. That is the truest thing they ever see, for without it life is death. ”

— Wendell Berry from Jayber Crow

Grand-Fathering

PICTURE WITH ME an idyllic, mythic tableau of grandparenting. You know the ones that look like the “after” picture of prescription medication ads, not the ones where he’s plagued with those pesky side effects like: constipation, diarrhea, rash, swelling of hands, feet and face, wheezing, irratibility, increased appetite, night sweats and visions of Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton in the Whitehouse.

In the first frames of these ads, gramps is relegated to the porch with an elephant sitting on his chest while the rest of the family is frolicking in the yard. But, then he takes his meds for HBP, COPD, ED, ADD, RA and XYZ. Now he’s splitting wood, and throwing another log on the campfire, where the kids are roasting marshmallows for s’mores. He gives grandma a knowing wink and a nuzzle, and thinks how much better the whole scene would be if he could light up a pipe and have a scotch. Then he notices something at the edge of the campfire’s glow: it’s Norman Rockwell and Thomas Kinkade painting the whole scene. “I’m so glad I put on my clean cardigan and remembered to zip up!” he thinks to himself.

When you are of a generation that grew up with programs like Father Knows Best, Ozzie & Harriett, Leave It To Beaver, etc., you think of things like this.

Perhaps you’re aware that I am the grandfather to three grands; all girls. AKA, Pops and the Grand-Girls. It is a role I cherish. But, I will admit that sometimes I don’t feel adequate to this high calling. It has to do with gender roles. Don’t panic! This isn’t veering off to some weird place.

I know it’s old fashioned, but my culture has created in me some expectations and understandings—right or wrong. For example, when I think about rites-of-passage, the connections between a grandfather and grandson seem really obvious. A grandfather can teach the boy to shine shoes, oil his ball glove, bait a hook. He can buy his grandson his first pocket knife and teach him how to play mumbley peg or “dissect” a frog.

But who are we kidding here? There is nothing a granddad could pull out of his bag of tricks that will break the trance-like spell an iPad or video game has on a wee lad.

The fact is, I wouldn’t trade my three Grand-Girls for all the boys in the tri-state area. Turns out I love going to the ballet with them. We all love to read. And even though I don’t know an Elsa from an Anna, I’m still invited to sit in the floor and “play” Frozen. We go to museums together and weirdly enough we all like Chick-fil-a and dark chocolate. Who knew?

Sometimes, when spending quality time with the girls, I will suggest an activity, a game, or maybe a plot line and characters for an evolving make-believe story.

Sometimes, my ideas are met with enthusiasm.

Sometimes, not so much.

Sometimes, the creative juices are running way ahead of me.

Often times, our best times together are where memories are made.

the grand-girls at uncle kyle's graduation