What About My Problems? Whines Bookworm Who Doesn’t Understand How Good She Has It

This week while Andrew has worked like a lawyer-slave, I read Escape by Carolyn Jessop.  This memoir tells of Jessop’s horrifying life as a member of a polygamist cult.  The book has pretty much convinced me that Big Love is a true story, and that Jessop might be the bravest and smartest woman that ever lived.

It’s amazing that I read these memoirs but can still stress about my First World Problems like:

• Is my dog bored?
• Why did I stray to a new flavor of frozen yogurt at Sweet Frog?  Idiot!
• My Frequent Flyer Miles strategy is all over the map right now.
• It’s raining – my hair has no chance today.
• It can be so hard to get a reservation during Restaurant Week.  I hate booking a week in advance!
• Groupon keeps sending out deals for places I have never heard of on the southside.
• My blog is so unpopular.

Ok that last one might just be a fact versus a problem.  Love you, readers!

Speak To Me Narrator Man While I Learn To Fold A Fitted Sheet

Confession time:  I am addicted to audio books.  In particular, of the free download variety from the library. Only 62 of these exist, of which only half are available at any time.  And one is written by Billy Graham, so that leaves 30 to choose from at any given time. But I’ve been damn lucky so far.

I could not get enough of Defending Jacob by William Landay.  I was actually looking for laundry to do while I listened. I refolded the sheets and towels in my linen closet.  Things got so dire I briefly toyed with mopping the floor so I could keep listening, but I did it last year and World's Best Dog Norman needed a belly rub so….

This was not a book I would have normally chosen.  Courtroom drama is not really my thing.  But this book had great, descriptive storytelling and was full of surprises.  Plus, I loved the narrator’s voice.  I really enjoyed this book and it has an awesome ending.  (Hint: part of the ending includes me having an organized linen closet for about one week.)

Inner Dog Monologue:
"Wait, are you serious about the belly rub?"
I'm dead serious, dog.

Newspaper Finally Brings Something To The Table

Reading is fun. 

That sentence is an example of why I am not a writer.  Below is a great quote from author Ann Patchett about why reading is awesome. 

“… Reading fiction is important. It is a vital means of imagining a life other than our own, which in turn makes us more empathetic beings. Following complex story lines stretches our brains beyond the 140 characters of sound-bite thinking, and staying within the world of a novel gives us the ability to be quiet and alone, two skills that are disappearing faster than the polar icecaps.”

I love this quote.  Read it twice.

Source: New York Times, 4/17/12

Octogenarians Determine Bookworm Fashion Choices

Anyone who knows me knows I have the best grandparents.  And not in a World’s Best Granddad Coffee Mug kind of way.  In a My-Grandddad-Is-Spending-His-87^th-Birthday-in-Botswana kind of way.   These guys love to travel and took my brother and me to all 50 states before I turned 18.  They are smart and interesting and, well… my granddad can beat up your granddad.  That’s all there is to it.

My grandparents have a knack for choosing the perfect gift.  I can promise you that my granddad has a better eye for selecting a pair of pants that fit me than I do.  It is uncanny that every Christmas they can pick out a head to toe outfit (you bet those socks match!) that fits perfectly.  And guess what?  They are Bookworms, too.

This past weekend, when not changing the explosive diarrhea diapers of a young friend, I finished A Train in Winter by Caroline Moorehead.   This was a Christmas gift from my grandparents, a book that sold out so fast in Williamsburg they had to order a copy of this (surprise!) World War II biographical story. 

My granddad read it before I did and warned me it started off a bit slow.  He was right, though my main criticism of the book was the fact that there were so many women’s stories woven in that I couldn’t keep track of them all.  They were all members of the French Resistance and incredibly brave, but I don’t feel like I got to know any of the 230 women in the book since for the most part I couldn’t follow who was who from start to finish.

This was exactly the kind of book I would have ordered for myself, and I love receiving books as gifts, so this was a win-win.  I’m sure my grandparents are counting the days until the end of their Africa-And-Oh-Yeah-Let’s-Swing-By-Madrid-Trip so they can read this critique.

Proud Matriarch and Patriarch look on
at family antics featuring bottle of Dom Perignon.