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Browsing Tag: #books
Have you ever been treated as an outcast? Like you were the only kid in your class who wore glasses, or had freckles or curly hair? Or maybe you were a transplant from some far away city into a rural type town. Have you ever felt like you were the only one? And so, since you didn’t have anyone to talk to, you turned to books. And in books you found others just like you, a kid who had glasses and curly hair. A kid who had divorced parents. A country kid in a city school. A kid who wanted a dog but only had two goldfish in a glass bowl on the kitchen counter. You identified with these characters because they had things in common with you, and it seemed like a miracle because you were all alone until you discovered this book that appeared to be written just for you. Some kids are fortunate enough to have parents who talk to them, who pray with them, who teach them right from wrong. Some kids aren’t fearful of talking to a teacher, or a church leader, or maybe they trust a neighbor or relative with their deepest secrets and use them as a moral compass. But some kids don’t have that. Some kids only have books as friends, and as allies. Some kids only have books as a means to justify feelings or to trust with their heart. Maybe these kids use their…
I haven’t talked books with y’all in awhile. I just finished one that’s like all the rest: Devastatingly handsome guy meets girl. They fall in love. They get married. They both have brilliant, successful careers in the big city that has a small-town vibe. Guy becomes abusive. After much back and forth, girl leaves. He begs for her forgiveness and to come back. Meanwhile, girl has reunited with high school boyfriend, who is perfect in every way, wealthy, and unattached. Girl discovers she’s pregnant by dreamy, abusive, estranged husband. They try to work it out. Girl decides she’s gonna be strong and still pursue divorce. Guy is emotionally wrecked and never stops trying to win her back. The author’s note at the end said she wanted to create a strong female protagonist and show that abusive relationships aren’t always black and white. Yeah, I get that. Abusive relationships are generally created by a subtle, gentle erosion. They don’t just throw you up against the wall and break your jaw on your honeymoon. It’s a much slower process that I believe begins mentally. My problem is this. You want to create a strong female character? Well, give her a life that won’t be so great without the abusive husband. Don’t give her her own business with a strong support system of girlfriends and an understanding mom who lives…
Last week was Library Appreciation Week. I only posted one thing about it, but I think I post often enough so everybody knows where I stand on libraries. In case you recently crawled out from under a lettuce leaf, know that I LOVE them. I don’t know that I can adequately put into words what the library means to me. But I’m gonna try my best. Even though I’m more than a week late. I’m always late. And before I forget, that cover pic was taken by Liz Ballard, who truly has a history with our local library. I didn’t ask for permission, but I don’t think she’ll mind. I have served on the local library board for several years now, and it looks like I’m going off next month to serve on the Regional Board. Anyway, that’s the least of my love. QUITE literally. Board meetings are typically endured, not always enjoyed. Even though they try to make it cool. Here’s our meeting room: But that’s part of adulting. The good news is, it allows me to know what events are coming up before anybody else 😀 I have a lifespan of memories at the library. It brought tears to my eyes when I was asked to serve. My mind flashed back to all the times I’d walked through the door, clutching my satchel, ready to…
Well, this is involved. I’ve just picked up Jewel’s Never Broken today. As in, I actually opened the cover, not went out to the store and bought it. I’ve had it for awhile. But here’s a link, if you’re so inclined to have your own copy. I love her. https://amzn.to/2TcG39I It starts with an “Ode To My Fortieth Birthday” style poem, which I found poignant. I’m not even fifty pages in, and she’s breaking my heart. I feel a kindred spirit to Jewel, always have. She loves the wilderness and grew up out in the Alaskan territory on horseback. She writes many of her own songs, and I admire her resiliency. I think this will be an insightful book, not only into her life, but mine as well. If I weren’t so ashamed of my library right now, I’d post a few pictures of it. How ’bout I just post some oldies instead?Welcome to my abode. I have read a great many of these pictured, but I would say 50% remain unread. I just love them. This is my utopia. It’s a dream I’ve always had, to be able to walk into my own library and select a book at random. I’m pretty sure I’ll like whatever I’ve picked up because, after all, it’…
I’ve had a semi-eventful weekend, as far as things go in my hermit life. Friday morning, as usual, found me at IHOP. I love their crepes, what can I say? When I opened the first set of doors, I was greeted by a buggy full of grocery bags stuffed with…well, stuff, I guess. Possessions. Clearly the style favored by the homeless. Seated on the bench, facing the bright sunshine coming in over the tops of the trees, was an old black woman. “Good morning,” I chirped brightly to her. Then I realized she must be the owner of the buggy and bags, and probably had some mental health issues and would not understand me. “Good morning,” she returned clearly. Huh. How bout that? Before I had time to puzzle on her much more, I was led to my table. The thought did cross my mind that if I were a better person I would offer for her to dine with me, but I’m not that brave. When I looked back for her, she and her buggy were gone. The poor waitress was the server for the entire dining room, and looked like I felt most days. She was making laps with drinks, straws, and food. Another girl finally showed up to help and she relaxed a little. I’ve discovered it’s pretty much impossible for me not to eavesdrop at IHOP. I’m by myself…
Sometimes I think I’m doing all right, that I’ve got my act at least on stage, if not together. These are generally the times I’m comparing my life to the people you see in the news who have their heads stuck in pickle jars and the like. Other times, I embrace the fact that I’m batshit crazy and there’s simply nothing that can be done for my affliction. Today I thought I was doing alright. I even remembered to accessorize. Of course, when I got to work things took a nosedive, but that’s par for the course. My confidence was restored later, though, when the secretary of a large corporation requested a contract that I was reasonably sure I sent over last week. Digging through email archives, I unearthed it, and sent it back to her, along with the one from our insurance agent. She wrote back, apologizing profusely, blaming a lack of coffee on her slip. I was only too glad to soothe her, saying I was just glad I wasn’t the only one who goofed and felt crazy. It’s always nice when people who seem so professional are just as nutty as the rest of us. I have discovered this is nearly everyone. By the time we had finished our little conversation, she was signing her emails “Cait” instead of her full name with initial credentials 🙂 In celebration of making…
You know when you are wanting some greasy salty potato chips but you don’t have any, but you’ve got a pack of plain saltines, and since they’re the closest thing you’ve got, you eat them even though you know they’re not going to be nearly as good? And you bite down only to discover they’re stale? That’s how this book was for me. A poor, tasteless, substitution for what could have been a rich, colorful story. I typically prefer Southern literature above all other genres. I even had the pleasure of meeting this author the other day. I’m just so thankful I had already purchased this Kindle book for $1.99. Because I probably would have cried my eyes out had I paid $26.95. Poor Ella May. Poor children. Poor Yankees, millworkers, law dogs, displaced mountain people, and all small minded individuals. There was a whole lot to root for in this book, but it’s all heartbreaking. Her story needed to be told, but I just feel like we learned about her in jumps and starts and it was hard to remember who was who as we read different perspectives from chapter to chapter. I still don’t know what to think, but I’m apt to believe all the same problems still exist. I’ll give you the link for ease of you reading other opinions, but…
The irony was, I was running late because I was reading. Late to a Literary Festival because I had my nose buried in a book. Not even an approved good book. Just some mindless blip. I finished The Stand Friday. That’s right. I read it in less than two weeks, with another book knocked out in two days for book club. I would like my medal now. Please make the ribbon red for victory. If you can find me a riser and podium I’ll be glad to make a speech of encouragement to the rest of you lackadaisical commoners. I might need a crown, too. My current one isn’t quite ostentatious enough. But I’m getting ahead of myself, as usual. The Sevierville Chamber of Commerce puts on a Literary Festival once a year called Rose Glen. I’m not qualified to tell you about the history, but I found these two videos enlightening. They’re each about ten minutes long. Rose Glen Videos <—-If you think they’re not worth your time, or you’re just lazy (hey, I’m not here to judge, I have a hard time committing to anything over 30 seconds), let me just tell you so you’ll know-Rose Glen is that old house next to the Walter State Campus in Sevierville. You know, I always thought it was part of Johnny King’s…
If you’re one of those readers who has to have a character you identify with, or at least like, this book is not for you. Come to think of it, Gillian Flynn is not for you. The book dragged for me in the middle, hence the four stars. Otherwise, probably her best one. What a tangled web of deceit she weaves! But beyond depressing. What is it with these families in Kansas murdered in their house? Maybe it’s just because I finished In Cold Blood the other day. I do appreciate Gillian Flynn for giving us answers and tying up loose ends…even if they aren’t the answer or the ending you want…
It’s a little embarrassing how much I loved this book, most especially after I was so sure I was going to hate it. Nothing like being wrong. First of all, THAT COVER. *stars in my eyes* I haven’t figured out how to do all the fancy italics and emojis on here, so you’ll just have to inject your own enthusiasm and implied meanings. This book took me by surprise by how good it was and, of course, the sexual overtones that popped up out of nowhere that ended up being the entire premise of the novel. Â If you make it through the first chapters (which seem totally out of sync with the rest of the book…not sure what purpose they served) you’ll be gone up the river with them by page 50. I suppose I’ve never given much thought to anthropologists and what their work encompasses, besides being completely filthy all the time. Ick. Not for me. And a struggle for Bankston, our male protagonist, as well: “‘And I am bad luck in the field, utterly ineffective. I couldn’t even manage to kill myself properly.’” But he does get sick, as he says this. It’s almost like he brought he omen on himself, as no mention has been made to his poor health. “The spangles returned at that moment from all sides, and my eyeballs ached suddenly and painfully. The…
