tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51275834306364529022024-03-21T20:20:29.810-07:00The Banged-Up RealistKate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-32746472458979011462013-01-03T14:32:00.000-08:002013-01-03T14:36:24.637-08:00Favorite Books, 2012 Edition<b>Like churches during the Middle Ages, books conferred instant sanctuary.</b><br />
<br />
Will Schwalbe, <i><b>The End of Your Life Book Club</b></i>
<br />
<hr />
From the 80 books that I finished in 2012, below are my favorites, listed in the order in which I read them.<br />
<hr />
<b>The Grief of Others</b> <i>(Leah Hager Cohen)</i><br />
<b>The Art of Fielding</b> <i>(Chad Harbach)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Kayak Morning</b> <i>(Roger Rosenblatt)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>The Flight of Gemma Hardy</b> <i>(Margot Livesey</i>)
<b> </b><br />
<b>The Snow Child</b> <i>(Eowyn Ivey)</i><br />
<b>The Chalk Girl</b> <i>(Carol O'Connell)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Paris in Love</b> <i>(Eloisa James)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Afterwards</b> <i>(Rosamund Lupton)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake</b> <i>(Anna Quindlen)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail</b> <i>(Cheryl Strayed)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>The Age of Miracles</b> <i>(Karen Thompson Walker)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Contents May Have Shifted</b> <i>(Pam Houston)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>The Life of Objects</b> <i>(Susanna Moore)</i><br />
<b>The Twelve</b> <i>(Justin Cronin)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>The End of Your Life Book Club</b> <i>(Will Schwalbe)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Bury Your Dead</b> <i>(Louise Penny)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>The Book Thief</b> <i>(Markus Zusak)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Eight Girls Taking Pictures</b> <i>(Whitney Otto)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Mrs Queen Takes the Train</b> <i>(William Kuhn)</i>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Carry the One</b> <i>(Carol Anshaw)</i>
<br />
<hr />
<b>There was something in the pages of these books that had the power to make him feel better about things, a life raft to cling to before the dark currents of memory washed him downstream again, and on brighter days, he could even see himself going on this way for some time. A small but passable life.</b><br />
<br />
Justin Cronin,<b> <i>The Twelve</i> </b>
Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-4499063310623001272012-01-23T16:59:00.000-08:002012-01-23T16:59:02.613-08:00Favorite Books, 2011 Edition<b>We had not expected to be women like that. We had thought that we really would read all seven volumes of Proust.</b><br />
<br />
Leah Stewart, <i><b>Husband and Wife</b></i><br />
<hr />Proust doesn't appear on my favorites list (below) nor in my reading journal of the 99 books that I finished in 2011. Some years, the goal in reading is simply to escape<i>,</i> even if my choices would give me no bragging rights at a reunion of UM English majors.<br />
<hr /><i>The Weird Sisters</i> (Eleanor Brown)<br />
<i>Separate Beds</i> (Elizabeth Buchan)<br />
<i>Hannah's Dream</i> (Diane Hammond)<br />
<i>The Metropolis Case</i> (Matthew Galloway)<br />
<i>The Foremost Good Fortune</i> (Susan Conley)<br />
<i>Poser: My Life in Twenty-Three Yoga Poses</i> (Claire Dederer)<br />
<i>Three Stages of Amazement</i> (Carol Edgarian)<br />
<i>Tolstoy and the Purple Chair: My Year of Magical Reading</i> (Nina Sankovitch)<br />
<i>Sister</i> (Rosamund Lupton)<br />
<i>The Magician King</i> (Lev Grossman)<br />
<i>The Night Circus</i> (Erin Morgenstern)<br />
<i>The Language of Flowers</i> (Vanessa Diffenbaugh)<br />
<i>Blue Nights</i> (Joan Didion)<br />
<i>Robopocalypse</i> (Daniel Wilson)<br />
<hr /><b>"I have a hard time believing that the history of the universe is being written by a talking rabbit," Eliot said. "Though that would explain a lot."</b><br />
<br />
Lev Grossman, <i><b>The Magician King</b></i>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-52497255018310768432011-03-29T10:51:00.000-07:002011-03-29T10:51:46.845-07:00I don't have hundreds of friends, not even on Facebook. But in the past three weeks, it seems that way too many of my small circle have been hit by pain and suffering. <br />
<ul><li>Two friends lost their mothers to illness.</li>
<li>My brother-in-law (husband to one of Jim's sisters) lost a brother to suicide.</li>
<li>One of the bridesmaids in our wedding was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer.</li>
<li>The "trail walks leader" at our shelter was attacked and severely injured by a dog that had just arrived at the shelter. </li>
</ul><div style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">Religion might be helpful right now, but I abandoned that nearly two decades ago, with assistance from the Sisters of Mercy. Instead of the word of God, I now read poetry when sorrow arrives.</span></span></span></div><br />
<div style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">But mostly I just stand in the dark field,</span></span></span></i></div><div style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">in the middle of the world, breathing </span></span></span></i></div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">in and out. Life so far doesn't have any other name</span></span></span></i></div><div style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="color: black;">but breath and light, wind and rain. </span></i></span></span></div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black"; font-size: x-small;">from "What Is There Beyond Knowing" by Mary Oliver </span></span></span>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-19717759230144855222011-03-15T10:52:00.000-07:002011-03-15T10:52:54.451-07:00Pit bull girl no moreWhen you don't have a job, it seems as though you have to craft an identity for yourself, a response to the inevitable "And what do you do?" at parties. A big piece of my self-image for the last two years came from being a member of the shelter team that took long-termers--mostly pit bulls and pit mixes--on two-mile group walks. Team membership is limited to the best dog handlers among the many volunteers who work with the shelter's canine population.<br />
<br />
I liked the image of myself as a tough, middle-aged woman who could walk two pit bulls at at time; it counteracted the reserved, ex-librarian stereotype. I've been jumped on, leaned on, slobbered on, and given extravagant kisses by pit bulls. But as much as I love pits, I never lost sight of the fact that they are physically strong and--if untrained, as many dogs who end up in shelters are--can be strong-willed.<br />
<br />
Last Saturday, one of my charges was acting out. For the first time on these walks, I feared for my own and both dogs' safety, particularly since we were near a busy street. Curiously, the other team members, including the staffer who leads the group, just continued walking while I tried to get the female pit bull under control. Eventually the entire group was out of sight. By the time they finally realized I wasn't with them, I had been nipped repeatedly and the dog who <i>was</i> behaving (sort of) had blood streaming out of one of his eyes. It was a horrific experience that could have been averted if even one other person on the team had offered me some assistance.<br />
<br />
I resigned from the team the next day, losing a piece of myself in the process.Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-71933622203520959562011-02-24T11:02:00.000-08:002011-02-24T11:02:37.232-08:00A taste of the future?In the past 17 days, I've had a physical, an ultrasound, a biopsy (benign), and, just to top things off, stomach flu. I also have a fistful of referrals for various medical procedures (mammogram, colonoscopy, bone scan, carotid artery scan). Jim has been home for the last two days with a bad cold. Our conversation has centered around health-related topics.<br />
<br />
It's beginning to feel like an old folks' home, and I'm not talking one of those active lifestyle retirement communities.Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-83733897949601845922011-02-17T17:20:00.000-08:002011-02-17T17:29:37.705-08:00Irish literary humorEarlier in the week, I took a break from (hopefully needless and definitely obssessive) online reading about thyroid cancer and purchased a subscription to the <i>London Review of Books</i> so that I could catch up on the annual publication of Alan Bennett's diary for the preceding 12 months. (In addition to the print version, the subscriber gets online access to the <i>Review's</i> archives.)<br />
<br />
Following my biopsy this morning, I treated myself to reading Bennett's 2010 diary. He made me laugh for the first time in days with this anecdote:<br />
<br />
<i>I pass the house in Fitzroy Road with the blue plaque saying that Yeats lived there . . .</i><br />
<br />
<i>It was this house where Eric Korn heard someone reading out the plaque as being to ‘William Butler Yeast’. ‘Presumably,’ Eric wanted to say, ‘him responsible for the Easter Rising.'</i>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-38910389143852131082011-02-14T14:34:00.000-08:002011-02-14T14:34:43.129-08:00Love in Renaissance Flanders<div style="text-align: left;">I loved the work of the 15th century Flemish painter Jan Van Eyck long before we moved to Belgium. I'm particularly fond of his portrait of a young couple, Giovanni and Giovanna Arnolfini, and of Robert Lowell's spot-on description of the pair in his poem "Marriage."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkOYZlyECsTnchG08MuiKRUbzQFZa1Exm9VgPaO2i0j8czMBEWDfZRzqwgYLyFqysi2mNfBffANmiK3gqTTwRkr2oQO4DSZB696M6dtthDEdoYvVKjXqxlykuwOaGia9nMdsUPm639d7F/s1600/arnolfini2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkOYZlyECsTnchG08MuiKRUbzQFZa1Exm9VgPaO2i0j8czMBEWDfZRzqwgYLyFqysi2mNfBffANmiK3gqTTwRkr2oQO4DSZB696M6dtthDEdoYvVKjXqxlykuwOaGia9nMdsUPm639d7F/s320/arnolfini2.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>They are rivals in homeliness and love;</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>her hand lies like china in his,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>her other hand</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>is in touch with the head of her unborn child.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>They wait and pray,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>as if the airs of heaven</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>that blew on them when they married</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>were now a common visitation . . .</i></div>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-55798955223378357722011-02-11T11:28:00.000-08:002011-02-11T11:28:27.272-08:00Medically induced crankinessI really liked the internist I found when we moved to Colorado. Dr. B. was smart, funny, and had a great bedside manner. Unfortunately, she moved back to Virginia to care for her elderly mother.<br />
<br />
Dr. B. was replaced in the two-person practice by the newly minted Dr. H. Although I would have felt more comfortable seeing middle-aged Dr. K., when I called for an appointment for my 2010 annual physical, the receptionist said that I had to schedule it with Dr. H.<br />
<br />
<i>Someone has to give these young doctors a chance,</i> I thought. <br />
<br />
Dr. H. was pleasant and brisk during appointments. She correctly diagnosed a horrendous rash I had earlier this year as a drug allergy. But after calling me on Tuesday to report that I needed a thyroid biopsy, she (or her staff) dropped the ball. I never heard from the practice's referral staff or from the hospital where the biopsy will be performed.<br />
<br />
I finally called Dr. H.'s office this morning. The biopsy order had never been sent, which made me hit the roof. One of the MAs said that she'd fax it immediately--marked "URGENT"--to the hospital. She also gave me a number to call to schedule the biopsy.<br />
<br />
I waited half an hour for the fax to go through and then called that number. It was the wrong number. <br />
<br />
When I was transferred to the correct number, they had not received the fax from my internist, nor could they schedule an appointment without it. They asked where the films of the ultrasound were, and I had to report that I had no idea if they were at my internist's office or the imaging center. Apparently the diagnostic radiologist has to actually see the films first in order to determine if s/he can even do a biopsy.<br />
<br />
I know that the chances of my thyroid nodes being cancerous are small. But after losing family and friends to various forms of cancer, even the chance of it is unsettling. Uncertainty is not my best milieu, and the hassle of trying to resolve that uncertainty (i.e., just getting the biopsy scheduled) is raising my blood pressure, one of the few health measures I can report is in perfect condition.Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-28372485725707946652011-02-09T10:12:00.000-08:002011-02-09T10:12:08.203-08:00I feel bad about my neck thyroidDuring a routine physical on Monday, my internist, Dr. H, dragged me over to the full-length mirror in the exam room. "Can you see it?" she demanded.<br />
<br />
I mumbled, "Yes," although the only thing I really saw was the big red mark she left on my neck from her examination of my thyroid. <br />
<br />
Which is how I found myself immediately after my physical at a diagnostic imaging center having a thyroid ultrasound. Fortunately that didn't involve drinking gallons of water and "holding it," as I had to do for ultrasounds during my pregnancy. Unfortunately, after holding my head back for 35 minutes in a position that would fully expose my thyroid for the ultrasound, I had a stiff neck.<br />
<br />
Dr. H, who's only a few years out of med school and needs some practice in giving patients potentially bad news, called yesterday with the test results. There are four growths on my thyroid, one of them "pretty big." So next up on my calendar of things to look forward to (right behind that trip to Paris in the fall) is a needle biopsy of the cells that have invaded my thyroid. <br />
<br />
If you had asked me just a week ago to point out my thyroid, it would have like asking me to point out the exact spot of Morocco on a map of Africa. I know it's on the continent's north coast, and then I get a little fuzzy. But I can guarantee that after that needle biopsy, I'll know exactly where my thyroid is.Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-30228306792908701862011-02-04T11:10:00.000-08:002011-02-04T11:10:31.945-08:00"You can't save them all"One of the hardest parts of volunteering at an animal shelter--apart from trying to get certain pit bulls with heads the size of bowling balls to walk nicely on a leash--is accepting the fact that you can't rescue every dog that tugs at your heart. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85GJ9x5DCu_KrpUFbNbCfoklEq8ry7ayuqXnMNlOo2q3BYj2u7fp51PgL7WydSiA5R0WNHFtoiduVmMr4Ft7Qd0FMz4bQ8_qP8s_qPdzJRSpjYoSfAceGWzFGXvW9mfMAthcjPuJBUQTU/s1600/fawna1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85GJ9x5DCu_KrpUFbNbCfoklEq8ry7ayuqXnMNlOo2q3BYj2u7fp51PgL7WydSiA5R0WNHFtoiduVmMr4Ft7Qd0FMz4bQ8_qP8s_qPdzJRSpjYoSfAceGWzFGXvW9mfMAthcjPuJBUQTU/s200/fawna1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>With only two dogs in the house, we aren't at Arvada's three-dog legal limit. I'd passed on adopting the puppy mill dog the week before. But when I spotted Fawna, a tiny stray, while I was volunteering at the shelter last week, I offered to adopt her. A wise shelter worker suggested that I "foster to adopt" instead.<br />
<br />
We renamed the five-pound mutt with the sweet face and huge ears "Orphan Annie." She proved to be smart, mostly house-broken, and a world-class snuggle bunny. She was also determined to be the alpha dog.<br />
<br />
From the start, Annie tried to put herself between the humans and the other two dogs in the house. She literally attempted to shove Buzz and Jenny aside, a move that worked with nine-pound Buzz, but was futile with 70-pound Jenny. If Buzz was in my lap, Annie would leap on top of him to get him to move. She took toys and food right out of his mouth. Then, two days ago, while I was tossing balls for the two small dogs, Annie turned the competition to be the first to retrieve a ball into a terrifying dog fight. I couldn't get them apart by yelling, "Stop!" Finally I grabbed Annie around the hips and hauled her off Buzz.<br />
<br />
I was stunned. In all the years of having multiple dogs in the house--our own and friends' dogs that we were dog-sitting--we've never had a dog fight. <br />
<br />
I cried when I returned Annie to the shelter yesterday.Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-89439783234604218492011-02-01T13:26:00.000-08:002011-02-01T18:43:13.769-08:00The first best book of 2011When I'm in the midst of a wonderful book, life acquires an extra sheen. The weather might be frigid, the foster dog might be throwing up in our bed, and I might go all day without speaking to a human being, but I will still be content as I go back and forth between reading and the rest of life. <br />
<br />
Here's a few samples from "The Weird Sisters" by Eleanor Brown, which I (sadly) just finished. I expect that I'll end up owning the library copy, which the foster dog <i>really</i> did hurl on while I was reading it in bed the other night. A small price to pay for such pleasure.<br />
<br />
<i>We were fairly certain that if anyone made public the various and variegated ways in which being an adult sucked eggs, more people might opt out entirely.<br />
<br />
We were never organized readers who would see a book through to its end in any sort of logical order. We weave in and out of words like tourists on a hop-on, hop-off bus tour.<br />
<br />
We think, in some ways, we have done this our whole lives, searching for a book that will give us the keys to ourselves, let us into a wholly formed personality as though it were a furnished room to let.<br />
</i>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-52980037171116842552011-01-25T19:55:00.000-08:002011-01-26T09:43:11.960-08:00God Save the King (and Grant Him Many Oscars)Although my Irish ancestors would be horrified, I have been an Anglophile since I was old enough to read <i>The Secret Garden</i> and <i>A Little Princess</i>. So, despite <a href="http://www.slate.com/id/2282194/">Christopher Hitchens' complaints</a> about the film's historical inaccuracies (none of which had to do with the relationship between George VI and Lionel Logue), I was inordinately pleased that "The King's Speech" received 12 Academy Award nominations today.Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-64628947043225845782011-01-23T08:29:00.000-08:002011-01-23T08:29:43.819-08:00Sheep bites dogFor the third year in a row, we attended the stock dog trials at the National Western Stock Show, the "Super Bowl of Livestock Shows," a two-week long event that has been held in Denver for over a century.<br />
<br />
If a herding dog nips any of the three sheep it has to guide through a variety of herding challenges, the dog is immediately disqualified. Apparently, however, if the herdee bites the herder, as one decidedly feisty sheep (twice) did a visibly astonished Border Collie yesterday, the dog doesn't score compensatory points.Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-53556373470365750402011-01-20T19:29:00.000-08:002011-01-20T19:29:39.607-08:00A Three-Dog Life?I've volunteered at the animal shelter for two and a half years, and only adopted one shelter dog--Jenny. We weren't supposed to have more than one pet (Hana) at our first Colorado house, a rental, although we did add Buzz to the family when we knew that we would be moving to our own home. Hana and Buzz co-existed peacefully, and Jenny learned to be a Gillette dog from both of them, although some of the psychological effects of the abuse she suffered in her former life remain. Life with three dogs could be tiring, particularly since our dogs have always gotten two walks a day.<br />
<br />
Now Hana is a box of ashes sitting on the mantel beside her picture. Life with the "Odd Couple" (a Papillon and a Pit Bull mix) is calm, and affection flows among all parties. (Jenny is still not fully comfortable with Jim, but we can literally see her pushing herself to get over her fear, which is rooted in the five years of her life before she came to us. She will deliberately choose to go and sit next to Jim sometimes, shaking all the while.)<br />
<br />
So why am I looking for a third dog? And why, when I went to look at a dog at another shelter this afternoon, did I even let myself hold her when I found out that she had been removed from a puppy mill less than three weeks ago? <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVU0gDcuCCPLKUUf-EBAS4yUZhrzvuCrUTs-E_nS0zswCueM8DKMCMtVj2DoAYovV-QjodJ2IYuAylvWPgLNYx3pNLMYn2gNw8HbehkWO9i0jVl1XYL7jVp4APRpfylTPhDmPCWu0dbetv/s1600/bandjmyoffice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVU0gDcuCCPLKUUf-EBAS4yUZhrzvuCrUTs-E_nS0zswCueM8DKMCMtVj2DoAYovV-QjodJ2IYuAylvWPgLNYx3pNLMYn2gNw8HbehkWO9i0jVl1XYL7jVp4APRpfylTPhDmPCWu0dbetv/s320/bandjmyoffice.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The view from my desk chair:</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Buzz has his own bed nearby,<br />
but often chooses to sleep near Jenny.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-77897433590096831712011-01-14T13:09:00.000-08:002011-01-14T13:09:42.172-08:00Brother and Sister II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzBdBmdfqXtxiwsFoMV1YjMJihNMZEbOOkmznyjlDPH6uu5Nl2iAVZjNiHwS7nkb-k_AEoMiZ5EFVYN0wByaJ2NK8EaEQs5gduo1QwgU-YkY0Z89hq2Ztc7gnY9swJddq1ZUpEfZY_S75/s1600/babypatandali004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzBdBmdfqXtxiwsFoMV1YjMJihNMZEbOOkmznyjlDPH6uu5Nl2iAVZjNiHwS7nkb-k_AEoMiZ5EFVYN0wByaJ2NK8EaEQs5gduo1QwgU-YkY0Z89hq2Ztc7gnY9swJddq1ZUpEfZY_S75/s320/babypatandali004.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Patrick and Alison are 28 years old today. This photo was taken at the hospital with my dad, whose wide girth proved ideal for holding his first two grandchildren.Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-90804526420725846232011-01-13T16:28:00.000-08:002011-01-13T16:31:14.725-08:00Brother and Sister I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1HnCc2QaCrlXnfRECHhnHah3tYpKdCDLRPraA2JE33XdcAg61l2elldU3XB8nGEH-VlC_i9i0dPnATIaaYDvfz27b9vlxVp7yIdZ9U5mwfySQoEoFToEIxEiVwyEgDb_7oivphV5Fnpkd/s1600/babyjim003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1HnCc2QaCrlXnfRECHhnHah3tYpKdCDLRPraA2JE33XdcAg61l2elldU3XB8nGEH-VlC_i9i0dPnATIaaYDvfz27b9vlxVp7yIdZ9U5mwfySQoEoFToEIxEiVwyEgDb_7oivphV5Fnpkd/s320/babyjim003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>December 1958</i></div><br />
I don't see my brother, my only sibling, much anymore. Once he graduated from law school and moved to Minnesota, we've never lived closer than 700 miles apart. Aside from a joint trip to Paris with his daughters while I lived in Belgium, these days we see each other only at events: weddings, funerals, graduations.<br />
<br />
My brother had a meeting in Denver this morning, so he spent last evening with us. Given the number of times I've been ready to strangle him over the past decade (example: on the way to Our Lady of Sorrows to plan our father's funeral, I threatened to make him get out of the car and walk after a particularly wounding comment), it was good to be reminded that remnants still remain of the strong bond we shared as children.Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-32914489799031807022011-01-08T21:36:00.000-08:002011-01-08T21:36:23.963-08:00Favorite Books, 2010 Edition<b>Annie was comfortably dug in to her burrow of books.</b><br />
<br />
Cathleen Schine, <i><b>The Three Weissmanns of Westport</b></i><br />
<hr />I read fewer books in 2010 (87) than in 2009 (120). The move, the addition of two new dogs to the family, and the dubious joys of home ownership (mowing the lawn! interviewing contractors!) ate away at my reading time.<br />
<br />
Unlike <a href="http://bangeduprealist.blogspot.com/2010/01/favorite-books-2009-edition.html">2009</a>, there doesn't seem to be any common theme to my 2010 favorites, although many of the quotes that I jotted down in my reading journal seem to be about parenting (2010 was a difficult year for me as a mother) or accepting (in my case, at 56, perhaps belatedly) one's true self. <br />
<hr /><b>Parents are the mystified criminals, blinking in the docks, making it all the worse for themselves with every word they utter.</b><br />
<br />
Michael Cunningham, <i><b>By Nightfall</b></i><br />
<hr />In the order in which I finished them, here are my favorite reads from last year; I make no apologies for the two doorstops (451 pages* and 766 pages**) of novels that were guilty pleasures.<br />
<br />
<i>Dreaming in Hindi</i> (Kathleen Russell Rich)<br />
<i>Where the God of Love Hangs Out</i> (Amy Bloom)<br />
<i>The Happiness Project</i> (Gretchen Rubin)<br />
<i>Committed</i> (Elizabeth Gilbert)<br />
<i>The Season of Second Chances</i> (Diane Meier)<br />
<i>Angelology</i>* (Danielle Trussoni)<br />
<i>The Lonely Polygamist </i>(Brady Udall)<br />
<i>The Passage</i>** (Justin Cronin)<br />
<i>The Cookbook Collector</i> (Allegra Goodman)<br />
<i>Slow Love</i> (Dominique Browning)<br />
<i>The Blind Contessa's New Machine</i> (Carey Wallace)<br />
<i>Cutting for Stone</i> (Abraham Verghese)<br />
<i>Let's Take the Long Way Home</i> (Gail Caldwell)<br />
<i>This Must Be the Place</i> (Kate Racculia)<br />
<i>The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating</i> (Elisabeth Tova Bailey)<br />
<i>The Widower's Tale</i> (Julia Glass)<br />
<hr /><b>"Hammock or chaise lounge?" Randeane said.</b><br />
<b>Ray said that he was more a chair kind of person, that hammocks were unpredictable.</b><br />
<b> "Oh, life's a hammock," Randeane said.</b><br />
<b>"Exactly my point. I'll take the chair." </b><br />
<br />
Amy Bloom<i>, <b>Where the God of Love Hangs Out</b></i>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-83591340865390690322010-06-07T08:44:00.000-07:002010-06-07T08:57:28.920-07:00Why those blog posts have dwindledI'm great at multitasking in a virtual environment, but I'm feeling completely overwhelmed by the number of three-dimensional home and garden tasks facing us right now. Add to that a large, emotionally needy, extremely energetic foster dog ("Yes, Jenny, we love you, but please don't plow into dear old Hana in your enthusiasm to be the first one down the stairs every morning!") and some days--even though I'm not "working" in the American Capitalist sense of the word--I feel in desperate need of a vacation.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjCSrNy_SvyYGImZozGZoZeT69lwqO4njrXDvqRmgTwJvUjzRhuoePcnsBhU47GXQ5chzykxK158U_Fz56YVXuuMowkmFSpASrGM3eMtv-cur-XTRdv95UQLfAE9plc2kBYd8pthJshyphenhyphenTS/s1600/jenny2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 236px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjCSrNy_SvyYGImZozGZoZeT69lwqO4njrXDvqRmgTwJvUjzRhuoePcnsBhU47GXQ5chzykxK158U_Fz56YVXuuMowkmFSpASrGM3eMtv-cur-XTRdv95UQLfAE9plc2kBYd8pthJshyphenhyphenTS/s320/jenny2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480060977120025874" border="0" /></a>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-73726608810920416572010-06-01T14:55:00.000-07:002010-06-01T15:01:13.214-07:00Oh, to be a librarian again . . .<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_uzUh1VT98">Librarians Do Gaga</a>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-24579939299255009922010-05-20T10:16:00.000-07:002010-05-20T10:26:27.921-07:00Provocative QuestionChalked in blue on a nearby sidewalk:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What can we do to get to the next world?</span><span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><span>Heaven? An alternate universe, such as Lyra's in <span style="font-style: italic;">The Golden Compass</span>? </span><span>A planet in a galaxy far, far away</span><span>?</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-53019503150163546832010-05-19T08:56:00.000-07:002010-05-19T09:36:31.371-07:00Meadow LakeI lived in three Great Lakes states (Wisconsin, Michigan and Ohio) for most of my life, but I never lived close to any body of water until we bought this house in semi-arid Colorado. Meadow Lake Park is literally right across the street, offering tennis courts, a playground, green space, and, best of all, Meadow Lake. The park is bordered by a paved trail which is perfect for dog-walking.<br /><br />Michiganders would call Meadow Lake a pond, size-wise, but it supports an amazing amount of wildlife, some permanent, some transitory. There's always Mallards, a few Canadian Geese, fish, and some turtles, including a large snapping turtle that sometimes wanders onto the trail. (A small boy, rubbing the snapper's shell under the watchful eyes of his parents, confided, "He likes to have his back scratched." The turtle, whose eyes were half-closed, did indeed look blissful.) <br /><br />In early spring, a half-dozen pairs of Northern Shovelers came and stayed for a couple of weeks. A Great Blue Heron has been lurking around for the last two weeks. Occasionally, exotic visitors stop in: a Hooded Merganser, American White Pelicans, and a Black-Crowned Night Heron.<br /><br />Meadow Lake has become a miniature nature observatory for me, so I felt proprietary pride yesterday when I noticed that two pairs of Canadian Geese had successfully brought five goslings each into the world and launched them onto the lake for an inaugural paddle.<br /><br />One last thing about Meadow Lake: If you walk to the far end of the lake, you suddenly get a stunning panorama of the mountains to the west. At sunset, you feel as though you should be paying for that view.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY46Xj1OxBd85q5CwTwb33-pGuxtY_8Z7FxU6QLF4Q73ymM7SSpx39vd73i7sicnld27OA_leAbO1w_TsVNvF2GmwSjCYcFZofCSa-EfRMIRV7dpL5x3ocHwhr8_LmvK_LUS2xSDQoTmQk/s1600/mountainview2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 184px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY46Xj1OxBd85q5CwTwb33-pGuxtY_8Z7FxU6QLF4Q73ymM7SSpx39vd73i7sicnld27OA_leAbO1w_TsVNvF2GmwSjCYcFZofCSa-EfRMIRV7dpL5x3ocHwhr8_LmvK_LUS2xSDQoTmQk/s400/mountainview2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473018784148612770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Meadow Lake</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(Click on the image for a better view!)</span></span><br /></div>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-28358944169648678282010-05-13T10:14:00.000-07:002010-05-13T10:48:59.236-07:00Our New (Foster) DogJim and I had talked before about fostering dogs for the shelter where we both volunteer, but had decided not to pursue it while Hana was still alive. But when I went in last week for my regular Tuesday morning shift with the long-term dogs, one of the other volunteers told me that Genoa, a five-year-old Rottweiler/Staffordshire Terrier (aka pit bull) mix who was a great favorite among the staff and volunteers, was "on the block."<br /><br />Like humans, some dogs adapt to confinement better than others. Genoa, who'd been in the shelter for months, was suffering from depression, losing weight, and exhibiting behaviors of dogs who are literally at their wit's end. We'd already lost three dogs from the long-term program in the previous weeks, including Genoa's brother. The words, "Maybe I could foster her," were out of my mouth before my brain had even processed the idea.<br /><br />Genoa--we call her Jenny--came to live with us last Saturday. Even with her all ribs showing, she's a big, powerful girl. She needs some brush-up work on house-training and basic obedience skills, but like most pit bulls, she's a fast learner. Also like many pit bulls, she's very affectionate and loves cuddling.<br /><br />We hope that Jenny will find a permanent home soon--she'd be a perfect "best friend" for someone. Meanwhile, she's learning to live "on the outside" again, hitting the hiking trail with us and breaking in her new dog bed.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj40jkXF-9xTIlPPmJEzd-Tg5qeWyKBq8tRh9mrx4_9d_fFOk1EiSpL9ZeE996GPVhAPmv0Q09g56ys5LBPYU_BX-X5sc37foTpOrHwZjhgxPhC_Re08-kK2_AUAQx64HG5xib2Likzo5Q8/s1600/jenny+on+the+trail+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj40jkXF-9xTIlPPmJEzd-Tg5qeWyKBq8tRh9mrx4_9d_fFOk1EiSpL9ZeE996GPVhAPmv0Q09g56ys5LBPYU_BX-X5sc37foTpOrHwZjhgxPhC_Re08-kK2_AUAQx64HG5xib2Likzo5Q8/s320/jenny+on+the+trail+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470811893552739538" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaehTZAU3SFgFA5dgBz49f0wzpWhmXTQiEftBP1PvUqZQjJdPZujXbBaqzdfUTxFNLJIt450L5tFi6Pr9RjGGVnGG-3qWNLJpQMsCC9vGrkEAa6q8ukUf_Z2HV1u70RfXg0cnZS2fgW0Go/s1600/jenny+on+her+bed.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaehTZAU3SFgFA5dgBz49f0wzpWhmXTQiEftBP1PvUqZQjJdPZujXbBaqzdfUTxFNLJIt450L5tFi6Pr9RjGGVnGG-3qWNLJpQMsCC9vGrkEAa6q8ukUf_Z2HV1u70RfXg0cnZS2fgW0Go/s320/jenny+on+her+bed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470810880882898434" border="0" /></a>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-34048445627063339022010-04-28T09:10:00.000-07:002010-04-28T09:31:26.736-07:00Currently #1 on the Job Hunt Nightmare ListThe e-mail below came from an enormously talented and experienced librarian friend who is also job-hunting right now. The names of the organizations involved have been omitted because we librarians are nice people who don't want to embarrass large, publicly funded institutions whose employees exhibit shamelessly bad behavior.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">OK, what I'm about to tell you, I think could place number 1 in bizarre job hunting events.<br /><br />On Sunday, I applied for the position of [Research Coordinator] at [an institute] that is affiliated with [a large West Coast University system]. I was really excited about this position because so much of the job description was research and they also wanted someone to set up a library. OK, so I don't have fundraising experience, but all of my research experience should have made me end up on the interview list. . . .<br /><br />After I sent my cover letter and resume, almost immediately, I received the form letter from HR...thank you for your interest in [the institute]... If they are interested in interviewing me, I'll hear from them (DUH!).<br /><br />So, this afternoon, get this...I received an email from the woman who I had identified as the Director of Development. You can imagine how excited I was to see that in my inbox. When I opened the email, it said: "no." That's right, Katie, it had two letters, n-o. NOTHING ELSE. </span>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-46443441103702815512010-04-26T07:23:00.000-07:002010-04-26T08:18:03.268-07:00City Views: Capitol Hill, 4.25.10Ixelles, our Brussels commune, was known for its wide variety of splendid architecture. The American suburbs don't offer that, obviously.<br /><br />We've begun exploring the city of Denver, though, particularly since Patrick and Rachel moved into the Capitol Hill neighborhood downtown. Denver, unlike Detroit, values its architectural heritage, from the Craftsman bungalows (which often list at $500,000 and up) to the mansions of those who made their fortunes on Colorado's natural resources.<br /><br />I've started taking my camera along when I'm in Denver. From time to time, I'll post images from a city that, in its own way, provides visual pleasures similar to those Hana and I had on our daily walks through Ixelles.<br /><br />The building below is across the street from Pat and Rachel's apartment. The decorative carvings and statuary are eclectic (to put it mildly), ranging from an American eagle flanked by Chinese-style lions at the roof line to medieval gargoyle heads and dragons reminiscent of Copenhagen bordering the windows.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjCQQ4dwNVV2riYw_8KB9Z1lFT58sPpN7xFKxBPt2xIl2SbfhdW7a3LcQXRcTgYXLDQHPjgqBhBKw6xBVtj8ixogEyjRp3sgH_MOhKnLTeETOdqJGpKy91kh2GWd6B8qGDgKEJzul-DdU/s1600/buildingfron.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 176px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjCQQ4dwNVV2riYw_8KB9Z1lFT58sPpN7xFKxBPt2xIl2SbfhdW7a3LcQXRcTgYXLDQHPjgqBhBKw6xBVtj8ixogEyjRp3sgH_MOhKnLTeETOdqJGpKy91kh2GWd6B8qGDgKEJzul-DdU/s320/buildingfron.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464461663344736210" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRpU25gLmuUOBYLbdkE-ekRuyf41OT45kzI7lL1c-I9arUEKYUIf3PE0BVXe-ECoxxyCcOjFJaBGZEpz1a-bWZSl7a0KttRUNz5zn-nHl0mTxLSUk-OpYIWmxdSBRLfwbEUjvbt_jncGs/s1600/monster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 158px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRpU25gLmuUOBYLbdkE-ekRuyf41OT45kzI7lL1c-I9arUEKYUIf3PE0BVXe-ECoxxyCcOjFJaBGZEpz1a-bWZSl7a0KttRUNz5zn-nHl0mTxLSUk-OpYIWmxdSBRLfwbEUjvbt_jncGs/s320/monster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464463921519837522" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0C_9gqAHlU2GlO3NewCFnP615SSQX7W5OVkZFUMJhrM0ac5YGopJ_oRxJBcjsOjuFBzCVtz67MYt3BaIluvjOyFOzLhxHIXSfA8-0odPCHryYiLQ2M1BQRG61Xzt22aeYegJBLz3tnNU5/s1600/dragon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 119px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0C_9gqAHlU2GlO3NewCFnP615SSQX7W5OVkZFUMJhrM0ac5YGopJ_oRxJBcjsOjuFBzCVtz67MYt3BaIluvjOyFOzLhxHIXSfA8-0odPCHryYiLQ2M1BQRG61Xzt22aeYegJBLz3tnNU5/s320/dragon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464464734958065202" border="0" /></a>Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5127583430636452902.post-81061997590095440942010-04-25T09:21:00.000-07:002010-04-25T09:31:13.290-07:00Plumbing: $1,800. Decorating advice: Free.The plumber charged us $1,800 for three jobs, including resetting the tub in the basement bathroom, which the house flipper completely bungled.<br /><br />But the big guy (his co-worker looked like a Viking) offered decorating commentary gratis. As he passed through our bedroom to fix the master bath toilet, he commented, "Yeah, we had this paint color in our living room when we first moved in. It always reminded me of makeup color."<br /><br />"You mean foundation?"<br /><br />"Yeah, yeah, that's it."<br /><br />I had planned on painting the bedroom anyhow, but imagining greasy foundation oozing down the walls while we sleep just bumped that project up to the top of the list.Kate Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998779532577672952noreply@blogger.com0