Happy New Year!

It's Chinese New Year's eve, a time when families all over the world gather to celebrate - today, more than 300 million Chinese are traveling to be with loved ones.

Since we became parents, Chinese New Year has been one of our most treasured traditions - lucky red envelopes, decorating the house in red and gold, adoptive family events, savoring stir fry and dumplings and always, Peggy noodles. 

There's a little bit of a pang when this time of year rolls around, and the girls aren't with us to celebrate. We still follow all the traditions - it's just not the same.

The pain eases just a bit when I see how they are starting their own traditions - finding their own tribes, celebrating with friends, making new memories.  This is what the spirit of Chinese New Year is all about.

Happy New Year of the Pig.  May the new year bring you health, joy, love, and abundance.

Adding to Our Nest: The Oscar Chronicles

“No one goes to that store just to LOOK, Michelle,” my friend Debbie would later remind me, but that day, in the crowded pet store filled with tiny kittens and wagging tails, that was truly my intention.  As my daughter and I oohed and aahed at the balls of fur and teeth, we looked across the room and saw a tiny face – smaller than any dog we had ever had, but clearly full of personality. The information card said he was a Havachon (a Havanese – Bichon cross), his sable-colored fur soft as a cloud, and as we watched him tussle with his siblings, we fell head-first in love. We held him and hugged him and took pictures, and I breathed in that sweet puppy breath. The store was about to close, so with one last kiss, we put him back in the enclosure. My last view as we walked out the door of our local pet store was of a little face with black button eyes searching mine, tiny bear-like paws pressed up against the glass.

It had been a long journey to that day.  Earlier in the year, I had tentatively asked our vet, Dr. A, about getting a second dog as a companion for our sweet Rosie. With our now empty nest, it seemed like a natural next step, but I was reluctant to make a change to our current pet dynamic.  I broached the subject gingerly, half hoping the vet would discourage me.  Instead, Dr. A replied with a grin, “I think it would change Rosie’s life.” For every reason I had why NOT, Dr. A had two more reasons why it would be amazing. Dr. A suggested getting a male dog, preferably someone much smaller than our very large doodle, to make the transition easier. Rosie and I left the office that day deep in thought – Rosie because she had endured another checkup and vaccines, and me, wondering about adding to our family.

As winter faded slowly into spring, thoughts of another dog went on the back burner. Life moved like it was on fast forward: there were projects and travel and graduation and college girls moving back home. All that came to a grinding halt in early June, when some dear family members unexpectedly lost their beloved dog.

Suddenly waiting didn’t seem like such a good idea, because life has a way of reminding you about how quickly things can change.

The next morning after the pet-store visit, I woke up thinking I’d lost my mind.  Surely we couldn’t pick the first puppy we’d met. I had been gearing up for meticulous research and an overload of information. Knowing that the puppy we couldn’t forget was right down the street, I stepped up my search in earnest, checking the entire mid-State area for available rescues. We visited the local shelter, but there were no small dogs or puppies available, or anywhere else in the mid-State area.  While it was a wonderful sign for our community, it meant we were out of options, at least in the short term.

Driving away from the shelter, my dear husband said, “Well, do you want to go back to the pet store, just to look?” Of course I did.  We walked in and there he was – our little prince charming, sleeping next to his sisters. Todd (who had seen the pictures the day before and proclaimed, “That’s our dog!”) seemed just as charmed as we were, and our other daughter, seeing him for the first time, was smitten.  After a flurry of paperwork, we were driving home with our new, very tiny baby.
 

When we walked in with the new puppy, Rosie’s expression was priceless: she literally grinned. She snuffled his neck and belly, and lay on the floor watching him as he slept. We had been warned it would take up to two weeks for them to get along.  Instead, it was instant friendship. Oscar Wilde, as he soon became known, was Rosie’s biggest fan and the little brother Rosie had been waiting for.

Most days it is chaos in our house.  Long nights with a new baby led to teething and chewing everything in sight, potty training and learning to walk politely on a leash.  But despite all that, I wouldn’t change a thing… and despite the frayed tail, the stolen toys, and the spitty, chewed-up ears, neither would Rosie.

To see more adventures of Rosie and Oscar, follow them on Instagram at Bean and Sprout.

 

Endings and Beginnings

We drove into Memphis late Saturday morning, laden with the ubiquitous Rubbermaid tubs so that our oldest daughter could begin the process of packing up four years of her life. As we pulled onto campus, I was flooded with memories – the first awe-inspiring view of the school driving in for a campus tour; freshman move-in day, where upperclassmen stood cheering and holding signs to welcome the class of 2018; climbing four flights of stairs, tubs, boxes and bags in hand, to set up the tiny room under the dormer.  This would be the last time we’d visit her before she donned a cap and gown. No school is perfect, but this school was perfect for her.

Throughout her college years, our daughter has stayed involved and incredibly busy, and while we would see her for breaks and Parent’s Weekends, we did not take advantage of her proximity by visiting on a random Saturday. We had been planning a day trip starting last fall, but with graduation looming, we were running out of time.  It was, literally, now or never. 

It was only one day, but it was magical.  She had picked her new favorite restaurant for brunch, a mostly-vegan place we would never have chosen. City Silo’s food was so delicious and fresh, with locally sourced produce and eggs, that all three of us cleaned our plates.  
 Next stop: milkshakes from the burger place next door, and then off to the botanical gardens.

We wandered through the gardens, entranced by the lush beauty now that spring had finally sprung.  There was talk of school, of the pressures of that last round of finals and papers, and the bittersweet excitement of knowing that this huge chapter in her life was coming to an end. We fed the koi and explored the children’s garden. After this long, rainy winter, it was, in every sense, a breath of fresh air. 

 Our day ended with a trip to the local candy store (caramel popcorn for her, chocolate-covered gummy bears for me) and a grocery trip to fortify her through the final stretch. Todd and I helped her finish packing the first round of things to go home, and as we lugged the now-full totes back down the stairs, I felt a lump in my throat.  The safety net of college was almost over; in a few short days, our first baby will graduate, transitioning from “adult with training wheels” into actual adulthood.

For our daughter, this time is both an ending and beginning. Her whole life is spread out before her, filled with infinite possibilities.  She has shown grit and determination time and again throughout her college years, and it will serve her well as she joins the working world.   
 
As her parents, the training wheels may come off, but just like we did when she was small, we will still be running beside her, cheering her on, and  ready with a guiding hand if she needs us.  

A Leap of Faith

Ahead of my 20-year-old daughter was a daunting 16-hour journey. She would fly alone to Paris overnight, make her way through customs, reclaim her luggage and transfer to a train to southern France, then find a cab to take her to the university. It would be a long day by anyone's standards. She was not only the first person from her school to study at this university; this semester, she was the only student from her school studying in France. She was, in every sense, alone.

With her belongings packed into one bursting suitcase and her backpack stuffed with the necessities in case her luggage was lost, she made her way down the long international hallway. Watching her walk away was one of the hardest things I've ever done as a parent. Never mind she had dreamed of studying abroad since middle school. Never mind she was going for only one semester, less than six full months. It felt like I was letting go forever.

My list of fears was long and varied, from the realistic to the ridiculous. "What if she gets sick or hurt?  What if there is a terrorist attack? What if she's lonely? What if she can't get her phone to work with the international plan? What if she hates her classes?"

What if.
What if.
What if.
  
Many of my fears were realized.  She was a little lonely, and overwhelmed at first. Getting a bank account set up was complicated, made more so by the prepaid food stipend that curiously didn't go into effect for the first six weeks she was there. Her classes were entirely in French, hard enough by itself, but even more challenging because the southern France dialect is so different from the Parisian French taught in school. From a parental standpoint, I could provide no support other than moral.  This was her journey, both literally and metaphorically.

As the days turned to weeks, our daughter began to thrive.  By the time the first break came along, she decided to go Paris for a few days, and when her newfound friends had other plans, she went alone. She stayed in a hostel, took a million pictures, savored macarons, and walked through Paris in the snow. Her smile took my breath away.

A few months into the semester we visited her in her new home in Montpellier. We had rented a small apartment, and after we arrived in town, she came to meet us. Todd waited for her down on the street, watching for her as she made her way via the tram many blocks away. As he scanned the street, he said, his eyes slid past a slender woman striding confidently his way, laden with bags. It wasn't until she was almost upon him that he realized this self- possessed young woman was our daughter.
Her journey had caused her to grow in ways we'd never imagined.

After that pivotal moment in Montpellier, I realized that my fretting prevented me from seeing opportunities instead of potential disasters. Because for all my worrying, never did I think, "What if she has the most amazing experience of her life?"

Parenting is such a leap of faith, in big ways and small, that it's easy to get caught up in the what-ifs that make you want to hold on for dear life. But what if, as parents, we choose to see infinite possibilities instead of just challenges?  I hope my girls continue to have big, bold, life-changing experiences. For myself, I hope that when their next adventure rolls around, my leap of faith will be to choose the right what-ifs - those that offer opportunities and joy.

Home for the Holidays

"I'm dreaming tonight,
of a place I love,
even more than I usually do..."



It's been a year of change and growth for our family. Not that every year isn't important, but 2017 feels particularly significant. One daughter studied abroad for the spring semester, and the other started college in the fall. Todd and I have started learning how to be "just us" again. For the first time since the youngest was a baby, we've spent more time apart as a family than together. Now, with the holidays looming, this momentous year is drawing to an end.

Like so many milestones in 2017, this holiday season is bittersweet.  We’ve pulled the Christmas decorations down from the attic, but except for lights out front, everything is still in boxes.  In the coming days, I will set out preschool crafts and handmade decorations, favorite photos and the crèche we got from my mom years ago.  It's going to sting a little to do this process alone, but clearly, this house is not going to decorate itself.  Judging by the way December seems to be on fast forward, Christmas is coming whether I'm ready or not.

We always buy a live tree, and since the girls were little we’ve visited the same Christmas tree farm. Buying a tree is a process – well, my family would probably describe it as an ordeal. Someone (ahem: me) is a little particular about her trees. This year, Todd and I will choose the tree alone, leaving just Todd to smile and nod as I debate the merits of one giant tree over another. None of us are ready to give up the tradition of decorating the tree together, so while the lights will go up in a week or so, the treasured ornaments will wait until the youngest arrives home right before Christmas.

With this potent mix of nostalgia and anticipation, it's hard not to get caught up in the idea of the perfect Christmas. In my fantasy, the holiday season looks like one long Hallmark commercial.  Rosy-cheeked daughters arrive home from college with smiles and hugs.  The kitchen table is once again full.  Dinners are delicious and Martha Stewart-worthy. Decorations are carefully arranged on the tree, while holiday music plays softly in the background.  Everyone snuggles on the couch, sipping hot chocolate, as we watch A Christmas Story for the hundredth time.  On Christmas morning, we wear matching pajamas and enjoy homemade Christmas treats for breakfast, while the girls delight in the stockings we still stuff with care.  There is laughter and love and happy contentment.

 

The reality is that our girls will arrive home as if from battle, mentally drained and physically exhausted.  Finals and end-of-semester papers will have taken their toll after weeks of too little sleep and too much stress. Odds are pretty good that at least one child will be recovering from whatever crud was making its way around campus.  Cuddling on the couch will be interrupted by two very needy pets who insist on getting their fair share of attention. Since I am a master procrastinator, the baking will not be finished, and I'll still be wrapping presents on Christmas Eve. There will be smiles and hugs, but there will also be grumbling and squabbling, and last-minute shopping, because real life is not a Hallmark commercial. And we have never, not ever, had matching pajamas.

It's a little hard to let go of that dream, isn't it? The Hallmark version of the holidays looks so pretty on the outside. But as easy and carefree as the fantasy would be, I'll take my real, messy, wonderful family, with all their quirks and flaws, any day.  It's those people that I love and cherish, and whether the holiday season brings joy or frustration, laughter or tears, we will all be together.  That is the greatest gift this holiday season, one which is without measure.

The New Normal

We are more than two months into the "empty nest" phase of life, and with that has come a lot of growth, introspection and heavy sighing. Of all the adjustments I've made, one of the hardest has been dinner time.  The kitchen is the hub in our house - both girls did homework at the kitchen table, and frequently we were putting the finishing touches on dinner while one or both daughters scurried to finish the last of their work for the day.  Throughout the years, no matter what evening activities came up, we did our best to eat together - no cell phones, no television, just the four of us sharing a meal and some company. It was a commitment, one that Todd and I did not take lightly.   I'm not going to lie - plenty of nights there wasn't a whole lot of chit chat from our younger family members. But it was familiar, and comforting, and had been our routine for 20 years. It was one of the ways we connected as a family.

So it was only natural that when our youngest left for college, I found food shopping, cooking, and mealtimes challenging. My grocery cart, which had once been filled to the top with things like Kind Bars, pretzel Goldfish and the makings for homemade granola, now included only a single loaf of bread and a couple chicken breasts.  Thinking about dinner time without the girls was even worse.  My fears included everything from how I would prepare food for two people to worrying that we would start eating on TV trays while watching Wheel of Fortune.  After all, it was only us.

Unspoken was my deepest, darkest fear - what if we didn't have anything left to say?  What if, after years of discussing school projects and the next day's schedule, we had run out of things to talk about? What if, in those nonstop years of mom-life, I had become (GASP) boring?

Those first couple weeks were tough.  Deciding what to eat - a decision that had long been guided by what everyone was "in the mood for" - came down to what sounded palatable.  Sitting at the nearly-empty table with a golf-ball sized lump in my throat made eating a challenge. We ate a LOT of leftovers.   Through trial and error, we found out what dishes froze and defrosted well (Italian: good! Mexican: not so much.). Some nights, when we were both working late, dinner was scrambled eggs and toast, despite those two lonely chicken breasts sitting in the fridge. We navigated around each other in the small kitchen, unused to the freedom of open space. Besides the sting of the empty seats at the table, it just felt ... odd.

As the days turned into weeks, though, a new normal began to take shape.  I'm a firm believer that given enough time, people can get used to anything, and dinner time at the Palmer house was no exception. We've fallen into a routine of sorts... chatting in the den while dinner simmers, or one of us hanging out in the kitchen, cocktail in hand, while the other does meal prep. It took some getting used to cooking for two, but we still don't own TV trays, and almost every night dinner is at our kitchen table.

Occasionally, one of the girls will call during dinner and it is almost like old times.We put them on speaker phone and for a few minutes we can pretend that all of us are sitting down together. When the phone call ends, I sigh and look wistfully at their empty spot.

But the new normal kicks back in, and suddenly we are back to just us, where the kitchen is a little quieter, but the biggest fear, the one I didn't dare speak aloud, proved to be completely unfounded.  Although our dinner discussions no longer include "20 Questions" style grilling of teenage girls, it turns out we have a lot to talk about. Apparently, I'm not boring (yay me!), at least not to my husband of 28 years. We laugh a lot. Thirty years of inside jokes means that often one of us will start to speak and the other will burst out laughing, because we know what's coming next.

Unlike the occasional punchline at dinner, we don't know what's coming next. As old routines give way to new, I struggle to embrace the unknown even as I know, in my heart, that things will never be like they were. But as the "new normal" has shown me, I may not know what's coming, but the future is wide open, and it's up to me to embrace it.

What On Earth Are You Going to DO?

For more than a year leading up to my youngest daughter starting college, many of my casual conversations would start the same way. I’d be in Target, or the library, or out for coffee, and I’d bump into an acquaintance.  As the generalities got sorted through, the hellos and how-are-yous, the subject invariably came around to children.

  

A typical conversation went like this:

Well-Meaning Acquaintance (WMA): How old is your youngest daughter?

Me:  She’s a senior now.

WMA:  Wow!  A senior!  So she’s almost ready for college!

Me: I know!  It’s so exciting!

        (Loooooooong pause)

WMA: What on earth are you going to DO?

Ah, that gets right to the heart of it. What on earth WAS I going to do? For 20 years, my life had revolved around our girls.  From playgroups and Chinese preschool to room mom, from Girl Scout leader to booster club president, most of my activities and even some of my jobs revolved around parenting or children. It was interspersed with other things –growing my own business, writing, volunteering, and working.  But the heart of my life was raising two independent, strong, kind women, women who would have the confidence to leave home, to travel, to take the next step in a life filled with opportunities.

It was a job well done.

Ready or not, college was right around the corner.  SHE was ready.  I was not.  After a year of lasts (the last football game, the last school lunch packed, the LAST last day), a year of firsts was beginning. There were dorm room assignments, roommates, and college orientation, followed by list after list of things you absolutely must have to outfit the perfect dorm room.  Summer zoomed by in a blur of Target bags and Amazon Prime boxes, and before I could blink, it was time to start packing.

We got our oldest daughter settled into her dorm for her senior year, which by now was like putting on a comfortable pair of shoes.  And then, finally, it was the youngest’s turn.  We watched as she packed up her most beloved treasures, and the room she’d had since she was a baby grew empty. Bags and boxes morphed into Rubbermaid tubs. We were excited but nervous as we pulled onto the gorgeous campus, our faithful Big Blue van stuffed to the gills with all the things she might possibly need for her new life. Suddenly, it was here – freshman move-in.

A flurry of activities made the lead up to goodbye a little easier – moving in, unpacking and decorating, last-minute shopping trips and dinners out, and a beautiful convocation ceremony.  Those two days seemed to pass in a moment.  Before I knew it, I found myself standing in her doorway, the moment arriving so much sooner than I was ready. As I kissed my daughter goodbye at the door of her new home, and gave her the hug that would have to last for two months, I could barely get the words “I love you” out before the tears started.  The nest that I had nurtured and fostered and loved so passionately was now officially empty.

Although it had been coming for two decades, I was achingly aware that this was a moment of clear delineation, of “before” and “after.”  This wasn’t just a turn of the page, or the next chapter in my life. It was a whole different book. 

Now, with the literal closing of a door, my most important role for more than 20 years was done. Not that mothering is ever completely over. No matter what the age, you never stop being a mom.  But the real world, every day, “see you after school” life was finished.  Suddenly, I had been let go, or at the very least demoted, from what wasn’t just a job but a calling.

In the weeks since college drop off, I have drifted, unmoored from the life I’ve known for so long.  I’ve cried my way through grocery store trips and sighed heavily each time I’ve come home to an empty house.  And the answer to the question, “What on earth are you going to do?”  still goes unanswered.  I’m not quite done mourning. 

Soon, perhaps, I will discover what lies next, and in the meantime, I’m giving my old blog a new look and renewed purpose. I hope you’ll come along for the journey.

A Tale of Two Siennas

I'm driving to meet a friend, and I'm late...of course, because I am late for everything. Whether it is a lack of planning (possibly) or a misguided idea that I can fit more into less time than the rest of the world (more likely), I am regularly at least 5 minutes late. Everywhere. 

So really, I am not just driving, but kind of speeding. I am fast approaching a lovely new-model Sienna van, which far outshines Big Blue, my less-new and well used Sienna. As I get ready to pass Big Blue's fancier counterpart, I have to wonder... who is driving that van?  I already know it's a mom.  Let's face it - the Sienna is a "mom-mobile," capable of carrying large loads of children, groceries, and equipment to the many places children must go each day. But what is her life like?  Is she, like me, driving one handed, while simultaneously fishing around in her purse for her lipstick? Is she worrying about the overpacked activity schedule she'll be facing later that day, which requires a flow chart to make sure everything is done? Is she thinking about the times in the not-to-distant future when it will only be one child to chauffer around, because the other will be off to college?

I pull up next to the van, and sure enough, she has both hands on the wheel.  No one-handed purse digging for her. She looks ... serene. Confident. Relaxed. All those things that I wish I felt myself, as I zip down the road.

Of course, it's entirely possible that this calm, self-possessed woman is dealing with her own baggage. Perhaps, despite the outward appearance of her pretty new van, the interior mirrors her life, with the detritus of the week spilling out from every seat: empty water bottles, granola bar wrappers, car chargers, changes of clothing for both band and dance team, notes and bills on the console. Maybe muffin crumbs from a dinner eaten on the road litter the bottom of her floor too.

But I don't think so ... I think this woman is opposite Michelle. She is never late.  She is never rushed. Her car is always immaculate. She never applies makeup in the parking lot of her destination.

I pass the shiny Sienna - fast, because I am late - too quickly to catch the unknown mom's eye in the mirror. My last glimpse as I turn the corner is of her staying exactly in the middle of her lane, going  the speed limit.  Ah, opposite Michelle. How peaceful your life must be.

Slowing Down for the Little Things

I stepped outside a couple weeks ago and saw what I thought was a piece of grass in our outdoor kitty's water bowl.  Even though I was rushing (as I always am, it seems, during the month of May) I stopped to look closer.  It wasn't a leaf... it was a tiny inchworm, who had climbed up to get a drink.

I squatted down like a toddler and just watched.  His body was on the rim, and his head was down inside the bowl.  Perhaps sensing my presence, he stopped drinking, and made his way around the bowl (and around, and around, but that's another blog entry all about finding your way...).

Life goes by so fast that sometimes it seems impossible to slow down and appreicate the little things.  In my case, it was truly a little thing... an insect so small that if I had not glanced over at just the right moment, I never would have noticed.  How often do I neglect to listen, or look, or just take a moment to appreciate?

Andy Bernard said on The Office finale, "I wish there was a way to know you were in the 'good old days' before you've even left them."  And he's right - the busy-ness of life can make those "good old days" go by in a flash.  But school's out, summer is finally here, and I am slowing down to enjoy the experiences that life brings... both big and small.

World Book Night 2013

In the dead of winter, when everything in middle Tennessee is brown and gray, there is one particular event that gets me ready for spring: the applications for World Book Night arrive.  I check my e-mail, and there it is! The list of World Book Night (WBN) titles are announced, and people around the country can apply to be a WBN giver... to receive the honor of handing out FREE copies of a book in your community on April 23rd.


Team Palmer on World Book Night 2013

I was lucky enough to be picked again this year, and let me tell you, as a passionate reader, few events compare to this night.  I got to give out a book by one of my favorite authors: John Green's Looking for Alaska.  With my entourage (both girls came along for support and photography skills) we headed to our local coffee house, JoZoara's, to offer free books to the community. We met up with other WBN givers and members of the local One Book Committee.

As you can see, I am just beaming -  what a great night! At the end of the night, around the country, more than 25,000 people had given away free books in their community. To learn more about World Book Night or to be a giver next year, check out their website at http://www.us.worldbooknight.org/.





Isabelle sharing the love of reading



With my dear friend Sandee - her first night as a WBN Giver

Fellow book givers Shawna (left) and Sandee (right),
along with One Book Co-Chair Laura Beth.
What a fun evening!

The Fabulous Kate Atkinson

Scrolling through Amazon's Kindle deals a couple of weeks ago, the very first item that popped up was Kate Atkinson's novel, Started Early, Took My Dog.  I actually sighed out loud... one of my favorite mysteries, at only $1.99!  I remember fondly when I first picked up Case Histories, Atkinson's fifth book but her first crime novel, with its twists and turns, the intricate interweaving of subplots and characters, and a new favorite detective, the truculent detective Jackson Brodie. She quickly followed with several other Brodie mysteries, including Started Early, each one as delicious as the one before.

Atkinson has a new novel that I can't wait to get my hands on... Life After Life, in which Ursula Todd, born on a cold night in 1910, dies and then is born again - and again, and again, each time with a chance to rewrite history.  As England makes its way toward World  War II, Ursula can change the future of the world... if only she gets the chance.

Happy reading!

Happiness Is In Your Hands

Gretchen Rubin had a problem.  She had a great life, a loving family, and excellent health, and yet she wasn’t truly happy.  It wasn’t that Rubin was particularly unhappy; she just didn’t have the joy and contentment in her everyday life that she would have expected. After taking a hard look at her life, Rubin realized the power of happiness lay in her own hands, and “The Happiness Project” was born. Using authors, philosophers, researchers, and even pop culture, Rubin developed a year-long plan to see if changing her attitudes could change her life.

The Happiness Project: Or, Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun details Rubin’s journey through a year of self-exploration.  She begins by developing twelve resolutions for her life, based on the thirteen virtues of Benjamin Franklin. These include everything from “lightening up” to being herself, and to make the project manageable, Rubin addresses one resolution per month.  Under each resolution, Rubin’s pathway to happiness includes everything from money management (money really can buy happiness, within reason) to cleaning out clutter, to parenting, using practical advice as well as scientific research to back up her theories.

One of the most appealing aspects of The Happiness Project is that despite her best efforts, Rubin is not always, in fact, happy. Her willingness to detail her setbacks (such as yelling at her young children or fighting with her husband) as well as her successes makes the book more accessible.  Knowing that Rubin stumbles and falls, just like the rest of us, makes her seem less like an author and more like the woman behind you in line at the grocery store.

For those wanting more information, The Happiness Project offers a supplemental reading list as well as a list of resources through Rubin’s website, www.happiness-project.com. The website includes free downloads, tips and quizzes, and links to Rubin’s Facebook page for anyone wishing to join a “happiness group.” Rubin recently published a follow-up book as well, entitled Happier at Home.

 Although I am not quite ready to start my own happiness project, I decided to try one suggestion right away: creating order in chaos. There were plenty of areas in my house to choose from. I spent a long, tiresome afternoon sorting through papers, books, and general detritus in my living room. Following Rubin’s lead, I sorted items into things I couldn’t live without and things to be given or thrown away.  Rubin mentions throughout the book that often the activities that make you the happiest, oddly, don’t make you happy at the time you are actually doing them.  That was certainly true of my cleaning project, even though it was only one afternoon.  But the satisfaction and feeling of empowerment from just that one job took me into the next week feeling refreshed and, well… happy.

Hey.... Remember Me?

It's been a long, long 4 months.  As I write this, I am hanging my head in embarrassment - no blog entries, no book reviews, not even a word since July? Really?

I promise I didn't forget you.  Its not that I haven't been writing. I'm including a link to my recent book reviews in one of our local publications, to help make up for my lack of entries here. I really do have lots to write about - I just haven't taken the time to .... ahem... actually write.

But with the winter closing in, it's reading time, my favorite time of year to snuggle down on the couch and grab a book. This is one of the best seasons for  new releases, too, so there's lots of new stuff out there.

Don't hold your breath but maybe, just maybe, I can start writing some reviews again too.


Here are a few reviews from over the summer and early fall:

The Fault in Our Stars

Broken Harbor

Hot Summer Reads

Deadlocked

Long before True Blood was a twinkle in an HBO executive's eye, there was just plain Sookie Stackhouse, heroine of the Southern Vampire mysteries. Starting with Dead Before Dark more than a decade ago, Charlaine Harris' novels quickly became fan favorites; the writing was clever, the characters intriguing, and Sookie's unassuming charm was delightful.   

Eleven books later, Harris' latest installment, Deadlocked, finds us once again with the cast of characters in Bon Temps, Louisiana. Sookie's vampire boyfriend, Eric, has had an unfortunate incident at his mansion involving a desperate young woman, illicit fairy blood, and an untimely death.   Eric is being framed for murder, but no one seems know why.   As if that weren't enough, weighing heavily on Sookie's mind is the magical "cluviel dor," left to her by her beloved Gran, which can grant the owner one very powerful wish.

The storyline of Deadlocked is clever, and the characters as comfortable as an old sweater.  Harris' writing is fun and engaging. But unlike in earlier books, Sookie is tired. From the opening pages to the bitter end, Sookie is simply exhausted, both physically and emotionally.  In her many adventures, Sookie has seen it all - more supernatural creatures than you can count, her heart broken and broken again, and numerous attempts on her life. But through everything, Sookie has maintained her spunky spirit and eternal optimism- until now.

In Deadlocked, Sookie spends much of her time either sleeping or wishing she was in bed, and not for the reasons we have come to expect in Harris' novels.  By the end of the novel, the mystery is solved but poor Sookie is just too exhausted to care.

Don't get me wrong - Harris' books are always a fun, quirky ride with a great cast of characters.  Especially if you are already a fan of the Sookie Stackhouse books, Deadlocked is a good installment, but it is far from Harris' best.  With everything she's been through, Sookie is going to need a nice, long vacation.

The Witness

I have long been a fan of Nora Roberts.  OK, that's kind of an understatement.  I have read every book she has ever written, and lest you think that hardly makes me a "fan," she has officially published her 200th book, The Witness.  I started reading her Silhouette Romance stories while I was in college - and now, more than 20 years later, I am still reaching for her latest novel as soon as it arrives.

The Witness, as her 200th book, has a lot to live up to.  From her contemporary romances and beloved trilogies to her pseudonym J.D. Robb's futuristic mysteries, Nora has written lots of really enjoyable books.  But The Witness is a cut above the rest.  And if I can be so bold as to call myself an "authority" on Nora's books, I will say that it's her best book.  Not just this year. Or this decade.  Ever.

The Witness is the story of innocent, brilliant Elizabeth Fitch, who, after a fight with her stringent and domineering mother, has herself a nice, ear-piercing, hair dyeing, fake-ID-making rebellion.  She winds up at a club with an acquaintance from school and what starts out as the night of her life turns to tragedy, as Elizabeth witnesses two brutal murders and must run for her life.

Fast forward 12 years, and Elizabeth, now known as Abigail, is living a solitary life in rural Alabama, miles away from the nightmares of her youth.  But secrets can only stay buried for so long, particularly when there is a very persistent (and attractive) chief of police in town.  Soon Abigail is fighting again for both her life and her freedom.

Abigail is one of Roberts' better developed characters in recent memory.  Her intellect, combined with a total lack of social skills, make her a different type of heroine than Roberts typically creates.  As always, Roberts draws her characters with charm and a delightful understanding of human nature.  Abigail has had years of isolation, on the heels of a childhood devoid of love but filled with criticism, and at the time she meets Chief of Police Brooks Gleason, she has never even been told the words "I love you."  Part of the pleasure of this story is watching Abigail learn what it means to be part of a family, and how to love and be loved. 

Nora Roberts' consistently delivers good fiction, but this is the first book in a long time where I sat back and sighed at the end.  If you are looking for an exciting and well-written book to kick off your summer, look no further than The Witness.  Happy reading!
 

April Fool's Day!

I have to hang my head a little when I make this confession. I haven't updated my blog because, well... I haven't been reading, at least nothing that I felt I could write about.  You see, my reading has recently been much like my junk food diet of tortilla chips and gummy bears: tasty but not satisfying.  Don't get me wrong - there is definitely a time and a place for "fluff" reading, but just like gummy bears, after a while you start to realize that there is something missing in your diet.

My reading in the past month has included the following: multiple issues of People and Entertainment Weekly, the first two books in the Shades of Grey trilogy (because clearly, the first book was not enough), various other romances, and the latest J.D. Robb futuristic mystery.  I took a short break from my junk food diet and read Colum McCann's  lovely Let the Great World Spin, and thank heavens I did - I might have gotten the book version of scurvy.

There's really no talking myself out of this, but fortunately, I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. I finally have a few new things on my nightstand that I'm excited about.  Hopefully my next entry will find me back to a healthy diet of literature - mixed in with the "treats" that I so enjoy. 

 

The Sanctity of the Page

I love my Kindle, but there is nothing like holding an actual book in your hand.  I know that's passé. I realize that the physical book may one day be a thing of the past, like vinyl records.  But I hope that day will be a long time coming, because for me, an actual book is something to be treasured.

Perhaps this all began in my youth, when I would read a book cover to cover, then flip back to the beginning and start again.  If you are going to read a book four or five times, you better make sure you're careful with it.  To this day, I treat my books gently: the spines remain unbroken, the book jacket carefully removed so that it with doesn't get torn or damaged, and the pages completely unmarked, except for a small sign of a corner turned down occasionally.

I've learned that this obsession is not shared by everyone, and believe me, it is a hard lesson.   Many of my books come from the library, and except for the occasional grocery list or library receipt tucked inside, most are in excellent condition.  Tonight, however, I opened my borrowed copy of Let The Great World Spin by Colum McCann, and I literally gasped. There was highlighting! And underlining! And writen notes!  In a library book!!  The horror!!!

Recently, author Lisa Lutz posted a question on her Facebook page: "What are the biggest gripes for librarians or patrons?"  It was no surprise that most of the complaints were about the books themselves and how they are treated. The answers ranged from hilarious to downright disgusting.  Dead spiders, food particles, and hair found stuck inside; photos, a bag of pills (!) and receipts used as bookmarks; dog-eared pages (yep, that would be me); books that reek of smoke.  Need I go on? It makes me want to grab my bottle of Purell each time I sit down to read.

So this is my fervent plea: if you borrow a book, treat it gently.  Some day, these lovely tomes will be a thing of the past.  

The New Guy In Town

When you read as much as I do, it's not very often that I'm surprised.  I like to think that I keep my finger on the pulse of the book world, so that I have at least heard of, if not read, most new books and authors.

Recently my cousin's fiance, "P," asked if I had read any of the Iron Druid trilogy by Kevin Hearne.  Surprisingly, I had never heard anything about Mr. Hearne and his books about the ancient druid living in modern times.  P. described the writing as fun and snarky, and suggested that even though it's not my usual style, I might enjoy his books.

This is what I love about our community of readers - those who love books can't help but share their enthusiasm.  And thank heavens!  I immediately downloaded the library's one e-copy onto my Kindle and found that P. was right - these books are a pure delight.  As a 2,000-year-old druid living in Arizona, Atticus is sexy, quirky, astute, and has a wry sense of humor.  Rounding out his cast of characters is his Irish wolfhound, Oberon; his protector, the Morrigan (who typically takes the form of a large crow); his druid in training, Granuaile; the Widow MacDonagh; and a whole host of mythological characters.

For someone like me (and probably you, too) finding a fun new character AND a new trilogy is like Christmas and my birthday all wrapped up in one big bow.  I tore through Hearne's first book, Hounded; was so enthralled that I actually bought the second book, Hexed (because the wait at the library was going to be a month!); and now have moved on to book number three, Hammered.  I know that Hearne is working on another book, and I have just one thing to say to him: Hurry. Up.

In the meantime, I have gotten my dear husband started on the Harlan Coben novels and there are LOTS of those, so I have that to look forward to if Mr. Hearne takes too long.  Happy reading!

Mourning the Last of Steig Larsson

It's taken me more than a year.  When I received my Kindle in the summer of 2010, one of the first books I purchased was The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Steig  Larsson.  It is the last of his Millennium Trilogy, and the only one of the series I had not yet read.  And there it sat, waiting patiently, while I sampled and downloaded and borrowed lots of other books. Steig Larsson passed away in 2004 before his trilogy was published, and Hornet's Nest is his last completed novel. To read Hornet's Nest meant the end, forever, of Larsson's incredible writing.

Larsson's first book, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, continues to rock the publishing world.  Despite being published posthumously, Dragon Tattoo spent months on the New York Times bestseller list and has sold more than 48 million hard and digital copies worldwide.  Now that the movie has come out, the series has seen another boost on the bestseller lists.  There is good reason for all this popularity - the series is fabulous.  Hornet's Nest lives up to the reputation of its predecessors, with plenty of action and a thoroughly satisfying ending filled with vengeance and justice for all.

As the trilogy's main character, Lisbeth Salandar is a kick-ass, hard-core heroine who is as dysfunctional as she is brilliant. The last book captures the true essence of Lisbeth, who manages to defeat the bad guys while confined to her hospital bed, recuperating from a bullet to the brain.  As I finally started Hornet's Nest, it was a bittersweet experience - this young woman, who I had come to admire and know so well through Larsson's series, would never again grace the pages of another novel.  I believe that had Larssson not passed away, Lisbeth would have risen again to battle evil and corruption, albeit in her own disturbing way.

Characters like Lisbeth Salandar come along once in ... well, a millennium. Thank you, Steig Larsson, for sharing your talent and imagination.  You are truly missed.