On Fear

Bob Woodward‘s Fear, a best-seller from the moment of its release last week, is a hard book to read.

It should be easy: the cast of characters is as familiar as family if you follow any form of current events. The problem is that as I read the book, I am reviewing the past couple of years’ history while simultaneously living with the updates.

We Love Books

They grow up but with any luck, the love of books remains.

But it’s not just luck. If you joyfully read to your kids from infancy, if they have readers as role models, then reading is a positive part of life. It’s not just associated with homework assignments, but also with enjoyment.

Fifty Shades of Greyish

I fell for the hype; I saw Fifty Shades of Grey the day after it opened.

I tried to finish the first book but I do my best reading on the subway. I have yet to finesse reading soft porn in public. It wasn’t the sex so much as it was the urge to warn Ana: “Run. Run like your life depends on it!” Probably not a smart thing to do on a train.

During the movie I made a list of women Christian Grey would probably not be interested in:

1. Ticklish women
2. Very tall or very short women (Think logistics)
3. West Coast air traffic controllers
4. Elevator repair technicians
5. Comedians
6. Boxers
7. Wrestlers
8. Lawyers
9. Bloggers

Did I miss one?

So, on to book two and hopefully, more snark.

A Fun Summer Read

I have three criteria for recreational reading:

1. It has to be at least a little funny.
2. I want to like the protagonist
3. The book’s main social value is that I can escape into it.

A Good Year For The Roses is a novel about newly divorced Londoner Molly, who inherits a bed-and-breakfast in the coastal area where she grew up. She and her three children start new country lives there, living in the aging building that Molly successfully renovates.

Along with the house, Molly inherits responsibility for her mildly deranged uncle. He and the house “staff” become her extended family and she develops a closer relationship with her mother who lives nearby. Her father and brother are selfish and manipulative but she learns how to deal with them. Since this is where she’s from, and her children are still in school, Molly is able to create a social life.

I’ll Have a Shot of Vodka With A Side Of Mustard

Ah. to be so inspired by a book that I’m rummaging through the kitchen, taking pictures of seemingly random objects. I was gifted with a copy of Real Simple 869 New Uses for Old Things. I thought I was quite the creative homemaker but there was so much  didn’t know. And yet, I wondered, what to do with shot glasses when I’m not known for drinking anything  straight up, let alone gulped in one guzzle? That’s one use they didn’t cover.

A Book, Its Cover and A Wonderful Bio

Handbook For An Unpredictable Life: How I Survived Sister Renata And My Crazy Mother And Still Came Out Smiling (With Great Hair)

It’s quite a title, but sums up Rosie Perez’s autobiography in a nutshell. Rosie was born of an affair her mother had and was promptly left in the care of her paternal aunt. After three years, her mother demanded Rosie back, only to dump her in “the home,” a prison-like residence run by sadistic nuns.

Her aunt was a loving, steady and joyful woman. Through her youthful ordeal, Rosie knew she was loved, especially when her father became a part of her life. However, the mother was not just crazy, but abusive and manipulative as well. This created a special hell for the kid, but that didn’t stop young Rosie from enjoying what there was to enjoy.

Urban Bookworm, Secret Wordsmith

Reading has saved me throughout my life.

I got “hooked on phonics” in kindergarten so reading was easy to me. As a child I escaped my personal reality by diving into mysteries and sometimes, novels. I read everything: cereal boxes, road signs, anything with letters. Don’t get me wrong, I did normal things too but reading was so important that in high school, I thought I was going to be a reading teacher. It made me sad that reading was so difficult for some other kids that they didn’t get to enjoy it as I did.

Of course, I read to my child. At one point, before we all had access to the Internet, I searched the library and local book stores for Robert Louis Stevenson’s children’s poetry. I should not have been shocked that nobody had, or even knew of, such a book. I finally went to a teachers’ supply store and the saleswoman and the customers within earshot were surprised that a parent wanted to read poetry to her kid. I still have the book I bought that day.