Who Wants to Read with Me?

So I went to the Strand this week and bought a pile of new books for myself.  How I love the Strand – 18 miles of books that I could wander through for an entire day.  Anyway – the problem is now I have no idea which book to start.  Would anyone out there be interested in reading a book with me?  Care to help me choose where to begin?  Please offer your opinions and help me solve me dilemma:

My Life in France by Julia Child – if you’ve read my previous entry entitled “A Movie and Dinner” you’ll know that I went to see the moive Julie & Julia.  I’ve decided I want to know more about this woman my brother and I used to go crazy for, when we had an instructional video on our first PC where she taught us how to make the world’s most beautiful chocolate cake.  I’m betting it will be a light, delicious read, like a proper French pastry.

The Reader by Bernhard Schlink – yes the one the movie is based on.  I (gasp) have not seen the movie, and though I intend to, I always like to read the book first.  So, should I read the book first now?  It seems like it might be a little heavy for summer, but very mysterious and intriguing, which I like.  I’m torn.

1776 by David McCullough – I love history, particularly American history, and though I hear he is an amazing writer, I have never read one of his novels.  No time like the present?

Thoughts?  Opinions?  Willing to jump in and read with me?

Two books that I will recommend and would love to hear any thoughts or opinions on:

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

I Wish Someone Were Waiting For Me Somewhere by  Anna Gavalda

Happy Sunday!

A New York Minute

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The fast paced life in the city can make it easy to forget what’s so great about life.  Let’s face it – most of the time it can feel like you’re just trying not to get run over.  That’s why I want to make this a regular entry here – just a quick minute of something I love about this city.

Today, it’s entertainment when you least expect it.  I love dance but let’s face it – I’m not running to Lincoln Center to see the American Ballet every month.  I can’t even find time to take a class.  I do dance on my roof occasionally, but without the social element it doesn’t feel the same.  Dance is an art form to be shared, which is why I love it when I run into guys like these:

Thank you subway break dancing dare devils.  You bring my love of dance back to me.

On That Terrible, Four-Letter Word

So with lack of a better thing to do today, I went and saw the new movie The Time Traveller’s Wife, having never read the book. I almost always read the book first. Even though I make movies, I find that books are almost always better. But I figured that if Rachel McAdams could do it in The Notebook, she could do it again.  It’s a love story of course, wrapped in the question – if you knew, would you change it? If you had a choice, would you save yourself the pain? Questions I’ve pondered for quite some time.

What is it about heartache?

In the last year, I have broken my pelvis by falling off a ladder, broken my hand in the same incident, and (I’m fairly certain, though I never went to the doctor) fractured my arm and sprained my elbow in another fall. I’m clumsy sometimes. I’ve sprained many ankles, skinned many knees. But the pain of those injuries compares not one iota to the three separate occasions in my life when I have felt my heart break.

When it really happens – I mean way beyond the sting of being stood up, embarrassed or simply broken up with – when you can feel the actual spider web of searing, scarring pain spreading across your chest like ice cracking on a frozen pond, well that’s when you know… my hands and my arm and my wrists might have healed, but that’s what bone was designed to do. Hearts and souls, I’m afraid, were not. Not entirely.

It comes up at the strangest times.

Riding on the subway, two people seated across from me, laughing. And he looks at her the way I know you used to look at me. I remember your face.

I go to the movies, in front of me two wait patiently for concessions. When he orders, he knows what she wants. You knew mine too.

A couple leaves a bar, he takes her hand. Down to my fingertips, I recall the weight of your palm from the night years ago when you held mine the same way. I had never been so happy.

And I feel the place where that spider web was made. Flame and cold and needle pricks spread across it. But I see my movie. And I go to work. And I have my drink. Never forgetting, I did not always feel this way. And I still don’t want to. But that wasn’t my choice to make.

I’m clumsy sometimes, well most of the time, in love. It is my realm of least success.

Through the years, I have learned one thing, though it does not always console me. This truth: I regret nothing. I would not change it, I would not spare myself, though the end result was not what I had hoped.

I have been reading Katharine Hepburn’s autobiography, Me, and nothing rings truer to me than hearing her talk about Spencer Tracey, quietly, with few words:

“LOVE has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get – only with what you are expecting to give – which is everything.

What you will receive in return varies. But it really has no connection with what you give. You give because you love and you cannot help giving. If you are very lucky, you may be loved back. That is delicious but it does not necessarily happen.”

Just when it seems to me that I have been either incredibly foolish or incredibly unlucky in this life, thus far anyway, I am reminded with a well timed, unprompted expression that giving is never foolish and it would be unlucky to never have reason for tears:

“You’re still one of my favorite people of all time.”

“And you mine.”

Always.

Remembered: Eunice Kennedy Shriver

Maybe I’ve always loved the Kennedy’s because they were Catholic and my family was Catholic, and they were big and loud and had their vices but were basically good people (like my family, and most Catholic families) who just wanted to make the world a little better.  And people who knew how to pick themselves up after tragedy, not shrink away into sorrow.  People who always knew there was work to be done; who saw wrong and tried to make it right.

Their presence is American politics, at least the presence of that original, amazing generation, is drawing to a close – a fact which became more real this week with the passing of Eunice Kennedy Shriver. Without her, we wouldn’t have the Special Olympics, a tradition that has benefited people I know personally.  Most Americans could say the same.

What a meaningful contribution one woman made to this country, to the world, and to a group of people who were once hidden away and never celebrated.  Your caring, charitable spirit will be missed and, thankfully, your legacy will live on.

Books: Under the Banner of Heaven

I have always been a reader. My dad told me once that when I was 2, if you read to me, I would calmly sit and listen to every word that was said, waiting for the right moment to turn the page because I had memorized when to do it. When I got a little older, I would “read” the book to you, still turning the page on cue, even though I could actually read nothing.

I continued to love it as a I grew older for completely different reasons. New worlds, ancient times, interesting people, Hobbits and talking mice – it was all accessible. Cultures I knew nothing about were suddenly cracked open like a coconut and I drank all I could. Every summer my mom took me to the library, and I considered it a privilege, not a punishment. Two of my best friends growing up were Laura Ingalls Wilder and Karen Brewer (google them if you’re unfamiliar). Reading anything and everything changed the way I saw the world, the desires I had for my life, and the way I treated people, especially those different from me – it made me a better human being.

I know not every child receives those same opportunities to educate themselves, and I recently read a book about a culture in America that intentionally squelches those opportunities, especially for women. Under the Banner of Heaven, written by Jon Krakauer is about the Mormon church in America, the varying sects and practices that go with each. More broadly it is about fundamentalist thought, religious freedom, and the history of a the only faith that was born, struggled and has ultimately thrived in the states.

When I opened the book, I knew very little about the beliefs surrounding the Church of Latter Days Saints, or their connection to those small communities of polygamists that are often shown on TV. At some point, I will probably read another book on the subject because I don’t want Krakauer’s voice to be the only information I have on the subject. There is much to know and understand about the largest growing religion in the world – oh yes, they are. Maybe because every Mormon is required to give 2 years of his or her life to work as a missionary throughout the world.

Having been raised a Catholic – a religion that is not without its own strange traditions – I found it somewhat easy to understand this faith and the unique hold it seems to have on people. Even though it has been years since I have considered myself a practicing Catholic, there are still elements of the faith that creep into my daily life – in my thoughts, speech, choices. When you are raised to look at the world through a certain lens, I’m not sure that one ever removes it entirely. I could empathize that being raised in a Mormon household would forever effect your sense of self and the world.

The book also focuses on the murders of a young woman and her infant daughter at the hands of her husband’s older brothers, neither of whom, in over 20 years, have ever regretted or repented for the crime. Because God told them to do it, and they followed the word of the Lord. Before you write them off as crazy, read the book

The most interesting questions the book raised for me was that of the legal ramifications caused by the brother’s trial. Of course the defense attorney’s wanted to plea insanity – but can one be declared insane because he ardent faith in his religion? Because he believes he talks to God, whatever he considers God to be? Is someone crazy because he is willing to do anything commanded of him to receive his eternal reward? The answers to those questions could be the beginning of the end of religious freedom in America.

A Movie and Dinner

I’ve always loved to cook, but since moving to New York, it is an activity I have almost stopped entirely. And when I say cook, I really mean cook. I prepare things for myself to eat, but rarely do I put thought and care into the preparation so that I or others may enjoy it. And perhaps part of that is being a single girl whose friends and family are either far away or always working. I can also place blame on the city itself because any New Yorker will tell you we are blessed with the most varied and delicious dinning experiences a city has to offer – a fact which has resulted in my transformation into a “foodie”.

I plan to discuss this in many posts to come, but since moving to New York the depth of my appreciation for good food has deepened considerably. Along with the rest of my consciousness, the experiences of my palette have been and are ever expanding. Before moving here, I had never eaten sushi, brie, or naan, to name a few.

Discovering good food has changed my life. I eat better, less, and more balanced – all things I once struggled with. Fast food has become a repulsive never. Good meals are something I cherish. I think that is why I wanted to see Julie & Julia as soon as I saw the preview. I resolved that not only would I see the film but I would then cook myself dinner afterwards, in an effort to remind myself how satisfying cooking has always been to me.

I have to say, even though it’s a classic Nora Ephron chick-flick, I did enjoy the show. Meryl Streep was hilarious (being a tall girl myself, I appreciated the jokes about her height) and Amy Adams did her best to make a needy, complainer of a character endearing.

Afterwards, I wandered through Whole Foods with an old recipe for a gazpacho I love, knowing I needed to do something more to even out the meal. This is what I came up with, which may turn out to be one of my favorite summer supper meals:

Avacado Sliders and Corn Gazpacho

The gazpacho is an easy recipe I found in a magazine years ago, and at the time I said, “Cold soup? I’m not buying it.” But I did love salsa, so after reading the ingredients, I tried it and immediately became a convert.

1 cup cooked corn (for convenience I use canned, be sure to drain)
1 seeded tomato
3 cup tomato juice or V8
1 diced cucumber
1/2 cup finely chopped white onions
1/2 seeded minced jalapeno
1 minced garlic clove
2 tbls minced fresh basil leaves
3 tbls fresh lime juice
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp fresh black pepper.

Toss all of it in a bowl and chill for a minimum of 1 hour. The longer it chills, the stronger all the flavors become. I usually eat the soup with slices of fresh Italian bread; it’s a prefect lunch.

But since I wanted something more I came up with the sliders in the store, inspired by a burger I eat at one of my favorite neighborhood restaurants. They are basically mini-cheeseburgers on fresh bread with an avocado spread. If you’re making the gazpacho anyway, chop some extra white onion and save a little chopped tomato – you don’t need too much else beyond that.

For the avocado spread:

One ripe avocado (look for the ones that are dark, almost purple in color and pressing on the skin leaves an indentation)
A little onion, and a little tomat0
The other half of your jalapeño, minced
The juice of half a lime

Cut the avocado in half, remove the pit and scoop out the inside into a medium sized bowl, add the juice, onion, tomato, and jalapeño. Mash everything together. Mine is always lumpy because I get impatient but I’m sure you could get a smoother consistency with a food processor.

Set that aside.

For the burgers:

1 banquet french bread, sliced 1 inch thick
Butter
1 pound of lean hamburger meat
Chopped onion, salt, pepper, and garlic powder to taste
Pepper jack cheese, sliced into 1 1/2 inch squares, 1/4 inch thick

Butter one side of the each slice of bread.

Combine the meat, onion and spices. Shape into 6-8 miniature burgers. Cook on stove top in a sauté pan over medium heat, about 2 minutes on each side. Do not cook them all the way through. Keeping the burgers in the pan, top each with a cheese slice, place pan directly in oven at 300 degrees.

While burgers are in the oven, in another sauté pan, cook bread butter side down until crisp and brown (only about a minute). Remove from heat. Spread uncooked side with avocado topping.

Once cheese has melted (5 min or less), remove burgers from oven. Top each slice of bread with a burger. I prefer to eat the burgers like an open faced sandwich. To make them easier to eat, you can top each one with a slice of romaine lettuce, which can substitute as the top slice of bread.

As Julia would say: Bon Appetite!

The Good, The Bad, and The Stuff Worth Fighting For

So obviously, my New Years Resolution (to exercise my writing skills) fell by the wayside, as most of them do. I owe this year’s failure in large part to my success at work. For those of you who may not know, I work in the film and television industry, an industry that in these uncertain times is doing quite well. I have been working almost without pause since the end of February, and the 14-18 hour days have been grueling.

When I moved to New York from Iowa, and resolved to change my life, I knew that in order to get what I wanted, I would have to make sacrifices. And I have. I remember a time when every pair of jeans I owned had holes in them, and not because it was fashionable. I remember a time when I was living on 2 bagels and a can of soup a day, because the bagels were freely supplied by the office where I was interning. I have focused on surviving this city and this industry for nearly 3 years and it has only be recently that I have come to realize a simple but sobering truth. There is more to life than work.

I always assumed success would bring me happiness; that standing atop a mountain of self-made, sustaining adult life would taste like a cherry popsicle on a hot summer day did when I was a kid – like the best thing in the world. This summer, in the midst of all my success, or should I say weeks upon weeks of work, I found the cherry popsicle still tastes the same. And success tastes nothing like it.

I have by no means reached the pinnacle of my career (I hope). But I know that I shouldn’t be working this hard to be this unsatisfied. I was consumed by a dream, and my work ethic took over. For too long, there has been only work and not life. An incredible life is what I set out to find, not an incredible work. I’m just glad that at 26 (and not 46) I’ve realized that I have confused the two.

And so my new goal for this blog has begun: to talk about things relating to my life, not my work. To rediscover the things that I love and bring them to the center of who I am. To overcome the all to easy tendency to let what we do define who we are.

I remember making a list of things I wanted to be when I was 15. It was long, and broad, and none of them would necessarily make me any money. I’m going to try to become all those things, starting with a cook, which is what I will write about tomorrow.