I suppose this is the time of year when you can expect the least from me, writing wise. In years past I’ve somehow managed to write blog posts during harvest, but I’m not sure how I did that. But this morning I suddenly felt like writing, so here I am.
I didn’t drive a truck into a ditch this year. The combine didn’t get plugged up. In fact, nothing went wrong, and now I can say that I’ve combined for seven summers and my biggest fear has never happened–I’ve never started a fire.
Some summers I do tractor work after combining is finished, and some summers I don’t. This summer I wasn’t going to. Because I don’t know, I still have three weeks before I leave. I might as well do something useful.
As far as writing goes, I’m kind-of having a hard time with it. Patreon is going well as usual, but I would really love to write another book. I’m just not sure what exactly that next book should be. I really, really want to write fiction, and I was sure I was finally becoming a fiction writer. I worked on one novel for an entire year, which is something I’ve never done before. But I think it’s a practice novel. It’s just so bad.
So now I’m thinking I should write another nonfiction book, and maybe then I’ll be talented enough for fiction.
But if I wrote nonfiction, what would I write about?
Or maybe I should ask, what do you want to read?
Let’s go with that. What sort of book would you love to read, written by me? Please tell me. Comment, email, DM, I want to know.
If I had more brain space right now I’d do a giveaway. It would be transactional–you tell me what sort of book I should write, and I enter you into the giveaway. But I don’t know what to give away besides another copy of my book, and those of you with the best ideas have probably already read my book by this point.
This blog post is so scattered and random it’s like I’m 19 again. Ha. Oh well. I need to go pack my lunch. Please tell me your ideas. I truly want to know.
As I was preparing to organize and/or pack up all my things for my upcoming move to Virginia, I looked at my bookshelf and thought, “I should do a bookshelf tour.” You know, just show you all my books and give brief thoughts.
I’m nosy about other people’s bookshelves, so I thought people might be nosy about mine, haha.
Also, often when I post a photo or video of the top of my sewing desk, people ask about the books. So, ta-da! This is for you, People who Ask.
For several years I’ve been part of an on-again-off-again virtual book club. Recently we read Wives and Daughters, and instead of waiting until we were finished with the book to start discussing it, we had weekly reading goals followed by weekly WhatsApp chats. It was rather a nice way to read a classic, I thought.
Wives and Daughters is about a girl named Molly Gibson who lives with her father, a widowed doctor. They get along swimmingly until Molly turns 17 and Mr. Gibson suddenly realizes that men are starting to pursue her. Panicked and unable to properly chaperone her, he sends her to live with his friends, Mr. and Mrs. Hamley, until he can find a better solution.
His “better solution,” then, is to get re-married, and in doing so, Molly not only gains a stepmother but a step-sister as well. Meanwhile, she remains friends with Mr. and Mrs. Hamley as well as their two eligible sons, Osborne and Roger.
The story is mostly about these eight people and their relationships with each other, focusing on Molly as she comes of age and falls in love.
Reading this lovely book, I realized that I really like the trope of two sisters befriending/falling in love with two brothers. I like it because there are four potential romantic relationships that can result, so you as a reader are always on your toes, not sure where the plot is going to go. Also, since they’re all close as a group, some of them will have platonic cross-gender relationships, which is always fun.
Meanwhile, the author is adding depth with the sibling relationships as well. So with only four characters, you’re looking at six different types of relationships playing out.
I’m not sure how common this trope is. Besides Wives and Daughters, it’s also present in I Capture the Castle. Most of Jane Austen’s books play with this trope too. In Pride and Prejudice it’s best friends instead of brothers, and there is no ambiguity about who will choose who. Emma and Sense and Sensibility both feature a pair of siblings marrying a pair of siblings, but one couple is already married and somewhat faded into the background of the plot. Mansfield Park does the most with this trope, keeping you on your toes about who is going to fall in love with who, although the final pairing makes me a bit uncomfortable if I’m gonna be honest.
Wives and Daughters is similar to Austen’s books, but focuses less on the romance and more on other relationships. It also explores class distinction in a deeper way than Austen does, and features characters who are slightly lower on the social ladder. Sort-of the Harriet Smiths and Robert Martins of the town.
I will warn you though…the ending is a bit unique, because Elizabeth Gaskell died before she finished the last chapter. When the book ends, you know that everything is going to end up all right, but then it abruptly stops before we get to see all the happy stuff play out.
In lieu of a last chapter, her editor wrote a note explaining how things were going to end, since Gaskell had told him as well as some of her family about how she planned to end it. So it ends nicely. However, my copy of the book was one of those sketchy cheap self-published Amazon versions, and it didn’t have that editor’s note at the end. It just ended abruptly and that was it.
No one else in my group had that problem, except one of them was mostly listening to an audiobook but sometimes reading a free Kindle version, and the free Kindle version didn’t have the ending note either.
Both the sketchy self-published classics and the free Kindle classics happen when the copyright expires on an old book, so my assumption is that the copyright expired on Wives and Daughters but it somehow didn’t include the little bit at the end written by Frederick Greenwood. Anyway, I’d say just buy your copy at a thrift store or on Thriftbooks, or borrow from the library, and you won’t have an issue.
Part 2: The Vanishing Half, by Brit Bennett
Amy came to me and said, “I had a book on hold at the library, and it just came in, but I don’t have time to read it before I go. Do you want to read it?”
“Sure,” I said. “You know, I think if you like a book that usually means that I’ll like it too.”
Amy laughed. “Well, I don’t know if I’d like this book or not. I just got it because I saw a lot of people talking about it.”
The book in question was The Vanishing Half, by Brit Bennett.
This book has a really unique, interesting premise with all these cool parallels. It begins in this little town called Mallard, Louisiana that was founded by a half-black man who inherited land from his slave-owning father. Not knowing where he fit into the world, he wanted Mallard to be a place for mixed-race and light-skinned black people.
Generations later, in the ’50s and ’60s, everyone in the town is obsessed with skin color. They are all considered “colored people,” but they try their hardest to marry people lighter than them so that their children will be even lighter. This is not because they want to be white. They all consider themselves black, even though sometimes a person on the street would never know. They just think that they’re superior to dark-skinned black people.
The book follows a set of twins, one restless and adventurous, the other quiet and studious. They are the great-great-great-great grandchildren of the founder, and as teenagers they leave the town and run off to the big city. The restless adventurous twin marries the darkest man she can find and has a very dark-skinned daughter who is quiet and studious. The quiet and studious twin, on the other hand, decides to be white. She leaves her sister and family behind and marries a white man who has no idea of her past. Then she has a pale, blonde, blue-eyed daughter who is restless and adventurous.
Now that I’ve finished the book I have mixed feelings about it, but I’m going to start with the great: The premise was gripping. The idea of the town of light-skinned people who all considered themselves “black” but hated dark-skinned people was not only super interesting, but according to the author, that type of thing actually happened in the south.
Also: I feel like there’s a lot of pressure nowadays as a white person to “educate yourself” and know all these details about the history of race in America. At the same time, the stack of books you’re supposed to read is, frankly, daunting. I really would like to read them at some point, but I already dislike nonfiction so who knows.
But I have a secret opinion that fiction books written by black authors are the best–that is, the most interesting and nuanced–way to understand racial dynamics in the USA. People are complicated, and sometimes it’s easier to show it with fiction than to try to tell it with nonfiction. (Although showing it in memoir is great too.)
Here’s two things that I understood so much better after reading this book:
Colorism. It’s easy to view our racial history as “black people vs white people,” but there were/are a lot of complicated dynamics based on how dark someone is. This book explored them in an informative, nuanced, thought-provoking way.
The shift away from overt racism in the USA. This book opens in the ’60s, flashes back to the ’50s, and then ends in the late ’80s with a few notes on the early ’90s. As the book went on, I noticed a subtle, gradual shift, where there were fewer and fewer cases of people experiencing awful overt discrimination based on their race. But there was never a “yay, things are better now!” moment. It was more of a generational thing–the twins, who had witnessed a lynching in their youth, never really changed their views on race and identity. But their daughters were much more likely to form friendships and romantic relationships with people of a different race.
So with all that great stuff, I was prepared to love the book. But I didn’t. I enjoyed it, I learned from it, but I didn’t love it.
I guess it’s just a bit too basic and too literary for my taste. With Wives and Daughters I talked about one of my favorite tropes, so now I’ll talk about one of my least-favorite ones: the “so-and-so returns to her hometown and has deep feelings about family and stuff” trope bores me to tears. And it’s used so often in books. I don’t understand.
And then there’s these lines like, “She could tell the truth, she thought, but there was no single truth anymore. She’d lived a life split between two women–each real, each a lie” (260). I just opened the book randomly and found that line, but some version of it is at the end of basically every chapter. Some deep thought about lies and identity and feeling “split.” That goes with the twin theme, you know. I got so tired of it. Let’s just skip ahead to the interesting part, please. When does everyone re-unite? When are the lies exposed?
And that’s where the book, ultimately, lost me. Because that big moment of cathartic reunion never happened. Well it kind-of did, but in the most stretched-out, anti-climactic, confusing, unfinished way possible. Then the book just…ended. Ended without properly reaching the end of anyone’s story. I found it odd and confusing.
I think it just had a good premise but not a fleshed-out plot. I can empathize with this because plots are incredibly difficult to construct, from my personal experience. But. Books without plots are boring. There’s a reason books need plots.
Anyway. Those are my mixed feelings. If you happen to enjoy the “so-and-so returns to her hometown and has feelings” trope, and if you don’t mind a bit of plotlessness, I think this is a book you would love.
I find, as the weather warms up, that the country becomes a less-boring place to live. For instance, one day as I was painting primer on the boards that would become the steps of our new barn, I watched Mom, Dad, and Ben all trying to chase the chickens back into their enclosure. “They’re eating the slug poison I put on the dahlia bed!” Mom explained.
Later, when we had our garage sale, one woman laughed at us for how high our chicken fence was. Well listen, lady. For months our chickens wandered about the yard eating cat food and pooping on the porch, and no amount of wing-trimming made them stay put. We put up with it until the slug-poison incident, and then extra-high fencing it was, even if it does look a bit ridiculous.
Not gonna lie, though, the Last Great Chicken Chase was entertaining to watch.
A lot of the drama in our life is due to the barn-building project. For some reason this involves a lot of ditches being dug in the yard, and one of the ditches accidentally cut through the geothermal line that supplies our heating and cooling. We subsequently had a very cold miserable week. But then the warm weather showed up again, and we were fine except for one Very Hot Day last week.
But one strange added layer to the day was the fact that our neighbors lost a goat. So in the middle of the general hustle and bustle of the sale, we were running off to the woods every time we heard a goat bleating, and trying to discern its general location.
Thankfully the goat was eventually found across the creek from Mom’s writing cabin.
The garage sale happened not only because Jenny, Amy and I are all moving this summer, but also because Ben and all his roommates are moving out of their house in Corvallis.
Ben’s house is a bit like the ship of Theseus. For years, 3-4 male Christian college students have resided there, being replaced one at a time until none of the original members remained at all. What did remain was abandoned stuff, like a frog clock, an artsy lamp held together with beige hair ties, and a tank top that said “Evan’s Bach Party” in large pink letters. Ben hauled piles of this abandoned stuff to our garage sale.
This included two stuffed chairs, one blue and one green, which never sold. Probably because several of us were usually sitting in them. They were comfy! And there’s something fun about sitting outdoors in an easy chair.
Anyway, they’ve remained in our carport ever since. The other day I was sitting in one, enjoying my morning tea, when I heard, “one, two, three, HEAVE! One, two, three, HEAVE!”
I walked across the yard to see what was going on. There were Amy and Jenny, pulling on a rope that was tied around a branch of the flowering pear tree.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“This branch is broken, and it’s resting on the porch roof,” said Jenny. “Mom wants us to pull it off because she’s afraid that it will fall on someone’s head during our graduation party.”
But the heaving didn’t seem to be doing much good, and Amy went up on the porch roof to see if she could shove it off from up there without falling from the roof. We still didn’t have much luck. “The branches are stuck in the gutter,” said Amy.
Jenny went inside to ask Mom where her chainsaw was, and meanwhile Matt, hearing the commotion, came out of the Airstream to ask what was going on. “I have something that might work,” said Matt. “How do I get up there?”
“You have to go up to my room and climb out the window,” said Amy.
Matt had a handheld circular saw, and as he disappeared inside again Jenny showed up. “I couldn’t find Mom,” said Jenny. “I think she’s out in the cabin. I looked in the carport but I couldn’t find her chainsaw.”
“Matt is helping out,” I said.
Just then Matt came around the corner of the porch roof. He sawed off the branches one by one, but I guess the circular saw wasn’t made for branches, or else it was just malfunctioning. We needed the chainsaw after all. So I went out in the cabin to get Mom.
By this time Phoebe had showed up too, so it really was a family affair. At least, a female family affair with Matt thrown in the mix. Mom found her chainsaw but the battery was dead, so we postponed the project for half an hour.
Once it was charged, Amy sawed branches, and, CRASH! Down came the limb. She sawed the main limb in half and we hauled it to the burn pile. (Well, the burn pile has been decimated by the ditches, but we hauled it to that general area.)
The final story of note happened the next morning. I was in my room, minding my own business, when I heard singing. “Huh,” I thought, “the barn builders must be playing their music loudly again.”
Then I heard a knock on our door. Going downstairs, I saw our neighbors and their friends, with roses in their hair and buttonholes, singing Christmas carols.
Yep, that’s right…Christmas carols in June.
It was highly entertaining, not gonna lie. When they were done I passed grapes around and asked what the bunnyslipper was going on. Apparently they were talking about family traditions, and someone mentioned Christmas caroling. So on a whim they decided to go Christmas caroling. (The roses, it seems, were from a different whim altogether that had nothing to do with the Christmas caroling.)
Anyway, they went to the Airstream first, which is when I initially heard the music. And then they came to our door.
Every time I visit cities, I’m amazed at how many interesting things always seem to be happening. But days like this remind me that interesting things happen in the country too, particularly in summertime.
A year and a half ago, my sister Jenny sent me a recipe for clementine cake that she found on Instagram. I was enchanted with the idea of clementine cake after watching the movie The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. But the directions flashed by so fast they were hard to follow. Also, it was in Japanese. Some of the directions were translated into English, and some weren’t.
Nevertheless, I made it, and posted on my Instagram stories about the process. People really enjoyed it, so I decided to do it again, and make it into a YouTube video this time.
Only, I wanted to try something new. So I found the original recipe Jenny had sent, and realized it was posted by Tasty Japan. (Tasty is the company behind all those recipe videos on Facebook and Instagram, and it’s owned by Buzzfeed.) I scrolled around until I found this enchanting-looking “peach rose cheesecake.”
This time, instead of trying to follow the video directions as they flashed by, I google-translated the Japanese recipe that was written in the caption. The translated title was “peach rare cheesecake” instead of “peach rose cheesecake.”
The day I chose to make this was also the day we were preparing for a garage sale, so most of my family and many of my friends make hilarious cameo appearances.
It’s been a long time since I’ve read something that was this fun.
In my late teens and early 20s, the big fad in YA books was dystopian fiction. Some of it was done really well and some of it was done poorly, but the main reason I remember that era fondly was the imagination of it all. The books weren’t just set in a dystopian future, they also incorporated really interesting futuristic sci-fi elements.
However, while I enjoyed these books (at least the well-done ones, like The Hunger Games and The Giver) my true love was still fantasy. Particularly light-hearted, middle grade fantasy. In fact, I adored re-told fairy tales, and collected six retellings of Cinderella alone.
A year and a half ago, I was perusing the YA books at my local St. Vincent de Paul when I saw a copy of Cinder, by Marissa Meyer. Why have I never read this book? I thought to myself. It was obviously a retelling of Cinderella set in a futuristic world, and it seemed like something I ought to read, if for no other purpose than to remain the foremost expert on Cinderella retellings.
(Actually I just googled “Cinderella retellings” and realized there are still many that I haven’t read, so scratch that, haha.)
Anyway, I bought it, read it, and loved it. It was so fun and clever that I gave it to Steven for his birthday, thinking it was exactly the sort of book he likes, and then bought the second book in the series, Scarlet, for myself.
After Scarlet I dearly wanted to buy myself the third book, Cress, but I couldn’t quite justify the price. For some reason it was a lot more expensive on Thriftbooks than Scarlet was. So I didn’t end up finishing the series until this spring, when Amy borrowed Cinder and Scarlet from Steven and I, and then requested Cress and Winter at the library.
Why didn’t I think to do that? Well anyway, I read them when she was done.
Let’s start by talking about the unique plot structure, and then move on to the world building.
Cinder is a retelling of Cinderella, and while the plot is mostly from Cinder’s point of view, sometimes it switches to the point of view of Emperor Kai (aka Prince Charming). But at the end of the book, the story is nowhere near finished. Time to read the second book!
But wait. The second book, Scarlet, is a retelling of Little Red Riding Hood. However, some chapters are continuing Cinder’s story. And some chapters are still from Kai’s point of view.
Cress is a retelling of Rapunzel, and Winter is a retelling of Snow White, so by the time the series is finished the story is being told from the perspective of four different fairy tale characters and their four love interests, as well as Cinder’s android friend Iko. That’s nine perspectives!
I mean, usually a lot of them are with each other, so there are maybe 2-4 storylines going on at once instead of nine. But it’s still quite unique. In fact, the only thing I could think to compare it to is The Lord of the Rings. It’s similar in the way it is told in multiple books but is actually one long continuing story arc, and also in the way it collects characters as it goes along and then must tell their stories as well.
This ends up being really fun, because it gives characters a chance to interact with characters who aren’t from their own fairy tale. What sort of relationship would Cinderella have with Rapunzel’s prince? If they had to work together, would they get along? We certainly find out!
In fact, the odd thing is that while the overarching protagonist is the Cinderella character, the overarching villain is the queen from Snow White.
The world building is so interesting to me. It’s obvious that the books were intended to sort-of fit in with the dystopian craze of the time. But it’s not quite a true dystopia—actually, I’d say it’s a really interesting cross between the dystopian and science fiction genres.
It’s set in a future where space travel is common, mortally injured humans can remain living by becoming half-robot cyborgs, and androids are everywhere doing much of the world’s mundane labor. But instead of exploring the galaxy, humans in Meyer’s world have colonized the moon, and that’s all. It’s just the moon and earth. And if you don’t want to go to the moon, you can use your spacecraft to get to another part of earth quickly.
This was a really interesting take, in my opinion, because it’s so much more realistic about how far apart planets actually are from each other.
The earth, in Meyer’s world, isn’t really dystopian. It’s certainly different than our current world, more futuristic, and with futuristic problems such as cyborg discrimination. But it also has normal problems too, like contagious incurable diseases.
“Luna,” the kingdom that resides on the moon, is a pretty dystopian place, however. Winter takes place mostly on Luna, and it definitely has Hunger Games capitol city vibes.
One of the characters who we meet near the beginning of Scarlet is a thief named Carswell Thorne who owns (that is, stole) a spaceship. The spaceship then serves as a sort of home-base for the rest of the characters during the course of the story.
What is it about a cast of diverse interesting characters aboard a spaceship that’s so enchanting? It ended up being one of my favorite things about the series. They all had these different talents that helped the crew as a whole, and it gave me the same feeling I get from the show Firefly.
But here I ended up disappointed, because there was never a single moment when more than six of the nine main characters (including Iko the android) were in the ship at the same time. They all knew each other, but they were never all at the same place at the same time until the very very end. And it wasn’t like they could all just jet into the sky at the end because some of them were, you know, monarchs with countries to run.
It’s weird, because usually when they turn books into movies or TV shows I want them to stick exactly to the book, and I’m afraid they’ll ruin it. But with this one, I think changing it could make a really fun wonderful TV show. If you made the overarching plot less urgent, and gave all the monarchs some excuse to be on a spaceship instead of running their countries (a coup or something?) it could be a sort-of Firefly for teens with some fairy tale magic sprinkled in and I would adore it.
One can dream. (But honestly, with the multiple characters and their multiple storylines it already reads somewhat like a TV show.)
Overall, I don’t think everyone will be as enchanted by this series as I was. However, I think anyone who even semi-enjoyed the wave of dystopian YA that hit the market in the early 2010s, anyone who likes re-told fairy tales, and anyone who enjoys fun lighthearted sci-fi will at least enjoy the books, even if they don’t become your Favorite Things Ever. I feel like the series has a fairly wide mass appeal, unless you’re an I Only Like Realistic Books type.
Before I get too gushy, I should say that Scarlet’s romance in Scarlet was somewhat reminiscent of the weird obsessive paranormal romances of the same era (Twilight etc.). That was something I did not enjoy, which is probably why I was able to take such a long pause after reading Scarlet even though it’s one of the most intentionally-designed-to-be-impossible-to-put-down series I’ve ever read. Both characters grew on me in subsequent books, however.
Also. Why did I say “before I get too gushy” at the literal end of the review? I don’t know.
It was a gray morning in Coos Bay, and my siblings and I slumped lazily on the couch watching Bride and Prejudice. Finally, knowing that if we were going to go hiking in the afternoon I should make sure my hair was properly washed and dried in time, I left my siblings to enjoy the random Bollywood dance numbers and went into the bathroom to prepare for the day.
When I emerged again, I saw to my surprise that for the first time all vacation, the sun had come out!
I went out on the terrace to soak it up and dry my hair, and presently Steven joined me. Together we looked out across the bay. It was low tide, and people with buckets and boots were spread out across the bare bay bed.
“Are they digging clams?” Steven asked.
“I think so,” I said. “Maybe we should go ask them.”
Steven was a fan of this idea, but unfortunately, at the bottom of the garden was a locked gate with a sign that said “no beach access.” Steven proposed just jumping over it anyway. But I’m not greatly skilled at leaping fences, and instead proposed that we walk down the street to the actual beach access.
So we did, my wet hair still blowing in the wind.
The beach access was just down the street, and after Steven talked to the clam diggers a bit I kicked off my flip flops and we ventured onto the bay. At first it was just the regular beach sand, but then it was soft gray clay between my toes. It reminded me of being in Alaska again, and walking in the clay along the glacial river.
There were tiny living things everywhere, and I carefully avoided stepping on any crabs or sea anemones. We also avoided the kelp forests because they stank, and also, I didn’t relish the thought of walking through them with bare feet. Once we came upon a whole city of tiny, penny-sided sea anemones so close together that we walked around instead of across, and then we found hundreds of tiny piles of some sort of sea poop. Little spirals of gray clay. Perhaps some creatures burrow under the sand, Steven thought, and send their poop upwards.
Coos Bay meets the ocean near a tiny town called Charleston, and the coastline past Charleston is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. It’s full of odd slanted rocks, secluded coves with beaches that are often impossible to access, seals, birds, and overall an abundance of strange and breathtaking geology.
I’ve hiked it probably five times in the last five years, but I still adore it unconditionally. After wandering the paths and peeking into secluded coves for a bit, you’ll suddenly find yourself in the gorgeously manicured gardens of Shore Acres state park. Shore Acres was once owned by a rich man with a mansion and impeccable gardens, but eventually the mansion burned and he sold the land to the state of Oregon to use as a park.
Unfortunately, this year we were a bit too early for the roses. I saw buds, but no blooms. However, we did catch the rhododendrons, explosions of towering color.
(Shore acres also has a path to access one of those hidden cove beaches, but we didn’t go down this time.)
Unfortunately, the burst of sunshine that dried my hair as I walked the empty bay with Steven was the only sun we got all weekend. The Shore Acres hike was cold. And the next day, when we went to Bastendorff Beach before heading home, it was even colder and windier. I piled on clothing, heedless of fashion.
I’ve been to Bastendorff Beach before, but I guess I’ve never walked to the end of it, where the sands meet the cliff. I guess I’ve never climbed on top of the large flattish rock and looked into the tide pools, teeming with sea anemones, starfish, muscles, and barnacles. I guess I’ve never put my ear to the wall of muscles on the south side of the rock, listening to the whistles and snaps of the hidden life within the shells, or peered into the crevices to find the tiny crabs, one with a little barnacle between its beady eyes.
Sea anemones are funny things. Sitting in their pools, spread open like a flower, they are so beautiful. But hanging droopily from the underside of a rock, their tentacles withdrawn and hidden away, they’re unbelievably ugly and unsettling, a slimy greenish mud color.
Of course my first instinct, every time I see one, is to touch their sticky little tentacles and watch them close up.
“Don’t do that!” Jenny said. “You could spread diseases to them!”
She was probably right, but I was very bitter about it. I have formative memories of that shallow pool at the Marine Science center, where sea anemones, sea urchins, and starfish were all fair game to touch with my wee fingers. I’m pretty sure that cemented in my impressionable mind that sea life was safe to touch.
We ate lunch in Charleston, at a seafood shack that was almost a food truck but didn’t have wheels. It smelled delicious, like sea breezes and fried food, and we ate clam chowder and fish and chips while a lame seagull stood around hopefully begging for crumbs.
Earlier, when Steven and I had walked in the clay of the drained bay, we’d had a disagreement about whether or not we’d want to live permanently at the coast. To him, living here would make vacations less special. To me, why would you live in an ugly place if you could instead live in a beautiful place?
Speaking of beautiful places, let me backtrack a bit and talk about The Miracle House (or, I should say, the miracle apartment.)
I feel like I’ve mentioned this quite a bit on my blog, but my family members have spent the last year living either here with my parents or in Ben’s house in Corvallis. It’s been a unique experience, as for the previous ten years or so we were all scattered hither and yon. This trip was meant to be our last hurrah of sorts before Amy moves back to Thailand, and who knows when we’ll all be together again.
In August, Jenny is moving to Blacksburg VA to go to grad school, and I’m planning to move with her.
Now, when I dream of houses I dream of places beautiful and small. I dream of hardwood floors, sunny windows, and quirky arched doorways. I dream of golden morning light, a record spinning on my stereo from the ’80s, tea in hand. It has to be pretty, it has to smell nice, and it can’t be too big or too falling-apart-in-the-corners or else it doesn’t fit into my daydream.
Jenny had dreams too, but instead of windows and floors, she imagined living only a short distance from campus. A brisk walk in the morning breeze, or a few minutes on a bicycle, and voila! She’d be at her building. No more endless commutes. No more hastily-defrosted morning windshields. No more fruitless searches for a parking space.
But daydreams are one thing, reality another. Jenny and I started compromising more and more on our ideals while watching apartment after apartment get snatched up.
We were beginning to feel stressed and desperate. We pawed through pictures of dim places with dirty carpets. Was it worth it to pay the $40 application fee when we might not get it? We don’t really have a choice, do we now? Unless we want that other place that’s $200 over our budget?
It’s just a year lease…we can survive anything for a year, right? And look for something better once we’re there?
We both prayed, but Jenny prayed harder and was rewarded with The Miracle.
It happened like this: During class one morning, she absent-mindedly clicked on the Blacksburg Craigslist tab which was still open in her browser. It automatically refreshed, and Jenny saw that there was a new listing. It had only been posted 2 hours before!!! Jenny texted the owner immediately.
When I woke up she excitedly showed me the pictures. I couldn’t believe it. It was all there…a 2-bedroom apartment with hardwood floors, sunny windows, and quaint arched doorways. It was a mere jaunt from campus. And $200 below our budget!
But would we get it? That was still uncertain. “The landlord is contacting the current tenant, and she’s going to give me a virtual tour,” Jenny said.
“Honestly, at this point I feel like we’d take it sight unseen,” I said.
“Yeah, well, it was sort-of a ‘have you stopped beating your wife yet’ situation because he asked me ‘do you want a virtual tour or an in-person tour?'”
The next day at noon we had our virtual tour, and I was able to fully admire the quaint corner windows and odd closets. I tried not to get my hopes up, because two other potential tenants were in the zoom call with us, but it was hard. Were they ahead of us in line, or behind us? We had no clue.
Immediately after the tour, scared of wasting any time, Jenny started texting the landlord saying we want it if it’s available. Turns out we were technically second in line…that is, someone else had responded to the Craigslist ad before Jenny had. But the landlord had a 1 bedroom he hadn’t listed, and apparently he convinced the person ahead of us to take that one instead.
He did tell us that he wasn’t going to promise it to us without a deposit, and Jenny was like “well, here’s my Venmo, I can pay that right now.” So he requested, and Jenny paid, and it was ours!
Seriously, it was that easy. I mean obviously we signed a lease too, but there were no headaches of applications and proof of income and all that. Jenny just said she was a grad student, and he’d never had any issues with grad students, so that was enough for him.
We’re moving in August. How I’ll miss August in Oregon, but then. If the world burns again this year, I’d rather miss it.
Diana Wynne Jones is my favorite author, but this was not my favorite book of hers. It was missing some of the coziness and cleverness I’ve come to expect. Also, it dealt with time travel. There are always plot holes in time travel stories. Always. It drives me batty. I don’t deal well with plot holes.
But I still liked it. I couldn’t help it. Jones has that sort of power over me.
Nine Stories, by J.D. Salinger
Salinger also has a curious power over me. Reading his work always leaves me profoundly moved.
Well, “always” might be an exaggeration. When I read The Catcher in the Rye I was intrigued by the writing style, but I wasn’t “moved” per se. However, Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction blew my mind. Franny and Zooey didn’t blow my mind, but I was still moved. I don’t know why everyone is so hung up on The Catcher in the Rye when the Glass Family stories are so much more…I don’t even know the correct adjective to use.
I’ve had Nine Stories on my shelf for a while, but I just now got around to reading it. I think I was partly avoiding it because I knew that “A Perfect Day for Bananafish”would deal with Seymour Glass’ suicide, and that can be a very triggering subject for me. However, I must give Salinger credit. I feel like few people who write about suicide actually understand it, and Salinger does. Reading it, I’m convinced that Salinger had PTSD. But it actually makes the story seem very odd and arbitrary.
I enjoyed most of the stories, particularly “Just before the War with the Eskimos” and “For Esme—With Love and Squalor.” I was indifferent to a few of them.
I started reading “Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes” and immediately thought, “wait…I’ve read this before!” Ah yes. My handsome hipster writing professor who was too cool to watch Star Wars. He made us read this story. It was just the sort of story that writing professors make you read…lots of selfish people being selfish in a literary way with no point at all. Needless to say, it was not my favorite of the bunch.
But the only one I actively disliked was the last one, “Teddy.” I’m sure a writing professor would tell me it was actually the best story in the book, and while I can recognize the technical skill that went into creating such an unsettling but inevitable ending, there was no heart or redemption or human nature or anything good in it. I’m sorry. I hated it.
Still, I cannot properly express the way that most of Salinger’s writing, particularly his Glass family stories, make me feel. I think the Glass family reminds me of my family.
Pumpkinheads, by Rainbow Rowell
I don’t have much to say about this one. It’s a graphic novel about two teenagers who are working at a pumpkin patch for the last time before they go off to college. It’s cute and fun. The end.
Fablehaven, by Brandon Mull
This is a book I ended up with after the new librarian wouldn’t let me browse in peace. LOL. I’m happy to get book recommendations, but does anyone else feel a bit weird when the librarian seems a bit too invested in your reading choices?
Anyway. This was a fairly typical middle grade fantasy. A couple kids visit their grandparents and find out that, surprise! They’re actually running a haven for fairy tale creatures. It was an okay read, but Mull is no Diana Wynne Jones. His stories for kids are actually stories for kids, not stories for adults with big imaginations.
Two Years in the Forbidden City, by Princess Der Ling
I don’t know a lot about Chinese history, and every time I think I’d like to know a little more I immediately get a headache when I realize how impossibly vast it is. But I’ve had this memoir on my shelf for a while, and I finally decided to read it.
Still, I had to get a bit of historical background before I could even make sense of it. And this is what I learned:
China used to be run by emperors and/or empresses. In 1912 China became a republic, but of course that ended with Mao’s communist revolution. There’s a lot of complicated history surrounding all that, but this book is about the woman who was essentially the last empress of China, Empress Dowager Cixi.
Princess Der Ling, the author of the book, was a Chinese woman who received a western education in France. When her family returned to China, the Empress Dowager Cixi asked her to be a lady-in-waiting, so in 1905 she moved to the palace and lived there for two years. But in 1907 she left that lady-in-waiting life to marry an American.
I had a hard time understanding the whole Chinese emperor system, but here’s what I gathered: it seems like, I guess since men were expected to respect their mothers so much, that the emperor’s mother had a lot of power in the system. Cixi married the emperor of China, and then when he died, her son became emperor, but she still had a lot of power.
Then, when her son died, she decided that her nephew should be emperor. So she basically adopted him and made him the emperor, but later staged a coup, took all the power for herself, and made her nephew the emperor in name only.
Both Cixi and her nephew died in 1908. It’s a bit sus, because he was poisoned the day before she died. A random two-year-old from somewhere in the family was chosen to be the new emperor, but that only lasted for four years before the monarchy was abolished.
Anyway. When Cixi died, she was widely regarded as a pretty evil person. And Princess Der Ling was like, “I knew Cixi personally, and she was awesome!” so she wrote a memoir about her time as lady-in-waiting, hoping to set the record straight.
Not gonna lie, she did a pretty bad job at making Cixi seem like a good person. But whatever.
The memoir was interesting, but in the way that a Wikipedia article is interesting. I have never in my life read about such opulence. Der Ling was obsessed with detailing Cixi’s gowns, jewels, everything, and it’s mind blowing. Like, once they were going to go on a 4-day trip, and the servants were like, “let’s bring 50 dresses for Cixi, just so that she has plenty of options.” And of course these dresses are all hand-embroidered silk masterpieces.
Or once, Cixi was wearing a cape made from perfect pearls the size of canary eggs.
And the palace. I mean, just google “forbidden city” to get an idea of the size of Chinese palaces. They essentially were cities. And there were several of them that they’d go back and forth between.
But the hardest thing to read about was the eunuch system. The whole palace was staffed with eunuchs, and they were essentially slaves. It was an extra cruel type of slavery, not only because these men were castrated, but also because there was no life for them outside the palace. And Princess Der Ling was so casually cruel when she talked about them. They were ungrateful and lazy, she said, and deserved their frequent and severe beatings.
Goodness though, Der Ling is one of the most unlikeable memorists I’ve ever read, constantly bragging about how she was Cixi’s favorite. Also, there’s no plot to the book whatsoever. And Der Ling was weirdly obsessed with the most minute details of Cixi’s insane wealth.
At the beginning, it was so plotless that I couldn’t figure out how Der Ling would find a book’s worth of material to write about. Then I found her Wikipedia page and realized that she went on to write seven! more! books! about this stupidly short period of her life. I…how?
Yeah, I’m not gonna read any more of her work. But I’m glad I read this one. It had interesting information even if it was delivered in a boring, self-righteous, cruel way.
I also recently read through the Lord of the Rings books, as well as Humphrey Carpenter’s biography of Tolkien. But I have so many thoughts about that, it will have to come in a future blog post.
I’ve had an epic April Fools prank idea festering in my mind for years.
The idea stemmed from the mysterious way in which clothing items suddenly disappear or randomly show up again every time you do laundry. Sometimes you find things you’ve never seen before in your life.
One day—I believe it was three years ago, just after April Fools had passed—I noticed how easily one could hide a sock in the drier, on one of those little shelves that spin round. And I thought, wouldn’t it be funny to buy a bunch of outlandish green socks, hide them in the drier one by one, and drive my family slowly bonkers?
Well, when the next April Fools Day rolled around I was living far from home. Then last year, the pandemic suddenly descended upon us and I wasn’t sure where to acquire green socks in the middle of lockdown. For some reason I was convinced that they had to be green. Green, to me, seemed the perfect balance of very odd, but not a gendered color, or overly cartoonish.
(I should note, however, that on my podcast with Jenny I mentioned that I had a prank I’d been saving up for some time. This is the prank I was referring to.)
This year I was determined to finally pull it off, and so I planned ahead. I found a non-Amazon clothing website (we all share a Prime account) that sold green socks, and I bought five pairs, plus a few clothing items for myself and a birthday gift for Jenny. (Yep, I was aiming for that free shipping.) I ordered everything way in advance in case shipping took forever. And I didn’t let anyone watch me open the package because “some of it is gifts.”
Five pairs. Ten green socks in total, hidden away behind the bookshelf in my closet.
Then my plans began to unravel slightly. The joke is funnier when many people are using the same laundry facilities, but Matt and Phoebe left in March for an extended trip. Then Mom took a trip to California that extended over April Fools day.
Furthermore, I realized that there was no way to securely tie the joke to April 1. What if no one did laundry that day? And even if they did, I had ten socks to distribute. How could I possibly distribute ten socks in one day?
In this way, my vision for the prank morphed from being an April First Prank to being a Month Of April Prank. I waited until Mom got back, and I considered waiting until Matt and Phoebe got back too until I realized they weren’t coming back until May.
I planted my first sock on Monday, April 19. My idea was to stick a new sock in the drier every Monday and Friday. I’d chosen a good day to start, because we’d had guests over the weekend, further expanding the pool of who a random green sock might belong to.
But then, the anticipation started. My palms started to sweat whenever I saw someone folding laundry. Would they find the green sock? How would they react?
I should add that I had a whole plan for how to pull this prank without lying. I decided that when I put the sock in the drier, I was officially gifting it to whoever happened to find it. So when asked “is this your sock?” I could confidently say “no.”
But day after day passed, and no one seemed to find it. On Thursday, I was in my room completely lost in my own thoughts, when Amy knocked on my bedroom door. “Come in,” I said, and she opened the door and held up the sock.
“Do you have green socks?” she asked.
I was caught off guard. I’d so carefully crafted my response to “is this your sock,” but I was absolutely unprepared for “do you have green socks.” Because I did have green socks. Nine of them, in fact, behind the bookshelf in my closet.
But I needed a quick response, and I blurted out, “No, do you have green socks?”
“No,” said Amy, and she moved on without an ounce of suspicion.
I couldn’t believe I’d just straight-up lied. I never lie. I can only remember one other time in my life that I’ve told a bald-faced lie like that, when I was four years old. (Incidentally, that lie was also about socks.)
The next day I was cleaning my room, and I returned some books I’d borrowed from Amy. “That’s so weird about the green sock,” she said, as I stuck The Return of the King back on her bookshelf. “I called Alyssa, and she said it wasn’t hers either.”
“Weird!” I said, trying hard not to giggle. (Alyssa was her weekend guest.)
I was headed out on a quick overnight trip, and as I grabbed some snacks for the drive I saw that the green sock had been placed in the enamel bowl on the kitchen desk where we put mail and eggs.
I was just about ready to leave, but since it was Friday I wanted to quickly put another sock in the drier before I left. Unfortunately, the drier was full of Amy’s laundry. I wanted someone else to find a sock this time, so I buried it in a basket full of gray sheets that I was pretty sure belonged to Mom. And then I dashed out the door and zoomed away.
When I returned the next day, I peeped into the enamel bowl. There was a second sock now, this one stained slightly gray.
On Monday I put a third sock in the drier. I had a vague intention of doing my own laundry that day. I thought if the sock ended up in my laundry, that would make me seem less suspicious. But then I was busy doing other things, and after a while I heard the drier whirring. And the next day, when I looked in the enamel bowl, there was a third sock, stark and green.
Later, I was making tea when Mom walked into the kitchen. “did you hear that I found a third sock!?” she asked.
“What?” I exclaimed, trying to sound surprised.
“Yes! I washed a load of sheets, and fluffed them in the drier, and hung them out to dry, and brought them in again, and as I was bringing them inside a green sock fell out!!”
I tried to act appropriately weirded out, but I wasn’t sure what to say, so I asked if they could possibly be Dad’s socks. Mom held one up, small and neon green, and gave me the weirdest look. “Okay, never mind,” I said.
Then I took my tea upstairs and died with silent laughter. The most hilarious thing to me was that even though Mom was completely weirded out, she still didn’t seem remotely suspicious of me.
However, I started to realize that three socks was pushing the limit of the prank. Furthermore, April was almost over. I wanted to make it very obvious that the green socks were a prank, and I wanted Mom, Amy, and Jenny to figure it out at the same time.
So this was my plan: I’d stay up later than everyone else on Wednesday, and hide the socks in random weird places where hopefully, they’d be found before I got up in the morning. I had seven socks left, and this was my initial list of hiding places:
In the dishwasher
In Amy’s lunch box
In Jenny’s mug
In Mom’s laptop
In the fridge with the limes
In the chicken coop under a chicken
I can’t quite think of a 7’th place
I was dubious about the limes, because I kind-of wanted them all to be discovered before I woke up, and who would reach for limes in the morning? So finally I decided to skip that idea. Instead, I’d wander downstairs in the morning wearing the last two green socks.
So Wednesday night I stayed up late and sneaked around planting socks in weird places. I couldn’t find Mom’s laptop, so I put a sock in her planner. I went out to the chicken shed and put a sock in a chicken nest. I stuck a sock in the dishwasher, and another inside Amy’s lunch box.
My most devious trick was with Jenny’s mug. We have a mug cupboard in the kitchen, but in the pantry by the coffee maker is a mug rack where Jenny likes to keep her favorite mugs. I swiped all of them but one and re-homed them in the mug cupboard. Then I rolled up the sock and placed it in the one mug left on the rack. Hopefully, that would induce Jenny to pick up this specific mug for her morning coffee.
Then I went to bed.
The next morning around 8:30 I got up, put on the last pair of green socks, and went into the kitchen. At first I was alone, but I guess Mom heard me get up because she came in very shortly. “It was YOU!!!!” she said the moment she saw me.
I laughed and gestured to my green-clad feet. “April fools!” I said.
Later, I could tell exactly when Jenny’s class let out because I heard her feet approaching my door. I made sure my stocking feet were very visible. She opened the door, all wound up to make an accusation, and then she saw my feet and burst out laughing.
Amy had already left for work, but from Mom and Jenny I was able to piece together how the morning had gone.
Jenny had come downstairs to get coffee and, seeing that there was only one mug in the rack thought, “welp, I guess I’ll have to use this mug that doesn’t microwave well.” So she picked it up and…what the bunnyslipper is this sock doing here?
Jenny’s immediate assumption was that Mom had taken one of the green socks from the enamel bowl and stuck it in her mug as a prank. But when Mom came along and Jenny showed her the sock, Mom was completely baffled. She whipped out her phone and sent a message to the group chat.
Amy came along then, and Mom accused her of pulling the prank. Of course Amy declared up and down that it wasn’t her, but Mom thought she was acting weird, and didn’t fully believe her.
Then Amy started to pack her lunch and…here was a green sock in her lunch box!
Then, just as they were collectively concluding that I was the culprit, Amy opened the dishwasher and there was another sock! Gales of laughter all around.
In that way the prank went exactly as I’d hoped it would. The added bonus, of course, was the way they all accused each other. That was completely unplanned by me, LOL.
My only regret is that Mom didn’t find the ones I’d hidden specifically for her. I spoiled the planner one by asking if she’d found it, assuming she had, when she actually hadn’t. That one was whatever, but my true disappointment was the chicken shed one. I’d taken great delight in the thought of Mom reaching under a chicken, feeling around for a warm egg, and finding a green sock. I was unaware that Dad has taken over the morning chicken duties. He found the sock of course, but was unfazed. “My girls must have put it there for some reason,” he thought.
Overall though, I’d say my sock prank was a success. The funniest part to me was the way Amy and Mom talked to me about finding these socks. Even though the socks were a completely outlandish green, something none of us would ever wear, neither of them remotely suspected that this was a prank until I started putting socks in mugs and such. So I had lots of delightful moments giggling to myself and my diary.
You may feel free to steal this prank and perform it on your own family. Or you can take it to the next level and sneak into someone else’s house to leave socks in their drier. Tee hee.
Hey Readers! Here is my most recent video, where I made a floor chair to conserve space in my tiny room. I actually finished it a while ago, only I never got around to taking a thumbnail photo until today. Hence why I’m suddenly dressed for much warmer weather in my thumbnail than in the actual video, haha.