The three books on my bedside table

Here’s what’s been lingering around my bedside table over the last month. Click the book cover for the link to Amazon for more info.

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls.

This one was a gift from my best friend when she came out to visit about a month back. She is head of the English department where she teaches, and so gets to read a LOT of books to evaluate for use in class. Thus, she’s got really great taste in books. This one was a winner!

The author, Ms. Walls is a freelance writer and sometime contributor to CNN. She writes her real life story in what can only be the definition of non-fiction that reads like fiction. She’s got an amazing writing style and an even more amazing story to tell.

She and her siblings were brought up by nomadic, and in the case of her dad, alcoholic, but well meaning parents. It was an early life raised mostly in poverty and marked by drifting from town to down, or “doing the skedaddle,” when things get tight. There’s also a theme of outrageous parenting decisions.

Ms. Walls has an amazing ability to tell the story with non-judgment and even respect for her parents, who she comes to see almost as children through her adult eyes by the end of the book.

It is a can’t put down read. And if you *ever* thought you might have had some, erm, oddities, in your own growing up. Well. This will put all of that right into perspective. It’s almost unbelievable, it’s so outlandish.

__________________________________

As They See ‘Em: – A Fan’s Travel in the Land of Umpires by Bruce Weber

The Good Man had heard the author, Bruce Weber, on NPR, and talked about the interview and this book’s concept very excitedly.

TGM and I are both huge baseball fans, and this was a little understood aspect of the game for us.

The concept is that Weber, a baseball fan, and a reporter for the New York Times, was sent to umpire school in order to write a story for the paper. That set off a much larger odyssey to discover what really goes on in the land of professional umpires.

You get two aspects in this book, one, Weber’s own struggle with learning the aspects of umpiring, such as stance, where to go on what plays, how to call a strike, how to yank your mask off without upsetting your hat, and always, always keeping command of the game.

The other aspect was talking to actual big league veteran umpires. Hearing their stories, talking about their history, the big threatened ump walkout in 1999 that adversely affected plenty of men, and so on.

I found this book hard going through a lot of it. Though I loved the concept, I thought Weber labored the point an awful lot. I get it. Umps are the goats of the game. No one likes them. They are treated crappy. When they do their job right, they are ignored, and when they make a mistake, they are yelled at, name called and in some cases physically threatened.

But, to be fair, I also learned a lot from this book. I watch the umps a little more closely now to see how they do their job and I give them quite a bit more leeway in making tough calls in a game.

It was sort of strange timing, but just as I was reading this book, I witnessed three of the worst umpired games I’ve ever seen in the many, many years I’ve been watching baseball. There were egregious bad calls, and try as I could, with a new outlook from reading Weber’s book, I couldn’t accept the terrible calls.

But, as Weber is quick to point out, those kind of situations are not the norm, and truly, umps are the metronome that keeps baseball playing in perfect rhythm.

An essential part of the game.

__________________________________

And currently, I’m about halfway into a Michael Crichton book called Timeline.

I haven’t read a Crichton in quite a while and I always did love his style.

Ok, to be fair, this isn’t great American literature. This is a good, easy summer read. The first 100 pages were deadly boring, but as Crichton always does, soon after, he hooked me right in.

And now, I’m in for the ride. I don’t care of his explanations are based on shaky science, I’m BOUGHT in baby!

This is a classic time travel book. A group of research assistants are sent back to Medieval times to rescue their professor who’s gotten himself stuck back there. Only, the home base necessary to get them back home, the evil labs that sent them, has just experienced a massive explosion.

This book has the added bonus that the evil labs, makers of the time travel devices are located in…wait for it….New Mexico! Over by Gallup.

So okay!

TGM read this book on the plane when we traveled in May, and I read snippets over his shoulder, so I’m happy to dive in. So far, so good.

There you go, that’s what I’m up to.

What are you reading these days?

That’s improbable!

While getting ready for work this morning, The Feline was busting my chops. She likes to do this, especially when I’m tired and groggy at oh-dark-thirty in the morning.

Sometimes I humor the animal (or, er, myself) and have a “conversation.” It goes something like this:
_______________

Feline: Meow!

Me: What’s that you say?

Feline: Meow!

Me: Constantinople? Really?

Feline: Meeeow!

Me: Met at the bazaar? You know, they don’t even call it Constantinople any more. You’re so old fashioned.

Feline: Meow!
_______________

That is but one example.

So this morning, The Feline and I engaged in another of our lengthy conversations. Here’s the rough transcript:

_______________

Feline: MEOW!

Me: Had a bad dream, huh? Sorry to hear it.

Feline: Meow

Me: Maybe you should try cutting the kibble ration and sleeping less?

Feline: Meow!

Me: That’s interesting. You know they say a dream about eating fish means many conflicting things. Could be attachment issues.

Feline: Meow!
_______________

It was then that I thought to myself, “Hey, I could do that whole Pet Psychic routine. This is easy!”

Why did my brain drift over to “Pet Psychic?”

I’ll tell you why.

Recently, I pitched a literary agent about my latest work. Last week, I got feedback from the agent. He said (in not so many words) that a main plot point of my story wasn’t entirely plausible.

I found that odd, since that plot point was something that had actually happened in my life (“write what you know!”).

But ok, I took his very professional feedback to heart (maybe too much to heart, if you were to ask The Good Man).

With that in mind, I went to the library to check out items in the “new fiction” section to see what IS plausible enough to get published these days.

That’s where I found this gem.

“Pet psychic, radio host, four-time widow, and dedicated rescuer of distressed animals, Mary Catherine rushes in to help a turtle stranded in a house, only to stumble over a body. With the rescued turtle as the only witness, MC works with the initially skeptical police to discover the real murderer.”

Unh huh. So a pet psychic getting the eyewitness account from a turtle IS plausible enough to be published?

Ooookaaay.

And the clincher from the book jacket:

“Includes recipes for pet treats!”

Well there you have it.

The Feline remains non-plussed.

Whoa, I didn’t know…

The upcoming film “Hotel for Dogs” was a book penned by none other than New Mexico’s own Lois Duncan. As a kid, I loved many of Ms. Duncan’s books.

I understand that the hype from the film has given new life to her writing career that went a bit off track after the brutal unsolved killing of her 20 year old daughter.

Back in the day, my mom used to take us kids swimming on a hot summer day to the Coronado Club on Kirtland Air Force base. Occasionally we’d see Ms. Duncan there (I believe her husband worked for Sandia Labs).

That was back in the days when mommies stayed at home and would take the kiddies to the pool and we would meet daddies after work for dinner. It may do my mom’s heart good to know that I have incredibly fond memories of those days.

And that fondness includes Lois Duncan. I’m happy to see her back in the show.

This was all brought to the front of my mind by a great article written by Joline Gutierrez Krueger for the ABQjournal:

“Real-Life Tragedy Almost Derails ‘Hotel for Dogs’ Author’s Career”

Thoughts from a westbound plane

I’m aware that since I’m in “airplane mode” that by the time I actually manage to get this posted, I’ll no longer be ON a plane, simply working my new six-day life as an island girl.

That said, as of right now, the moment my fingers fly across the keys of my battered MacBook, I have a lot of thoughts about this exceedingly westbound plane.

First. Looking out the window is boring.

We’re flying so freaking high that all I can see are clouds. And I know that if I didn’t see clouds, I’d see only ocean. A lot of ocean.

I think I’d rather see clouds. If I consider the vast miles of ocean, and me up here in a sardine can with wings, I might go a little buggy. Since this here flight is due to last some five hours, that’s a LOT of spare time in which to go buggy.

So I’ll refrain.

Next.

When did the airlines start cheaping out so much? Remember when you’d receive packets of snacks for no charge? And headphones too so you could watch the movie as you slide down the window shade and try to imagine the patchwork quilty American Midwest below your feet instead of vast chilly salty waters?

Remember when you didn’t have to have a credit card so you could check your luggage?

Remember when the flight attendants and crew were actually nice?

Remember when people used to dress up to travel?

Ah. Memories of a bygone era.

My white-haired Irish grandmother in a fur collared overcoat and perfect lipstick descending the metal stairs from a plane parked outside the Albuquerque International Airport. Impossibly glamorous to a sun browned hick kid from the desert.

It left a lasting impression.

On to the next thoughts…I get it that I’m going to a tourist destination. Sure. But the abject marketing of product at every turn is a bit more than I can take.

Sure, money makes the world go round. But it’s also what got my ass elevated to 35,000 feet. I’ve paid my dues already. Haven’t I?

As they play this “Hawai’ian Skies” video highlighting all the charms of my destination, they keep pausing to play Hawaiian Airlines ads. I give. You got me. I’m here. You have my money. I don’t. Quit marketing to me!

Oh no, but there’s a Hilo Hattie coupon on my food tray, an on-flight magazine chock-a-block full of “Buy this! See this! Do this! Only this many dollars!”

Dude. Mr. Jones took most of my money. I’m doin’ what I can already!

Next thought.

When I sat down, there was this young punk looking kid at the other end of the row. Like straight outta Compton-wannabe-ville. You know the type. Hat turned, thick gold-plated zirconium bling, chest bowed out fussin’ and fumin’.

I thought “oh geez…five hours with this?”

Until across the aisle plopped down a mom and a dad.

How hard must it be to represent when mommy and daddy just bought you a turkey sandwich so little Johnny won’t be hungry?

Whatevs.

Click, click…what next?

Here’s a thought. If you are *going* to Hawaii and while on the plane you are wearing a tee shirt that *says* Hawaii…then I’m pretty sure you are a tourist.

I’m just sayin’.

The guy pulling this stunt is huge and sort of angry looking. So I won’t say.

But I’ll think it. Ooooh I’ll think it real good.

One woman is also already wearing coconut smelling lotion or sunscreen or something. She smells like the swimming pool at the Dunes in Vegas, and not in a good way (The Dunes, RIP, you were a fabulous schlocky hotel).

Can ya wait to get there to put that crap on? Evidently no.

Next!

I read a pretty interesting article in the in flight magazine about a guy who grows avocados in Hawaii. Evidently these local avocados are delightful.

The article mentioned that your traditional California Hass avocado is about 8% fat and the Hawaiian avocado is more like 25% fat.

The grower said, “it’s like eating butter.”

Where can I sign up?

Evidently most groceries in Hawaii ship in California Hass. You can’t get the local stuff (it’s looked down upon, oddly).

Maybe there will be a farmer’s market nearby? The grower mentioned in the article lives near where I’m headed.

Journey to a Good Avocado.

Now THAT is worth the trip.

Next thought.

Hawaiian words. Will I be expected to know them and use them?

Will I be branded a moron for not knowing the vernacular?

Mele Kaliki Maka is about my limit. Thanks Bing for putting that one into my brain. I imagine saying Merry Christmas to the locals won’t put me in any good stead.

Mahalo. I can probably work that one.

But what about aloha? When does one use that? It’s sort of a one size fits all word. Is there ever a wrong time to use it? Will I whip out an aloha and get frowny eyes in return?

Is it like when the pimply web designer at work tries to talk Spanish to the girl who makes espresso drinks? She tolerates him mangling her native tongue because, why bother correcting him, really.

What’s the right way not to insult locals? To attempt the language or to refrain?

It is to wonder.

Next.

Well. I’m only two hours into this flight. Not even half way. My right leg is already bouncing and I’m itching to stand.

Have I mentioned I actually dislike flights that go more than a couple hours? When I went to New York, I was so worried about my buggy feelings that I packed an art project to keep me busy. Worked pretty well, actually. My seat mate wasn’t too impressed with my cross-stitch craftsmanship, but what’s a cranky businessman got to do with it?

I brought along a book. After hearing, well, EVERYONE talking about this young adult series “Twilight“, I thought I’d give it a whirl.

I’m a veteran of the “young adult” genre, Harry Potter, Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” series (from which the movie “The Golden Compass” was born), and more.

All the ladies of about my age range are twittering about “Twilight”. A vampire love story, I believe.

It’s a thick tome, some 481 pages. I thought that would be sufficient to fascinate me for five hours.

And if that worked, I wouldn’t be writing this, now would I?

Final thought.

I have to pee.

Man I hate peeing on an airplane.

I can hold it for three hours or I can just cowboy up and get ‘er done.

Not the most erudite way to end this missive.

Ah well. I’ll try to be a little classier when I descend from this plane in Honolulu, channeling my Irish grandma and pretending I’m actually a grownup.

Mahalo, aloha and Mele Kaliki Maka to everyone!

This just in…I have wrongly accused the coconut smelling woman. Turns out it’s the soap in the bathroom. Great…now the whole plane smells like the swimming pool at the Dunes. Ugh.

A sad loss.

Tony Hillerman passed on Sunday.

A good man, a good New Mexican and a terrific crafter of stories leaves behind a profound body of work.

He will be missed.

Photo and story source.