Karl & I Have A Question Or Two

"Where do I find the time for not reading so many books?" - Karl Kraus

Here's my small "d" dilemma. I liked "The Gathering" (2007) by Anne Enright enough to read more by this prodigiously talented author. But my list of authors to read again is so out of control. How do I prioritize? How many authors are on your list? How do you prioritize? Help!

My dilemma has lately produced an odd side effect. When encountering authors with simply serviceable craft, a kind of perverse relief ensues as I recognize their back catalog - or future work - is not going on that ever-swelling list of mine. Before you recommend medication for me, first examine your own line of thought when you finish a book and say "meh". After your initial annoyance having wasted your time, aren't you even a little relieved you can scratch that author from your list?

After deciding several years ago to base any future I might have with authors by using my last experience with their work as the sole judge of that future - whether it was my first or tenth exposure to that particular author - I really thought my list would start becoming more manageable. But books like "The Gathering" keep appearing, written by authors new to me. And old favorites like Anne Tyler and new favorites like Jennifer Egan keep not letting me down. Darn it, anyway.

A Grateful Adult Child

For those of you who have or had parents as reliable as mine, when did you last reflect on how much that one factor contributes to good mental health?

Although the unfailing reliability of my parents is rarely completely off my radar, this critical trait of theirs often seems to come into sharper focus when my daughter and I reminisce about her early years. When she speaks of how her mother and I were where we were supposed to be - at the time she expected us - it's easy for me to recall the stability and predictability my parents provided during my childhood; I always felt safe. Feeling safe as a child - the most vulnerable time of life - has no down side. If your parents were consistent like mine, i.e. you shared my childhood experience of feeling safe, I hope you're grateful.

But before allowing yourself to treat the reliability of your parents as a given, consider an alternative. Observe the walking wounded among us. Listen carefully as they speak. Encountering broken people and hearing their childhood stories is a humbling reminder of how fragile the edifice of good mental health really is. As a parent, I'm heartened by those conversations with my daughter. And as a sixty six year old child, those same conversations refresh my gratitude for my parents, again.

Merchants Of Doubt

Although I'm not sure how widely available it is, "Merchants Of Doubt" - a documentary about how climate change denial is funded in the U.S. - is a film begging to be seen. When you locate it, be prepared for the sober, if vitally important, central message.

The movie expertly depicts the way special interests trying to delay meaningful political action around climate change are using the tobacco industry playbook. Those highly effective techniques - like paying a few rogue "scientists" to obfuscate and ensuring their mercenary views are endlessly repeated on talk radio - are identical to what cigarette companies did to delay government action on products they knew were lethal. Meanwhile, big energy is exploiting the very same climate change they deny is happening. To cite just one egregious example used in the film, Exxon is counting on melting polar ice to facilitate future exploration for oil.

We were the first country to put a man on the moon. Imagine how well we could lead the world if we put resources behind this critical issue. Instead, we're the only country in the world denying there is an issue as real scientists and concerned people are forced to devote energy fighting well funded merchants of doubt.  

The Thrill Is Never Gone

"Old musicians never die - they just go from bar to bar."

It probably started when I came across the unused coffee mug my sister gave me years ago with that painful pun. Later that day, soon after noticing the 1928 copyright of "Ain't Misbehavin" - a Fats Waller tune I'd been memorizing - I inexplicably flashed to an obscure band called McKendree Spring that I'd loved during my undergraduate years. What are those guys up to? Are any of them still playing music?

http://www.franmckendree.com/

As his easily located website indicates, Fran McKendree is still at it - and worth listening to - 47 years later. No surprise, given his talent. Though I didn't research the subsequent careers of his three bandmates, it would surprise me only if I learned they were not still musically active.  In my experience, giving up playing music - no matter the level of notoriety - is a source of regret for anyone who does so. Pay attention to the age of jazz musicians mentioned in the media. Eighty and older is not at all uncommon. And though economics is a partial explanation, the buzz I get playing - even alone and frustrated - tells me much more is at work.

I go from bar to bar, I delight in learning ninety year old songs, I re-discover a musician from almost half a century earlier. What gives you a similar thrill?

"If there were no music, then I would not get through": Shawn Colvin from "I Don't Know Why"        

Cue The Eerie Music +

Some coincidences are a little spooky.

After finishing Kent Haruf's final novel "Our Souls At Night" (2015) yesterday, I didn't have time to write an entry in my book journal before leaving to teach. While driving, Haruf's simple story and sparsely powerful prose had me reflecting on a "A Lesson Before Dying", a 1993 masterpiece by Ernest Gaines. The two books are as different in subject matter as they are alike in their quiet intensity. And the more I thought about them, the more fused they felt in my brain. Late last night, my wife arrived home from a business trip around the same time as I. We caught up before retiring for the day.

With the snow keeping me from my usual Friday a.m. volunteering commitment, I began writing my book journal entry about "Our Souls At Night" but found myself distracted by an idea for a blog post. Although I do so irregularly, today I decided to read my February 5 blog posts from three and four years ago before using that other idea.

 http://reflectionsfromthebellcurve.blogspot.com/2013/02/words-on-page.html

Cue the eerie music. Also: Put both these books on your "to read" list and then get back to me.

The Nest

Of the instincts I lack, nesting probably tops the list. This becomes most clear when I spend time alone for several days and notice the ways my wife has made our home inviting. Conventional wisdom - a polite substitute for stereotyping - might say this instinct is often missing in men. Is that consistent with your experience?

I clearly recollect my early adult years when my Mother would visit my apartments and complain there was no comfortable place to sit. Although she was right, somehow I'd forget until she next visited. Some combination of insensitivity, immaturity and little extra cash likely contributed to my dearth of furniture back then. But reflecting on how infrequently the comfort or appeal of my surroundings has ever crossed my mind over the ensuing forty five years, I'm forced to consider there may be something else at work.

Almost without exception, the rugs my wife picks, the art she chooses, the little touches she selects to adorn each room all make me happy - when I'm mindful. And my gratitude for those things helps erase the dreadful mental picture I get imagining what a nest of my own making would look like.

Over And Over

Considering how many people outside of Punxsutawney ever pay attention, does it strike anyone else as odd that of all the movies ever made about holidays few have come close to being as good as "Groundhog Day?"  What would be your nomination for a holiday film that is the equal of Harold Ramis' goofy 1993 masterpiece?

Although I'm not a big Bill Murray fan, "Groundhog Day" is on the short list of films I've watched more than once. Of the several priceless bits in the movie, my favorite is probably Sonny & Cher warbling "I Got You Babe" on the clock radio that awakens Murray's character as he endlessly repeats February 2nd - brilliant choice. What alternative song would you pick as a way to aurally depict a nightmare you can't escape? My top nomination would be one of those treacly ballads Michael Bolton screamed during his brief but painful popularity, closely followed by anything from the repertoire of I-get-paid-by-the-note Kenny G.

Musical snarkiness aside, which bit from this modern-day cinema classic plays over and over in your mind? And, if you were able to repeat a single day from your life which one would you choose?

Thank You For Getting Me

"The Short And Tragic Life Of Robert Peace" (2014) by Jeff Hobbs is profoundly sad and powerfully written. But though the author does an admirable and even-handed job paying tribute to a "brilliant young man who left Newark for the Ivy League", the ending - telegraphed by the title - makes recommending the book to others problematic. This is not a book you enjoy. But it is one that I feel deserves to be read.

Aside from the author's skill telling the story and the familiar locales  - Robert Peace grew up and died in Orange, NJ, a city bordering my childhood hometown - the fact that my oldest niece, who read the book first then gave it to me as a gift, is probably what will most remain with me. It's deeply gratifying that my niece gets me well enough to know Peace's life story would move me. What was the last book given or recommended to you that gave you a similar feeling. i.e. the person who suggested or gave it to you had a clue who you are?

Or, when was the last time the opposite thing happened? That is, someone recommends you read a book - particularly if it's non-fiction - and after finishing it you wondered - Does this person get me at all?