Those of you have read my last couple of blogs may recall that reading has again become a lovely bit of me time. I am having so much fun at the moment, going back in forth between reading for knowledge and growth or reading for escapism. After finishing that wonderful but distressing biography of Henrietta Lacks and the HeLa cells I had decided to see what was popular on the fiction list.
There was much written in media about the 50 Shades of Grey books. Erotica is not a genre I have spent considerable time in. I have not shied away, there have been a few books that have made their way into my reading pile. To some degree erotica can be light as fluff. The conscience mind expects titillation, perhaps increasing the vividness of ones imagination during sex. I am pretty sure that a majority of people do not read erotica to learn empathy. (There are studies being done to determine if reading fiction is purely an escape or if we can learn something. Some of the findings theorize that when we are young and get to read fiction it helps to shape our empathy and may play a part in the development of our emotional intelligence. So far, however, as we get older it seems to be more geared to escapism. That is not to say that does not have it share of benefits, stress relief being a very important one.) I am quite sure that most of us who indulge in these steamy tales are taking a peek at our more awakened and adventurous self and taking a little ride, create a little balance.
Creating a balance. How you may ask? These books are aimed at middle age white women. There are many of us. Are we all secretly harboring fantasies of being submissive? Restrained? Humiliated? Or are we working through how we feel in our everyday lives by a fantasy that offers an ultimate release, where our real lives might not? Are there that many of us that are feeling the need to spice up the bedroom play and need some inspiration? (Apparently the sale of gray ties has gone up considerably since the release of the book) Am I spending too much time contemplating? Perhaps.
Before I bought it. I asked around to find friends who had read it. A few ponied up and said they had. Then it divided into two very distinct camps. Those who loved it for the slippery piece of pulp that it is and others who thought the sex and, if you will, the erotic scenes in the book were fine but the rest of it was distracting in it's poor writing. Again here let me tell you, kind reader, that I went ahead and bought it anyway as I am apparently the target audience. (Ouch! that middle age thing hurt. But who am I kidding I am hurtling towards forty as you read this.)
In my estimation it is not literary genius by any stretch. The language feels very juvenile. The descriptions seem limited. There has to be more than three ways to describe an orgasm. The submission and sexual parts- I shall leave that up to you to decide. Ones taste for what goes on behind the bedroom door (or even just in your fantasy life) are highly personal and revealing. Some of you may find the book highly charged, others will me mortified.
Alas I am now on the hunt for the next book to conquer. Perhaps something to make me look a little farther inward. She says with a smile.........
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Saturday, August 11, 2012
The smallest piece
On my quest to have a well rounded life I have gone back to reading books for pleasure. Since my daughter was born, there have been very few times I let myself escape into a book. My life B.C. (before child) was filled with time for devouring books. Along with the below mentioned categories I would frequently get lost in fiction.
It is not that I haven't flexed my reading muscle in 3.5 years, but it has mostly been books that are non fiction, focused on family, well being and career, dry very dry. The occasional magazine would appear, I always aspire to buy ones with quality writing. Vanity Fair is a favorite as is Ascent (sadly that one is no more). And sometimes the empty calorie laden rags that are US and People make an appearance. Never the lower level of tabloid (mind you back when I was younger I loved buying the Weekly World News, it was pure entertainment, sincere in its' outlandishness.) These appear when I do not have the stamina to commit to a book. Which has been the issue as of late, and for much longer than I'd like to admit.
Some how I had gotten it stuck in my head that spending time reading something to get lost in seemed like a waste of time. The tizzy I had myself in, trying to be all things - learned, organized, zen. Unfortunately for me after a while this fervent drive made me reluctant to commit to reading books, all books. I also began to feel a little out of sorts.
I have come to realize that reading for fun is not a waste of time, it helps to create space for me. Investing time into another characters' life, it can give insight into our own behaviors and motivations. It takes us out of our own heads, allows us to empathize with someone else's trials for awhile. Denying this to myself was unwise, exhausting. I resolved to do better.
It was delicious to jump into the Stieg Larsson trilogy. To be carried along in such a swift and violent manner, it was a rush. I followed this with a wonderful awakening to "The Alchemy of Voice'. A profound explanation and instruction on the power our voices hold. I perused "How to Raise a Mindful Child.' Again practical wisdom and instruction on mindfulness in word and action.
It is always interesting to hear what someone else is reading. I love getting recommendations, or taking chances to discover a character or tale that fully engulfs me.
As part of this well roundedness I also knew / decided I needed to get out more. Fortune smiled upon me and I was asked by a client / friend to join her book club. Oh my! Join my love of reading with my need for socialization? What a marvelous idea! As this wonderfully intelligent woman and I talk often of writing, books, plays and movies, I was more than excited about the invitation. My introduction to this diverse group of ladies was to a movie night. (Saw the very excellent Moonrise Kingdom.) They were all very interesting. I am eagerly anticipating listening to not only their interpretation of the chosen books but their own personal tales as well. Ahh... the joy of story telling. Connection. Best of all, required reading.
My first assigned book is 'The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks'. We are given a month to read. Truth be told I blew through this book in 4 days. WOW!! It is Non fiction but it reads like a gripping novel. The Author, Rebecca Skloot is brilliant. She is a master at explaining complex science mixed with emotional turmoil, all the while being respectful that these are real, in some cases live, people that she is talking about. The smallest piece of Henrietta Lacks has in some way effected all of us. The use of this woman's cells has resulted in many medical advancements. But the novel loudly calls into question the ethics (or lack thereof) of the medical research community. It really makes you think. I hope more people read this book.
Now I pose to you, what are you reading, or have read, that you would whole heartedly recommend and why?
Do you read not only for the enjoyment and learning opportunity that books can bring, but also for the connection and conversations we can build on or around a book?
It is not that I haven't flexed my reading muscle in 3.5 years, but it has mostly been books that are non fiction, focused on family, well being and career, dry very dry. The occasional magazine would appear, I always aspire to buy ones with quality writing. Vanity Fair is a favorite as is Ascent (sadly that one is no more). And sometimes the empty calorie laden rags that are US and People make an appearance. Never the lower level of tabloid (mind you back when I was younger I loved buying the Weekly World News, it was pure entertainment, sincere in its' outlandishness.) These appear when I do not have the stamina to commit to a book. Which has been the issue as of late, and for much longer than I'd like to admit.
Some how I had gotten it stuck in my head that spending time reading something to get lost in seemed like a waste of time. The tizzy I had myself in, trying to be all things - learned, organized, zen. Unfortunately for me after a while this fervent drive made me reluctant to commit to reading books, all books. I also began to feel a little out of sorts.
I have come to realize that reading for fun is not a waste of time, it helps to create space for me. Investing time into another characters' life, it can give insight into our own behaviors and motivations. It takes us out of our own heads, allows us to empathize with someone else's trials for awhile. Denying this to myself was unwise, exhausting. I resolved to do better.
It was delicious to jump into the Stieg Larsson trilogy. To be carried along in such a swift and violent manner, it was a rush. I followed this with a wonderful awakening to "The Alchemy of Voice'. A profound explanation and instruction on the power our voices hold. I perused "How to Raise a Mindful Child.' Again practical wisdom and instruction on mindfulness in word and action.
It is always interesting to hear what someone else is reading. I love getting recommendations, or taking chances to discover a character or tale that fully engulfs me.
As part of this well roundedness I also knew / decided I needed to get out more. Fortune smiled upon me and I was asked by a client / friend to join her book club. Oh my! Join my love of reading with my need for socialization? What a marvelous idea! As this wonderfully intelligent woman and I talk often of writing, books, plays and movies, I was more than excited about the invitation. My introduction to this diverse group of ladies was to a movie night. (Saw the very excellent Moonrise Kingdom.) They were all very interesting. I am eagerly anticipating listening to not only their interpretation of the chosen books but their own personal tales as well. Ahh... the joy of story telling. Connection. Best of all, required reading.
My first assigned book is 'The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks'. We are given a month to read. Truth be told I blew through this book in 4 days. WOW!! It is Non fiction but it reads like a gripping novel. The Author, Rebecca Skloot is brilliant. She is a master at explaining complex science mixed with emotional turmoil, all the while being respectful that these are real, in some cases live, people that she is talking about. The smallest piece of Henrietta Lacks has in some way effected all of us. The use of this woman's cells has resulted in many medical advancements. But the novel loudly calls into question the ethics (or lack thereof) of the medical research community. It really makes you think. I hope more people read this book.
Now I pose to you, what are you reading, or have read, that you would whole heartedly recommend and why?
Do you read not only for the enjoyment and learning opportunity that books can bring, but also for the connection and conversations we can build on or around a book?
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Transition
tran·si·tion
[tran-zish-uh
n, -sish-]
–noun
1.
It is different for everyone, so we say. I do not understand how the material fills, how do you know when enough is enough? At least with love there comes a contentment. A quiet. And never an introduction to the next newest and shiny throw-away version.
movement, passage, or change from one position, state,stage, subject, concept, etc., to another; change: the transition from adolescence to adulthood.
And so it keeps moving. I have been trying so hard to simplify. To create, manifest what my soul has been craving. To teach my child(ren) what is really important. What is that? Connection? Love? Toys? Money?
It is different for everyone, so we say. I do not understand how the material fills, how do you know when enough is enough? At least with love there comes a contentment. A quiet. And never an introduction to the next newest and shiny throw-away version.
I want connection. Peace. Love. Growth. Change and stillness. Is it to much to ask? I know that nothing will ever be perfect. There will be pain, anger and frustration but my hope is that I can over time move beyond these things faster and just learn to let go.
I have, however, begun to think that this connection is not always the one outside of me. How solid is my connection to myself? Do I feel forgiving towards my self? Am I able to adequately judge a want from a need? Is this what i really want?
I have, however, begun to think that this connection is not always the one outside of me. How solid is my connection to myself? Do I feel forgiving towards my self? Am I able to adequately judge a want from a need? Is this what i really want?
If you really listen can you hear what it is you really want? What does that voice say to you? Do you like the answer?
This transition for me is very interesting, it must come with age, but I am getting more at home with myself. Most of the time. Maturity? I don't know, sometimes i feel that i can still look at somethings in this world with child- like wonder. I have people around me that can make me laugh with abandon. So I don't think that maturity is the right description.
I am beginning to get that transition never really has a destination, it is ever present to those who are open to it. It is a natural state of being. It is not in our control to stop it or force it by will. Life will always move forward. Suppose it is time to buckle up and see where this part of the ride takes me.
This transition for me is very interesting, it must come with age, but I am getting more at home with myself. Most of the time. Maturity? I don't know, sometimes i feel that i can still look at somethings in this world with child- like wonder. I have people around me that can make me laugh with abandon. So I don't think that maturity is the right description.
I am beginning to get that transition never really has a destination, it is ever present to those who are open to it. It is a natural state of being. It is not in our control to stop it or force it by will. Life will always move forward. Suppose it is time to buckle up and see where this part of the ride takes me.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
the haunting......
I saw her this morning. I came out of the shower and looked in the mirror and there she was. My Mother. Different hair, a slightly more relaxed look, but it was her, the eyes. It has left me to ponder, how much joy did she feel? Peace? Did she ever look around and know in that moment she was right where she should be? Did that give her comfort or scare the shit out of her?
The lines around my eyes are the same, the color, shape and many times, the expression. The things that have shaped the lines and expression are more similar than I could know.
The differences are too many to count.
On the surface our lives are nothing alike. My Mother was married twice, both times to alcoholics. She had four children. Mothered three of them. She never had a career of her own. She had loyal friends. I remember a wonderful sense of humor, although i can no longer recall the sound of her laugh.
I have (and still am) married only once. I have two children, mothered one. Thankfully my husband is not an alcoholic or drug addict. I have my own business and career. I have many loyal friends. I think I have a pretty great humor but too often find I have not heard my laugh often enough through the day.
Sometimes I think that she lived to timidly, she left no tangible record, or did she? When I look at my actions in life, have they not been modeled after hers? Or at the very least intentionally done differently? As far as living timid, that has been a good portion of my existence. Every so often reaching out to make an impression (that seems obvious if you are reading what I have written here).
Who did she tell her stories too? was I too young to hear? understand? Or did she keep her inner life to herself. Had social media been available would it have been different?
I have journaled for a very long time, not as consistently as I would aspire to (apparently the same with the blog). It began as a way to express myself with out being judged. It then became a need, to leave a part of myself for my children, so they could know, understand who I was and what I have done, when i can no longer tell them. (there is that tic toc again). Is it important for our children to know us as we were or only what we present to them in the now?
I am haunted in my own life by some of these unanswered questions. Would my life be different if I knew what my Mother was like? more of her experiences? her lessons?
I don't dwell the way I used to on what I was missing in my life, at least what I have perceived as missing. Perhaps creating an ideal that could have never existed. The risk I run with my daughter is to expect an ideal in my relationship with her, to try to create what I believe was missing in mine. I love her so much, she is very much her own person, very different from the way I remember being at her age. While we do not live an ideal, it is perfection in it's own messy way. I believe that it is beginning to chase some of those ghosts from my head.
The lines around my eyes are the same, the color, shape and many times, the expression. The things that have shaped the lines and expression are more similar than I could know.
The differences are too many to count.
On the surface our lives are nothing alike. My Mother was married twice, both times to alcoholics. She had four children. Mothered three of them. She never had a career of her own. She had loyal friends. I remember a wonderful sense of humor, although i can no longer recall the sound of her laugh.
I have (and still am) married only once. I have two children, mothered one. Thankfully my husband is not an alcoholic or drug addict. I have my own business and career. I have many loyal friends. I think I have a pretty great humor but too often find I have not heard my laugh often enough through the day.
Sometimes I think that she lived to timidly, she left no tangible record, or did she? When I look at my actions in life, have they not been modeled after hers? Or at the very least intentionally done differently? As far as living timid, that has been a good portion of my existence. Every so often reaching out to make an impression (that seems obvious if you are reading what I have written here).
Who did she tell her stories too? was I too young to hear? understand? Or did she keep her inner life to herself. Had social media been available would it have been different?
I have journaled for a very long time, not as consistently as I would aspire to (apparently the same with the blog). It began as a way to express myself with out being judged. It then became a need, to leave a part of myself for my children, so they could know, understand who I was and what I have done, when i can no longer tell them. (there is that tic toc again). Is it important for our children to know us as we were or only what we present to them in the now?
I am haunted in my own life by some of these unanswered questions. Would my life be different if I knew what my Mother was like? more of her experiences? her lessons?
I don't dwell the way I used to on what I was missing in my life, at least what I have perceived as missing. Perhaps creating an ideal that could have never existed. The risk I run with my daughter is to expect an ideal in my relationship with her, to try to create what I believe was missing in mine. I love her so much, she is very much her own person, very different from the way I remember being at her age. While we do not live an ideal, it is perfection in it's own messy way. I believe that it is beginning to chase some of those ghosts from my head.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
I'm back..........
A year. One whole year has passed since I last wrote. Not that I have not thought about it. So many things I have wanted to say, experiences to share.
It is peculiar how much time can pass and we have very little recollection of what has kept us so busy. I know that being a parent, working a job, being a friend and wife all take up considerable time in my day. My life is filled with busy work. Some very fulfilling, some not.
I felt the overwhelming need to come back to this space as I feel that I am embarking on a new path. One I want to document and share. In my heart I know that many people out there have shared a similar path, filled with trepidation.
In seven months I will be turning 40. This age seems to be such a threshold for many people. A pinnacle, a milestone. I am having very strong reservations and fears about turning 40. It is not the age itself that worries me, but what it has represented to me from a very young age. At 40 my Mother was diagnosed with cancer, at 44 she died. I was 12. Somewhere in my head a timer is starting to wind up. I feel like Captain Hook in Peter Pan, being followed by the crocodile that swallowed the clock.
Part of me feels as though 40 marks the beginning of the end.
And then there is part of me that is so excited and feeling liberated, I lead a much healthier lifestyle now than I ever have. I love my job and all the opportunity that it affords me. I adore my daughter and I can not wait to see who she becomes. I can see so much adventure in my future.
Perhaps taking this journey out loud will be away to connect with my Mother, a way to share my story with her. As a young person I never really thought I would get this far, or maybe it was that this magical age of 40 once seemed so old, that whom ever had reached it must have done pretty much all their living. Now I see how truly young it is. There is still so much to do, feel, experience.
I want to share my journey. I want to speak of the things that I fear, I want to celebrate the things that bring me joy. Most of all I want to connect.....
It is peculiar how much time can pass and we have very little recollection of what has kept us so busy. I know that being a parent, working a job, being a friend and wife all take up considerable time in my day. My life is filled with busy work. Some very fulfilling, some not.
I felt the overwhelming need to come back to this space as I feel that I am embarking on a new path. One I want to document and share. In my heart I know that many people out there have shared a similar path, filled with trepidation.
In seven months I will be turning 40. This age seems to be such a threshold for many people. A pinnacle, a milestone. I am having very strong reservations and fears about turning 40. It is not the age itself that worries me, but what it has represented to me from a very young age. At 40 my Mother was diagnosed with cancer, at 44 she died. I was 12. Somewhere in my head a timer is starting to wind up. I feel like Captain Hook in Peter Pan, being followed by the crocodile that swallowed the clock.
Part of me feels as though 40 marks the beginning of the end.
And then there is part of me that is so excited and feeling liberated, I lead a much healthier lifestyle now than I ever have. I love my job and all the opportunity that it affords me. I adore my daughter and I can not wait to see who she becomes. I can see so much adventure in my future.
Perhaps taking this journey out loud will be away to connect with my Mother, a way to share my story with her. As a young person I never really thought I would get this far, or maybe it was that this magical age of 40 once seemed so old, that whom ever had reached it must have done pretty much all their living. Now I see how truly young it is. There is still so much to do, feel, experience.
I want to share my journey. I want to speak of the things that I fear, I want to celebrate the things that bring me joy. Most of all I want to connect.....
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)