3 Book reviews

I've been on a reading kick lately. I go in cycles - for so long, I was in a book-reading rut. I would get books from the library but never finish any of them. But I've managed to finish a few lately, so I might as well review them, right?

Sarah's Key

I think I am the last person in the world to read this book. Somehow, I got it mixed up with the book series that includes the book These is My Words. I don't know how I did this, but when I mentioned this to Amy, she chuckled and told me it was about World War 2. Okay, that made a lot more sense. I devoured this book - I got it on Saturday just before the library closed and 6 and was finished by 10 am Monday. There are two stories combined in this book - Sarah, a child during the infamous Vel d'Hive roundup of French Jews during the occupation, and Julia, a modern day American who is researching the Vel d'Hiv. The link that binds the two women is a strong one - an apartment in Paris where Sarah had lived at where Julia would soon live.

What drew me to this story was the history about the Vel d'Hiv. I didn't feel that Julia's life was realistic - she seemed to spend her time going to parties with her gay friends, running around the countryside taking photos of the concentration camps near Paris. When did she do laundry? Who took her daughter to school or made dinner for the family? Even knowing that her job as a journalist would require her to have strange hours I still felt that she was able to devote far more time than any real person would to research and coffee-drinking. I thought her husband Bertrand was an a**hole, and I didn't think that the fact that they were compatible in bed was a strong enough link for a marriage. Her daughter seemed way too grown up for 10 or 11 - I hate it when authors make the main character's children more adult than is realistic. I also thought that she did this with Sarah to an extent as well, but maybe I'm being too harsh. Wow, it sounds like I hated this book, which I definitely did not. I liked it, I just felt that the characters were a vehicle to allow de Rosnay to convey the history of the Vel d'Hiv more than real, fleshed out characters. I thought that the story of Michel in the cupboard was positively horrific (if you've already read this book you know what I mean.) Any thoughts?

The Diaries of Adam and Eve by Mark Twain.

I read this book with my SDBBE group (thanks, Apryl - I loved it and will get it to you soon.) The best book review for this book can be found here. (Amy - I posted a comment but it disappeared. Operator error I'm sure.) If you aren't familiar with this book (which I wasn't) it is journal entries of Adam and Eve as they live in the Garden of Eden, fall, and then live in the world as a consequence of their choice.

I loved the discussion of why this book was banned that was written in the marginalia. From our point of view in the 21st Century, the book is harmless. But we all agreed that the 19th and 20th century reviewers of this book would have had far less of a sense of humor regarding the fall of man. Eve is a funny, inexperienced creature. She loves Adam with her whole being. Adam is less in love. He comes to appreciate his wife, but he allows her to shoulder the burden of their life outside. He fails to understand that Cain is a child - he goes through a whole list of animals he could be, never arriving at "human" until Cain is a few years old.

Things I loved about this book: Eve's humor. The fact that she trees Adam for multiple days in a row. That Satan's roll is minimized - they barely mention the snake. Adam in fact is a little relieved at his arrival because he is one animal that can talk which takes the pressure off of him having to listen to Eve. The scene of Abel dying is heartbreaking. Adam and Eve are not wise people - they don't understand death. They think Abel is sleeping. When they realize he is dead - it is more than Eve can handle. Amy wrote about this as well - that Eve lost two children that day; yes, Abel was dead, but in a way, Cain was dead to her as well. I've never thought before about how she would have felt, the love that she had poured into her little son, lost when he killed his brother. So so sad. I highly recommend this book. I read it in a day without any effort, but I've thought about it a lot since, thanks to the marginalia. I just love those girls.

The Dive from Clausen's Pier

This is my choice for our upcoming round of SDBBE. I read this back in 2003 and it's stuck with me ever since. The Dive is about Carrie, whose boyfriend Mike breaks his neck while diving into a lake. Carrie is put into an impossible situation - she had been unhappy in the relationship for months when this event, and now she must try and "be there" for her now-quadriplegic fiance. She fights for her identity as Mike fights for his life.

Carrie eventually runs away to New York where she hooks up with a character named Kilroy. I've always remembered this relationship since my first reading of the book. It is something so unique - unsappy, passionate, built on a foundation of nothing other than mutual attraction and availability. It is such a contrast to Carrie's relationship with Mike, whom she knew inside and out. Kilroy is a mystery to Carrie - she doesn't know where he grew up, she doesn't know his family or what he majored in in college or how he affords his lifestyle. She just knows she loves him and needs him in a way that she never needed Mike. From this book I learned that knowledge of a person's history is separate from knowing a person. I also found I could identify with Carrie - she is unable to do what she wants without worrying about what everyone else in her life will think about it. Her inability to chose what she wants results in her wanting others to change for her, which is something I've found myself doing over and over.

Have you read any of these books?

The miracle of the Cadbury Mini Eggs.

With every bag of Cadbury Mini Egg's I've purchased this spring (which I will be keeping private, btw. But it's been a few, friends.) I've reminded myself of the Miracle of the Cadbury Mini Eggs that happened in 2010. It will now be my pleasure to relate it to you. It truly is miraculous.

Christmas Eve, 2010. Shane and I are dashing about, trying to finish a few last minute purchases. It happened by some twist of fate that we had to go to Smith's grocery store, only a few hours before the store would close for Christmas. We loaded our cart with the last few things I needed: cream of mushroom soup, some canned onions for green bean casserole on Christmas Day, and some beef broth soup for our french dip sandwiches for Christmas Eve (our favorite tradition.)

As we stood in the long line to purchase our meagre items, it happened. There was a display table filled with Cadbury Mini Eggs. I didn't even hesitate to buy some. What were they doing there - reminiscent of the Easter Bunny amongst all the Christmas red and green? They seemed so out of place. I had to put at least one bag out of its misery.

That night our Christmas Eve feast was topped off by the bag of mini eggs. It was strange to mix the two traditions - Easter with Christmas. Birth with Death. Or Birth with Rebirth. Sweet spring colored hard-shelled candies mixed with chocolate oranges and cookies for Santa. Weird.

I looked again this year, but I never could replicate obtaining Easter candy on Christmas Eve. Sad really. But with every egg I eat this Easter, I will remember, oh yes, I'll remember.

The appeal of sweat: a post about hot yoga

So back in the day when I was in gymnastics, summers were spent in a hot, hot gym. The class we attended was held from 12:30 - 3:30 - basically the hottest part of the day. I think that there were large, industrial air conditioners that blew cold-ish air around. The coaches would throw open the garage doors in an attempt to cool things off, but mostly, it was just hot the whole time. I can remember sweat dripping off of me during class and going home with damp hair and sticky skin.

As miserable as it was to be hot, there is a satisfaction that comes from sweating profusely (well, as long as you are intending to sweat profusely - nothing is fun about it when you are in a fancy outfit or at work or somewhere. That's just awful!). A good hard run on a summers day. A beastly hard workout at the gym. Working in the yard. I like it at these times.

Well, today I found a whole new level of sweaty-ness. I've had Bikram Yoga - or hot yoga - on my radar for a long time. I've wanted to get to a class but where I live in suburbia isn't conducive to anything other than rec-center yoga (which is fun and rewarding but there is no close opportunities for this particular style.) So, when Thomas' iPod's sleep button stopped working on Sunday making it so I had to go to the Apple store this morning, and when my running partner told me last night that she couldn't do our scheduled 5 miler - I decided to kill two birds with one stone and hit the 9am class at Bikram Yoga Salt Lake. (Go ahead - check out the link - I'll wait.) I was so excited going in to class - I felt like a little girl going to her first ballet class.

I couldn't believe how hot the room was - I mean, I knew that the room temperature would be 105, but actually walking in to that was a little bit of a shock. They have a sign outside the room that tells you in no uncertain terms not to talk or make loud noises in order to allow others to meditate. Okay then. So what do I do? I threw my mat out to unroll it and heard it slap the floor - thwack! I felt so stupid. The instructor came in a few minutes later and started class. I was the only new student and so he used my name about 20 times to correct what I was doing. Only me. I kept wanting to crawl under my mat so he never said my name again. Seriously - doesn't he know any of the other 30 people in the room? Shesh. I'm glad I won't have to be the new guy again.

I was thoroughly pleased with the amount of sweat that came off my body. By the end, I had a hard time finding a dry enough place on my towel to wipe my face on. I kept losing grip on my foot/knee/ leg from how clammy and sweaty my palms were. By the time we got to the floor to do poses like camel and boat, my whole tank top was soaked and my hair was dripping down my back. It was extremely satisfying. I kept thinking that the room would stink horribly, but it didn't. Maybe sweat that drips off of you is less stinky, I don't know. (Or maybe I just don't have as good of a sniffer as my friend Britt.)

I felt a little self conscious during the class. I was at a loss last night as to what to wear. The pictures all showed girls wearing tiny shorts and sports bras. Well, I wasn't about to put my stomach out for everyone to ogle, so I came up with a tank top and running skirt. I was very relieved when another girl came in wearing a skirt - I wasn't completely dorky, I guess. I also felt like I had to keep up with the girl that was kitty-corner in front of me. She had this amazing body - compact height, long tight muscles, and from the first pose I could see she was talented. Which made me want to do everything she did - which of course I couldn't. My feet kept getting charlie horses during the standing poses which sucked, and my balance on my left side isn't as good so I couldn't do everything I wanted. But I was mostly satisfied with what I was able to do. I have to remind myself that yoga isn't a competition (but I will try, inevitably.)

I love the peace that I get when I do yoga. There is a quietness that comes to my mind that I don't get otherwise. When thoughts of trip to the apple store I would make right after class and whether I was going to make it on time and what route I should take and other thoughts about my regular life would creep in, I would banish them. So much of yoga is tree-hugger-y and granola-y and whatnot - it makes me want to roll my eyes. Except - the confluence of the body and the mind and the spirit coming together - I love it. I know its mystic-y and whatever but it's true. I never feel as peaceful as when I've done a yoga class - I think of it as church for your body. It banishes the barriers between these vital parts of my self (I know that should be one word - myself - but I want to emphasize that I felt like a self, an entity that goes by the name of Becky but is a combination of a body and a personality and a spirit and a mind and desires and hopes and fears all rolled into one.) Laying in shivasana - I almost wanted to cry. I didn't, but the emotion was so close under my skin - I felt like I had lost tension and internal strife and quieted my self-criticism, if only for a while. It always comes back, but the relief of letting it go is remarkable.

Now, sitting at my kitchen table writing this I feel like embodied in all that sweat that dripped onto my towel were my worries and frustrations and demands. They rolled off of me and out of me, allowing me to leave them behind in that room, only taking with me the essential parts. I feel a little glow-y. I want so much to go back (I paid $20 which means that for 10 days I can do as many classes as I want.) I'm heading back next Friday. I don't know if I'll feel the same satisfaction - I want to, but there is only a first time for everything - but I hope I can attain that feeling of peace again. Because that is more addicting than any soda or drug or any physical item I could put in to my body.

So are you a fan of yoga? Are you sick of me spouting metaphysically about the mind/body/spirit connection yet? Gah, it's cheesey, but true. I think I'm hooked.

Currently - The March Edition

Dreading: all the stupid metaphors that go along with the college basketball playoffs. I hate them - the Cinderella Team, who's going to the Big Dance - blech. So lame and they just keep using them over and over and over each year. Come up with something new, or even better yet, don't talk about them at all (might be kind of a all order.)

Wriggling: with excitement that I ran my fastest mile in a year yesterday. I am the world's laziest runner - I'm devoted but but very slow. But I had the perfect combination: a strong wind at my back, a downhill mile in front of me, and my son on his bike accompanying me on my run. It was awesome.

Smiling: that Thomas was with me yesterday. He rode his bike the whole 3 miles. I loved just being out there with him, talking or not talking, watching him ride his bike on the trail in front of me, worrying about him being too close to the line where the cars would pass him. I think we will be doing this together a lot and I look forward to it.

Thinking: that all the mommying we have to do gets in the way of being a mom. Example: just having fun with the kids, enjoying being with them, instead of bugging them to clean their room and brush their teeth and please stop being so loud/silly/obnoxious/whatever. That is why vacations are awesome. Note: we are many months from any possible vacation. Probably won't happen until November, sigh, if even then. Maybe next year.

Watching: Downton Abbey. Now I get what all the fuss is about. I'm only 5 episodes in, but I'm hooked. If I could just curl up and exist on nothing more than Cadbury cream eggs and Downton Abbey, I would be happy.

Hiding: the fact that I'm also into the Vampire Diaries. I know. It's trashy and full of teenage angst and there are far too many deaths that go unnoticed for the typical small town, but I'm a sucker for Damon, aka Boone from Lost. He's so hot. And evil. And even more hot when he's evil. If there were a team Damon, I'd be on it. Plus Elena is way less obnoxious than Bella. Still a little whiney around the edges, but I've never seen Stephan or Damon carry her once. How refreshing.

Running: with a friend from my ward two days a week. It is so fun to have a running partner again. Well, not that I've had one that's ever been super consistent, but we get each other and we are companionable and our paces are relatively compatible and it works. Yay. She's building for a late spring marathon, so I'm building with her on her semi-long run days.

Anticipating: my kids being off track again. I love it but I don't. Maybe we will have a nice spring this year and they can spend a lot of time outside. Let's hope for that, okay?

Reading: The Diaries of Adam and Eve. My last book for this round of SDBBE. Love those girls, love all the marginalia.

Wearing: a new blue t-shirt and white sweater that I got at Banana Republic this weekend. I even have on capri's. Take that, March.

Bragging: that I went the whole winter without wearing socks to work. I either wore tights or open-toed shoes. I hate work socks and they all look stupid with my pants so I avoided them successfully. Yes!

Sporting: a paid-for haircut. And I colored my hair so it's dark, dark brown. Love it. I tried to make the underneath part be red but it didn't work - I think I'm going to go back to the girl who did and have her re-dye it so it's red. It's been 3 years since my last confession since I last had my hair done. I like it!

So what are you doing currently? Anything you are excited about?

Just one more thing that I love...

I know, February Love and all it's endearing splendor and excitement is over. But, last night we ate at a place that I love dearly and I just can't resist doing one more post.

But, history (you knew it was coming.) A long time ago my parents loved to come to Salt Lake for the food that was served in a restaurant in the Perry Hotel called Perry's Pub. It had soups, salads, sandwiches, and to die for pasta salad. I can remember going there with Amy and my parents on more than one occasion. Fast forward a few years and I'm living in Salt Lake for the summer doing a ballet camp. I take my friend Rebecca and her mom and step-dad (who were visiting for the day to watch our end-of-dance-camp performance) to the Perry's Pub restaurant's sister restaurant, the Red Butte Cafe. They loved it. A few more years, I introduced my friend Cindy. And then Rebecca again. And before I knew it, me and my little group of friends were eating at Perry's or Red Butte or their other, newer sister, Deseret Edge Pub, the one that we ate at last night, at regular intervals.

We ate there after dance performances and on Sunday afternoons when we didn't have anywhere else to be. We ate there on Saturday nights when we had family visiting. More than one break-up was mourned over the yummy Greek pasta of the day, or the turkey avocado sandwich. Later there were trips there with my parents when I could finally sit in the over 21 section next to the windows the summer after I came home from Virginia. Before Shane and I got together we had a nearly silent dinner there because I had lost a bet to him the previous spring and had to pay up. Almost a year later when Shane and I were dating and our BFFs Rebecca and Matt were also dating, we ate there. When I was very barely pregnant but didn't know it with Thomas, me and Rebecca and our friend Angie gossiped over french onion soup that we always ordered with a side of potato chip (in fact, when we ate there this past December after a trip to see the lights at the temple, I texted a picture of my soup to Rebecca. She knew exactly what it was and where I was. How awesome is that?). And no visit was complete without taking home a piece of chocolate decadence cake.

As I sat there last night with my kids, reminding them to not wheelie while in the restaurant and to stop drinking all your sprite before your dinner comes, I thought of all the incarnations of myself that had sat in the 25 square foot section we were sitting in. Back in the day, it was the only spot me and my friends could sit in because we were under 21. I've probably sat in every seat in that section and know the menu without even looking. The slice of life that you see there is a lot less vanilla than the one that we typically see in our life in suburbia. It felt good to be there with my little family, as well as the ghosts of my group of friends, the ones who grew up with me, who I felt were all around.

Desert Edge - I love you. Janna, Rebecca, Angie, Cindy, Amy, Mom, Dad, Janice, Bill, Matt and anyone else I've been there with - I still love and miss you all. And who we used to be. And who we will become.