Good-Bye, October

It was a strange October. I’m not sure I will miss it. I’m going to say why, and then “Good-bye!”

My husband and I had our third wedding anniversary, though we didn’t do anything special to celebrate. We know that skipping the celebration is potentially bad for our relationship, but we also accept that having two children in three years comes with a price, and that price is a lack of time and energy. As the children grow more and more independent, we begin to feel the weight lifting, the tension easing, and time freeing itself up. All of that energy and time is ours to channel any way we want. We are now channeling some of it toward ourselves. We have plans for a date night on Saturday. Already November is shaping up to be a better month.

Since moving to this forested area, I have learned to love Fall not just as a noun, but also as a verb. I used to think of Fall as existing in two states. First it was the changing colors of the leaves on the trees, and then it was the leaves on the ground, but I neglected the distance and time between. Now Fall is also the leaves as they are actively falling, slow and meandering, sometimes almost dancing, to the ground. It has added a whole new dimension to my enjoyment of the season. So far this year, though, there hasn’t been much leaf dancing. So many of the trees are still green!

What has fallen, unfortunately, are large tree limbs, victims of an October nor’easter. These old oaks could not bear the weight of heavy snow on their leaves, and so some of their branches came crashing down. I heard them falling in the night, but I did not know until morning, when I surveyed the damage from my office window, how many there were and how close to our house, or that one had fallen on our car. While there’s now an ugly dent in our car, we didn’t lose power or heat. We were fortunate where so many others were not. The snow has mostly melted away now, but those limbs remain on the ground, a silent reminder of the storm that temporarily transported us to winter, long before we were done with the Fall.

Usually I get a thrill from October. The foliage, the smell of leaves and acorns, and the chilly air—they all smack of change, of an old cycle coming to an end and a new one soon to begin. But the changes of October are usually gentle. We put away the thoughts and accoutrements of summer, and prepare to cozy down in our warm dens for the winter. We do not expect big storms, outside or in.

The falling out that I had with my friend in October was as shocking as the limbs falling from our great oaks. I suppose given that October’s changes are usually of the cyclical kind, I should consider the possibility that the friendship is not over, but rather coming into a new phase. I make no predictions. I only know that I do not have what it takes to forgive her at this moment.

Then came Halloween. I waited until about a week before the holiday so that I could buy costumes for the kids at a good price. I was a little concerned when I saw how small the selection was, but then I spotted a monkey costume, and it was the right size for Marshall. He loves monkeys! Then I saw the giraffe costume, and it was the right size for Livia. What luck! I paid only $17 for a pair of costumes that would originally have cost $66! At least October brought me a good bargain.

The kids’ costumes not only fit, but they were fitting. Every day around here is like a zoo, so it was fun to see our children finally dressed like the wild animals that they really are. Living Halloween through my children, I think I may come to love the holiday again, like I did when I was a kid. I’m not ashamed to live vicariously through my kids. Isn’t that part of why we have them?

Halloween was the last and the best day of October. It is the only day I would do over, just so I could enjoy it some more. As for the rest of the month, I’m glad it’s done.

Good-bye, October. Come back better next year. OK?

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Sad but True

For your Weekly Poirot enjoyment, another conversation between Hastings and Poirot.

“Is it really necessary to tell such elaborate lies, Poirot?” I asked as we walked away.
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
“If one is going to tell a lie at all—and I notice, by the way, that your nature is very much averse to lying—now, me, it does not trouble me at all—”
“So I’ve noticed,” I interjected.
“—As I was remarking, if one is going to tell a lie at all, it might as well be an artistic lie, a romantic lie, a convincing lie!”

from Poirot Loses a Client

Sorry to keep focusing on the subject of lies, but the concepts of truth and untruth are very much on my mind lately. As I mentioned previously, I had a falling out with a friend. Part of the cause was that she lied to me. I, unlike Poirot, cannot accept lies and lying so nonchalantly. But I agree that an interesting lie is better than an uninteresting one. Perhaps I should add that to my list of grievances against my former friend—“Not only did you lie, but they were boring lies! How dare you be so dull!”

I jest, but seriously, each of us has to decide how much lying we’re going to allow ourselves to do, and in which directions we’re going to take our lies. Then we have to decide how much lying we’re going to accept from others. And while we might hate lying and we might hate being lied to, we should realize that lies are necessary. Lying is, in fact, an essential social skill. People would not get along very well if they were thoroughly, deliberately, unremittingly honest with one another. Sad but true.

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Keep Talking

Dear Marshall,

Soon you’ll be speaking so well that there will be nothing left to say about your speech development, but that time is not yet.

  • I made banana bread a couple of weeks ago. You called it “le na boodan.”
  • Your favorite movie a few weeks ago was The Land Before Time IX: Journey to Big Water. With the help of this movie, we taught you many new words, including “ocean,” “rainbow,” “disosor” (dinosaur), and “Erf” (Earth). And finally you stopped calling fish “crackers.” Now they are “biff.”
  • Your current pronunciation of the word “frog” sounds almost like the F word, and your pronunciation of “basket” sounds almost like another rude word starting with F. It’s strange to hear your innocent little voice say such insulting words, but it’s also kind of funny.
  • You call your daily vitamin a “bem.”
  • You have been using “dcuck-k-k” to mean “bird” for quite a while. But you said “bird” just the other day, so I know you know the word. For the time being, you seem to prefer that really hard-to-pronounce version of “duck,” and so that’s what you keep using.
  • You’ve learned how to say commands like “Go away,” “Stand up,” and “Lie down,” and you’ve been ordering us all around! If your sister is nearby while you’re eating, you say, “Go ‘way, Nia!” over and over again.

Love,

Mom

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Hard Choices

I have to face it. I just don’t have time to do everything I would like to do. So unless I want to miss out on the things that really matter to me, I have to give up some of the less important activities. Right now, reading is more important to me than writing about my reading. I think that means it’s time to give up writing book reviews.

If I don’t write reviews, then I won’t be able to look back and see exactly what I thought of each book. That makes me sad just thinking about it. But as I was writing my review of The Magician’s Book, it occurred to me that I am just too tired to be doing any kind of real thinking in my spare time. I do nothing at work by think, and by the time I’m done with my workday, my brain is sore. Having a post stuck in the works, as that one was for quite a while, often has the effect of stopping up the whole blog. Days went by and nothing got posted. This blog is very important to me, so that’s not acceptable.

My choice, as hard as it is to make, is that I will only write reviews for books that are part of marathons (the books of Roald Dahl, for example) and books that interest me so much that I want to write about them. I hope this will give me more time for reading, for working on rhymes, and for writing posts about my children. It’s a hard choice, but it’s the right one for right now.

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Just the Facts?

Here is another conversation between Poirot and his friend Hastings.

Mon ami—you know my suspicious nature! I believe nothing that any one says unless it can be confirmed or corroborated.”
“That’s right, old boy,” I said affectionately. “A thoroughly nice, trustful nature.”
“‘He says,’ ‘she says,’ ‘they say.’ Bah! what does that mean? Nothing at all. It may be absolute truth. It may be useful falsehood. Me, I deal only with facts.

from Poirot Loses a Client

This is a fitting excerpt for today, given that I recently had a falling out with a old friend. In our quarrel, we had a lot of “you saids” and “you dids.” But how much of it was fact? I wonder. Feelings have a way of blinding us to the truth, and our memories tend to get twisted in our own favor. The voice dissipates, the exact words of a conversation fade away, and all that is left, if even so much, is a memory of the gist of what was heard. Only very rarely do we remember exactly the words that were spoken, and never do we get to hear the speaker’s true thoughts and motivations.

How I wish we could just deal with facts!

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Separation of Church and Narnia

The Magician’s Book: A Skeptic’s Adventures in Narnia
by Laura Miller
Grade: B

Are you one of those people who loved Narnia as a child but came to dislike it later when you realized it was all about Christianity?

Not me. I loved Narnia then and I love it now. I dislike the idea that C.S. Lewis might have deliberately tried to turn me into a Christian. However, I realized from a young age that the books were about religion. I didn’t know enough about Christian symbolism to understand that Aslan was Jesus, but I always knew that he was God.

Personally, I prefer to think that Lewis was offering a way, not to proselytize children of nonbelievers, but to help those children already being taught religion by their parents. Narnia provides a child-friendly version of religion, a comfortable approach to the idea of God. There’s no harm in that, unless you consider religion inherently harmful.

The Narnia books provided me with a positive view of religion, and they made me want to be a good person (i.e., the kind of person of whom Aslan would approve), but they never made me want to be a Christian. I don’t remember Lewis telling me to engage in the traditional activities of religion (baptism, going to church, etc.). I do remember him instructing me in good behavior, teaching me to follow directions, and delineating the difference between right and wrong. If more people took his lessons to heart, our society might just be a little nicer. So, whatever Lewis’s real intent, the religious symbolism in Narnia is, for me, simply a case of “no harm, no foul.”

Though I don’t harbor any feelings of resentment over the Christian symbolism in Narnia, I thought a book written by someone who did might be enlightening. I approached the book with this question: non-Christian to non-Christian, why do you still love Narnia so much? But by the end, her answer seemed to be that maybe she does still like Narnia a bit, but she doesn’t like Lewis. Or Lewis’s friend, J.R.R. Tolkien. Or Christians.

Not that she doesn’t have anything interesting to say. She starts with thoughts on how reading is different for adults.

The books we happen to latch onto as children help to furnish our imagination and, to a certain degree, our identity. But if we return to them as adults, we sometimes find . . . that the decor is garish or uncomfortable. It’s not a place to which we’d care to invite our friends.

As a matter of fact I often share my childhood books with my friend. We’re both big fans of children’s books. But I get Miller’s point. She now finds the decor in Narnia to be uncomfortable. I don’t, but there are some other books I’m almost ashamed to admit that I own.

Browsing through some of the individual essays in the book, it’s hard to imagine how I got such a negative vibe from the author. The essays span a range of topics, from literary criticism to biography, with a great deal of attention devoted to the friendship between Lewis and Tolkien. Much of what she writes is interesting, well-researched, and well thought through. But I remember her picking on both Lewis and Tolkien, for their writing as well as their personalities. It rubbed me the wrong way, as did a few of her comments on Christianity. Not that I am any kind of fan of organized religion, but I do believe in respecting the individual person’s faith.

So I give The Magician’s Book an A for content and a D for attitude, which averages out somewhere around B.

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Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Poirot Loses a Client by Agatha Christie
Grade: A-

In Poirot Loses a Client, Poirot received a rather peculiar letter from a woman named Miss Arundel. She wrote, “I am emboldened to write to you in the hope that you may be able to assist me in a matter of a strictly private nature.” The letter rambled on for some time but Miss Arundel never quite explained what the private matter was. Poirot was interested enough to reply to the letter, only to find that she had since died. Naturally, he suspected murder, and though the woman was no longer alive, he decided to investigate on her behalf.

This is one instance where Poirot’s investigations are not only interesting but also amusing, as he misrepresents himself shamelessly in order to get information. The presence of Hastings is always welcome, and the interplay between the two makes this book an extra fun read for Poirot fans.

“You are really very offensive sometimes, Hastings. Anybody would think I enjoyed telling lies.”
“I rather think you do. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
“It is true that I sometimes compliment myself upon my ingenuity,” Poirot confessed naively.
I could not help giving a shout of laughter. Poirot looked at me reproachfully…

It’s always good for a hero to have a sidekick. I’ll have to look back at my opinions of other Poirot novels and see if the ones to feature Hastings got better grades overall. I suspect that is the case.

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Thought for the Day

All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

Samuel Beckett

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Who’s That Girl?

Third Girl by Agatha Christie
Grade: B+

Poirot was sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of hot chocolate, feeling quite proud of himself for a recent literary accomplishment, when his butler informed him that a young lady was there to consult him. Poirot agreed to see her. She was an unattractive girl with a peculiar problem: she thought she had committed a murder but couldn’t be sure. Before Poirot could coax an explanation from her, she changed her mind about hiring him, saying, “You’re too old. Nobody told me you were so old. I really don’t want to be rude, but—there it is. You’re too old. I’m really very sorry.”

Then she left. That might have been the end of it, but her pronouncement wounded Poirot to the core, and he also worried about her. He said to his friend, Mrs. Oliver, “She is one of whom others will look round and say, ‘We want a victim. That one will do.'” So Poirot decided to find that nameless girl and, he hoped, to help her before it was too late.

While not a particularly memorable mystery, Third Girl was an engaging read, particularly because of the inclusion of Mrs. Oliver, one of my favorite recurring characters. Admittedly, there were some moments when I was dismayed by Christie’s prose. There was a scene in which one of the characters “turned into a building,” and then on the next page Mrs. Oliver “turned into a local cafe.” That phrase, “turned into,” was certainly uninspired. In modern American English, at least, it also has a sort of comic potential, as one might at first understand it to mean “transformed into.” On the same page as Mrs. Oliver turned into a cafe, she “gave a gasp.” Whenever I see that phrase, I think “Gave a gasp to whom?” Keep your gasps to yourself. That’s what I always say.

I don’t mean to be a nitpicker. I typically don’t mind Christie’s prose, which I would describe as utilitarian. The words she used for that particular scene just happened to grab my attention. I don’t think I’d recommend Third Girl to your everyday reader, but for fans of Christie, I would say it’s worthwhile.

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