Dilettante Mother

When Parts is More Than Parts

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 00:43:00 +0000

Today, I crossed a major threshold of adulthood and motor-head maturation. I inquired about parts for my car. Not just any parts, but after-market performance suspension parts that until recently I could not adequately describe if asked even basic questions. I emailed the customer service reps at two major after-market suppliers for BMWs with reasonably cogent questions about parts that I will purchase from them for sums of money that I previously would have reserved for house payments, the acquisition of large amounts of luxury fibers (think qiviut), or rare-breed puppies (cough *Sabine* cough).

It took a bit for me, I will admit, to email these anonymous sources of automotive wizardry. I pictured the under-employed, track-rat, mid-twenties male service reps on the receiving end scoffing at my lowly 325xi and the silly soccer mom who wants to know about bump stops and front strut mounts. "It's not an M3 or 335i ...why is she bothering?" I would imagine. "Stainless steel braided brake lines for *that* model? Preposterous!"

"Screw it!" I thought, "I'm asking the damn question."

And I did. Several questions, in fact, and I received prompt, courteous and informative responses from male service reps of indeterminate age and unknown weekend pursuits. After all the angst ... it's really just about the cars and making a sale. So shortly I will order a Bilstein Sport Strut & Shock set, as well as H&R Sport springs, stainless steel braided brake lines, rear brake pads, and a mildly naughty air filter (really, really mild ... I drive some dusty roads). I'm not linking to those last two, because they are kind of boring.

Where I'm truly throwing caution to the wind here is that these upgrades will kick me out of D Stock for autocross and into the Street Touring (ST) class. ST is the domain of racer-boys and grizzled veterans, only surpassed by Street Prepared (SP) . I'm a novice in a small commuter sedan with only moderate horsepower (215 bhp) and a predisposition to AWD weight. I am under no delusions about my prospects for the next season if I run this car. Many, many competitors will blow my modest times out of the water. To be honest, though, I wasn't that competitive in D Stock and my region does not run a novice class. So I can suck in ST just as well as in D Stock, and still mod my car as I want to for the other 99.5% of the driving I do.

And point to the pretty blue and yellow parts peeking out from underneath my skirts. Ain't nothing wrong with a sleeper.

Two More From The Road

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Wed, 26 Jan 2011 01:20:00 +0000

How could I forget these choice commuter moments?

1. At the end of a very long line of red tail lights heading off into incipient suburbia, I feel like a lemming.

2. I will never win the war against road salt from the position of a small sedan. A trip through the carwash is a minor skirmish, always followed by a major defeat delivered via a large truck or SUV with no mud flaps.

posted from Bloggeroid

A Post In Which I Mention Nothing Automotive

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 02:31:00 +0000

I am not always very forthcoming about major life events, and this blog is no exception. There is not enough of a cloak of anonymity for me to reveal that which you would not get from me in everyday conversation, and generally this does not bother me. However, one event approximately eighteen months ago did impact the progress of this blog significantly. My family moved, to attend to some long-term health issues plaguing several close relations. Since theirs are not my stories to tell, I probably won't be discussing much of these separate situations here. It's taken me over a year, though, to comprehend just how significant the move was, even though it was to a community and home that I have know most of my life. All told, the physical move was a distance of fewer than forty miles. Psychologically, it was like moving from one continent to another. The move was planned, reasonably well-executed, and has all sorts of advantages for both my immediate and extended family, and on the whole has turned out well. It brings me joy to be back in my childhood home and closer to the people and places that shaped me. Despite all this, I gained a reasonable commute and lost almost two hours in each day that otherwise would support the "extras" in life ... including this blog. I've gained some of that time back; taken it, really, and now am picking up the pieces of what I dropped to make the move happen and my children thrive. I moved a lot as a child, and while I can pinpoint very specific strengths that this history gave me (adaptability, curiosity about new places, a predilection for travel), I also know all too well how painful the experience can be. All told, I finally feel as if we have come through to the other side. There are still a few significant loose ends, however, not the least of which is our previous house.

We still own our former home, and are completing renovation work that we began (irresponsibly, perhaps) the first weekend we moved in and when I was six months pregnant with Miles. I work close to the property so I check in frequently, and the neighborhood is very close-knit and vigilant. This afternoon I stopped by to pick up a few items and to check on the status of the work that will hopefully render the home fit for sale. (Wisely, we finally gave up on doing the drywall and interior trim work on our own). It is so hard, though, to pull into that driveway and not experience a visceral rush of expectations. It is a beguiling hallucination. As I open the car door (really, that's just a casual reference) I expect to hear chickens conversing in the yard and the rush of greeting dogs coming to the door. It is my home; it is no longer my home. The kitchen does not smell of cooking or contain the chaos of children. The garden is a bit wild, even in its dormant period. The air is still, quiet and dusty. But the light, the same late afternoon winter light that we saw when we made an offer on the house, and that I love about both the home and the location, the light is still the same. I couldn't do it justice in either words or pictures if I tried; you have to see the Finger Lakes upland light that glances off the lakes and bare winter fields to know what I'm talking about. It was that light that filled the bedrooms of the home most afternoons with warmth and potential. It was that light that I would wake to after napping with my babies, when we both fell asleep as they nursed. It was light that would find its way behind closed eyelids, gently prying me away from sleep and towards an evening of dinner and baths and bedtime stories. It always catches me off-guard and leaves me wondering what I really miss. I certainly don't think that life was as idyllic then as it appears in retrospect. We fought, grumbled, fussed about money, ignored ongoing projects, yelled and fell into all the traps of most couples and families. But my babies were tiny in that house, my big dog was alive in that house, and it was the center of our family for about seven years. It would be easier if I could let go cleanly and turn it over to new residents, but we can't quite yet, and so I won't stop missing it yet.

It is not a home that I ever expected to be nostalgic about. It is an unassuming ranch with drafty windows, a crawlspace (ugh!), one bathroom and one-too-few bedrooms. I suspect that what I need is to become reacquainted with that light. Physically, it is there. I am starting to find it in early mornings, with dawn over a different lake, in a different room, with a different arrangement of family. It bothers me that I don't have a plan to make sure that everything turns out fine, and that all loose ends are tidily secured. That isn't real life, though, and as attractive as the intimacy of a former home is, ultimately it is empty of where I am now. Still, it contains so much of where I have been.

The iPod Convert Returns: The Automotive Edition

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sat, 15 Jan 2011 23:12:00 +0000

I spent a year commuting in a baser-than-base 1989 GMC Sierra 1500 pick-up truck. So base, in fact, that it is a radio-delete model. After a few lame attempts at hooking my iPod up to a portable speaker, I gave up and just drove. The driver's side window has a tendency to "settle" as you drive, which doesn't help the interior acoustics. Just me, my thoughts, a little wind noise and the echo of a 160 hp V-6 off the massive interior engine bay. They were good times, in their own way. I still own and love the truck, but it is no longer the daily commuter. I've been pretty excited to rejoin the land of stereo, the CD, and an audio input port. I'm exploring new podcasts, and here are a few of my favorites along the automotive theme.

Autoblog
I was initially unsure about this podcast. So much time is spent discussing new models in the press fleet, with a fair amount of air devoted to domestic manufacturers pedestrian models (Jeep? Really? Please don't speak to me of the Patriot). One of the hosts owns a Nissan Juke, which in my mind doesn't bode well for overall judgement, or at least aesthetic sensibilities. However, it dawned on me that the podcast presents a decent reflection of the reality of the automotive industry. It's not all exotics and performance models. It is refreshing, nay, bracing, to hear an automotive journalist extol the virtues of a minivan or a crossover for its functionality and ability to serve the needs of a family. They speak of carseats and cheerios without sneering. There are very few "soccer mom" slurs, and I have learned so much from listening to the often circuitous discussions and cackling side-commentary of the co-hosts. There are some egos and stubbornly held positions, and occasionally they stray off into the quicksand of macro-economic analysis. These forays are not advisable. But a podcast would be dry as dirt without personalities that can punch through the medium, and pretty much everyone is confused about globalization and the shift from a manufacturing to a knowledge economy. The hosts have taught me what A, B, C and even D pillars are, introduced me to the concept of a "refresh," and generally are not caught up in the pseudo-glamor of some automotive commentary and motorsports hangers-on. They are clearly enthusiasts, but they know and appreciate the value of a daily driver, usable cargo space, soft finishes on high-touch surfaces and affordability. I many not always agree with them, but I like them a lot and find that I look forward to the weekly podcasts in with anticipation previously reserved for Cast On, Stash and Burn, and Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me. Who knew? Certainly not me ...I knew next to nothing about domestic production before this, and frankly didn't care a whole lot either. Now I think that I'd actually look forward to seeing a Chrysler 300 in person, or appreciate the finer qualities of a Traverse (maybe). The parent website is decent, but frankly I prefer the podcast for guys getting stupid about cars.

Carcast
Part of the sprawling ACE Broadcasting network, Carcast features the known motorhead and part-time racer Adam Carolla and Sandy Ganz, trusty side-kick. The downside to this podcast is that it is not safe for kids, work, or attacks of most reasonably sensibilities. I've never been that into Adam Carolla's shtick, but neither have I been part of his target demographic, so no great loss to either of us. With CarCast, though, Adam becomes the fan and drops most of the persona. (I'd say it's his best work). The discussions on vintage racing are fascinating, and Adam's interview style does tend to get a bit more out of the interviewees unless a rant escapes and takes over. I'm not always in the mood to tolerate gleeful male stupidity in my own damn car, but when my tolerance is high and my mood forgiving, it makes for a good listen. The car info is often pretty good, and it's nice to hear someone else apologetically admit their weaknesses in the face of an obsession that can't bear the scrutiny of logic (or a spouse). I wouldn't ask him for advice about women or politics, but amateur racing, mods and Datsun/Nissan Z-cars he's got down. And I like Sandy, too.

Bimmerfile
I think of the Bimmerfile podcast as a bit of boutique piece. It's obsessively focused on BMWs, and the approach is a tad patrician. I'm not always in the mood for this one, but if you want to filter out the other automotive noise and get caught up on all things BMW, I'd say this is the place to start. Downsides include some lousy (although improving) sound quality, the aforementioned country club vibe, and for now repeat mentions of one of the co-host's 1 series M coupe (on order). On the last item, I'm probably just jealous and I would have chosen the Valencia Orange. Alpine White does nothing for me. Upsides include a serious load of insider information, a clear love of the marque, and co-hosts that know how to pace a podcast (as long as you can hear them). I've learned more about BMW, new technologies and the trajectory of the company since listening, and also gained an appreciation for where my pedestrian 3-series sits in the Bimmer universe. The website has way more info that I can take in at one time, but it's pretty enjoyable when all you want is BMW.

Observations From an Upstate NY Commute

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 03:25:00 +0000

1) Even if a Porsche Cayenne *looks* like a Santa Fe from its bulbous rear, it can still smoke your ass from a stop-light. Beware.

2) Nissan should choose some other form of innovation and lose the phosphorescent slugs that grace the front of the Juke. I can't even imagine how that particular feature made it into production. What do they do? Glow eerily in spelunking expeditions?

3) A Dodge Neon is never, ever the right answer to the question "What should I spend my hard-earned money on?" Also, say no to the Caliber. In fact, maybe there's a Dodge theme here.

4) Even with a king-cab and a car seat, a Ford F-350 is not a family vehicle.

5) 37 miles one-way in a 2003 Toyota Sienna Minivan kinda sucks, unless you actually have the kids in the car. Then you understand why there is so much separation between you and them.

6) 37 miles one-way in a 2006 BMW 325xi almost never sucks, unless you actually have the kids in the car. Then you wistfully recall the interior separation of the minivan.

7) When did the Ford Taurus become attractive? Dear God, am I that old?

8) Just pull the home-built dirt-track racer back into the barn for the winter. I can't even see the "For Sale" sign underneath all the snow. And the very idea seems too damn cold.

9) An informal survey of Honda Civics of a certain age: body kit, body kit, grad student, rust. Also found in various combinations (body kit/rust or rust/grad student), but rarely body kit/grad student.

10) Tire pressure lights never turn on in good weather, unless the only available pull-off is verdant with poison ivy. Otherwise, be prepared to peer at each tire suspiciously through the slush, and then check all four anyway.

In Which I Become a Teenage Boy

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 03:49:00 +0000

Although I have passed the middle point of my thirties, I refuse to admit that I might be prone to anything remotely resembling a midlife crisis. I am not that old. How cliché! How unrefined! How totally associated with my new hobby! This is the danger in cultivating my motorhead side after motherhood and when I can see 40 on the horizon. There seems to be a lot of explaining to do.

Perhaps this is why I am bashful about my love for (nay, undying obsession with) the Lexus LFA in all of its current forms. It makes me wonder if I am regressing to a missed but essential stage in adult formation, the car-as-object-of-desire stage. I think of it as when teenage boys have car, sports or band posters all over the walls of their rooms, before they feel comfortable with any budding interest in girls (or other boys). The minutiae of production runs, engine displacement, and optional packages are memorized, and favorites chosen. The perfect vehicle often seems to lean towards lots of horsepower, flashy styling, or both. I can’t remember many money shots of Austin-Healey Sprites, but maybe I wasn’t hanging around with the right crowd (Metallica, Corvette and Lamborghini were more the norm). This is an apt analogy for my brain and the Lexus LFA – a room postered with the unattainable. When I saw the first LFA launch ad run a year or so ago (why was Lexus running an ad for a car like this?), I stopped breathing and didn’t even realize it until I was looking at some bizarre four-blade razor and a disappointing (Not the car! Go back to the car!) male model in some stupid shower. To this day, I will drop whatever I am doing to watch the Top Gear test drive, and if we are streaming the episode on Netflix, I have to resist the urge to go back and watch it again. I no longer even allow myself to type “Lexus LFA” in to a YouTube search. All in all, it is embarrassing to find myself so wrapped up in a supercar at my age. I have children, a husband and a minivan … and I feel as if I had a well-thumbed Victoria’s Secret catalogue hidden somewhere with the corners turned down for Stephanie Seymour (remember her?).

I won’t argue that the LFA embodies automotive perfection: it is expensive even for its class, the styling has a few weak points (the hood to rear glass area is a bit strange – must be the carbon fiber), and to own one you must be chosen as worthy by the manufacturer (huh). It is a V-10, not a V-12, and my inner teenage boy mutters that any “real” supercar should be a V-12. But what does he know? I love it. I love the rear venting under the taillights, the sloe-eyed “snake with eyeliner” headlights, the sculpted air scoops, the raked-back windshield and the long, taut sides. It even looks good in white, which should be impossible. It certainly is with every other production Lexus or Toyota.

I think that I would be supremely happy to hear the LFA. I don’t care if the sound is tuned; it is still divine. A Ferrari can pretty much root me to the spot with a decent rev, and I find the edgy hysteria of a Maserati to be an appealingly acquired taste. Even recorded, the sound of the LFA leaves me breathless and a little glassy-eyed. See what I mean? Isn’t this horrible? I can’t even write about the car without resorting to prose from a romance novel. All I need to add is flashing eyes, a fainting spell and heaving bosoms (that last one would be a real challenge for me).

So there it is. I find myself glancing with moony eyes at the impossible; as flustered and confused as with a first crush. In the end, maybe that’s what this is, only of the automotive form. My husband is greatly amused by this weakness, although he kindly doesn’t tease me too much. I hope he won’t mind the new poster in our room.

New Post!

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sun, 12 Dec 2010 03:24:00 +0000

Well, that's what the Blogger dashboard said, anyway. I've been considering several options for this blog, one of which was to kill it off outright. Option two was to continue to ignore it ... it doesn't seem to be spamming anyone and I have a few posts that remind me of different times in my life or moments with The Young Man and Miss T. The third option will take me out on a limb; resurrect the blog and give it an identity. The lack of focus has always been a bit of a struggle for me. What to write about? If I'm tired and cranky at the end of the day, it's no wonder I lack the motivation to sit down and write a blog post about being tired and cranky. Thrilling reading, that!

However, over the past year I've become much more connected to the previously hidden car-geek side of my personality. Autocross has helped, and now that the season is over I find myself antsy, jonesing for a good drive, and a bit fretful about my first foray into motorsports. I'm a competitive person, and I do love to drive. It was hard to start out at the bottom, and tough at times to stick with it to learn what I need to so I can be better. Let's face it; if you're driving in grassroots motorsports, you're probably there to kick some ass before you go back to work on Monday.

And then there's the gender thing. I'm almost never the only woman out there, but close, and often the only one who isn't a girlfriend or wife of another driver. Now, several of those women can really drive and will post better times, but I still feel like a bit of an anomaly. I'm there for me, even if it doesn't make sense to the twenty-something young men who don't know how to treat me. Not old enough to be their Mom, older than their girlfriends, and not their boss. I do know what the engine in my car is (inline six, thank-you-very-much), what a turbo charger sounds like (weeeeee .... puff!), and how to drive stick. I also have a mortgage to pay and race my daily driver, and it's bone-stock for me right now, thanks.

So here's where I think I'll take this blog. It won't be obsessively about cars, because I do have other things in my life, things that I can speak to with much, much more knowledge. Kids, fiber arts, chickens and gardening will still make appearances. It will still be a mommy-blog, but with probably more than a whiff of petrol. Because to be honest, I know there are a lot of women out there who love cars and who love to drive. I just happen to be one one them with a corresponding itch to over-share about that fact. I've done some poking around and I don't see a whole lot of women casually writing about being a female motoring enthusiast or consumer. So I'll give it a try.

Next up ... my unreasonable lust for the Lexus LFA, and why I warn my husband to never introduce me to a local business associate who drives an Audi R8. If you're gonna make a fool of yourself, go big.

Passing Down the Years

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 21:11:00 +0000

When my Mom visited us back in June, she brought with her a very special bag. It was a knitting bag, my Great-Grandmother's knitting bag containing the projects she was working on before she passed away just over six years ago. The bag itself is very nice ... purchased on a trip to Hawaii, it is a padded quilted bag with a traditional mirrored image motif.

I would treasure the bag on its own merits, but to go through the contents and explore the knitting of someone I was related to, someone born and raised in a very different time, someone I knew my entire life but did not know well, it was very special. It felt right to sit on the couch and share the experience with my Mother, a fellow knitter, as we touched the handiwork last worked on by someone in our direct female line. There were all the regular accouterments found in the typical knitting bag: a spare pattern (2 copies, in fact); crochet hooks in two sizes; a tapestry needle; small, sharp scissors. Her last project was a baby blanket for charity, left unfinished.

She was in her nineties when she passed away, and had lived a long, full and mostly healthy life. Her children survived. She was involved in her community, and took great pride in local institutions. She had a comfortable retirement. There was very little melancholy for me as I looked through her belongings and thought of her, although I did have the vague sensation of missing her presence in the world, and the accumulated experiences and observations of her life. She died about a week before my first child, Miles, was born. She knew he was expected and I've been told the thought of a new little boy in the family gave her pleasure, but she was ready to go. I don't begrudge her a good and timely death. I would, however, liked to have talked knitting with her; shared something that passed the gulf of our different generations and expectations.

However, that opportunity has passed, and I am left with another chance to know her. I will finish her last baby blanket, and pass it on to an anonymous baby, to honor his (or her) entrance into this world with something handmade.

I think she would approve.

What's the What ...

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 20:58:00 +0000

I haven't been a total slacker. Although I haven't been hanging around these parts much, June and July were busy, and mostly fulfilling. Only moderate patches of deep anxiety and the occasional freak-out.

Soccer continued until mid-June, which was so much fun for all of us. Although The Young Man was the one huffing and puffing around the field (not really, he never seemed to tire!), we all enjoyed going to the practices and games to watch and support him. It did make me realize that we hadn't really been dedicating any significant time to plain old family relaxing. Although I would say that we make our little family unit central to our lives, it was so good for us to have to sit for an hour or so and not be doing anything else. Well, obviously Miles was up to something, but even then, he was the focus of the rest of the family. For the two months of soccer, we were a friendlier, more relaxed, and more connected family.

The end of June brought a lovely visit from my mother, including her little dog Chloe, an out-sized rescued Pomeranian. Ten days of Grandma time spoiled the kids! We picked strawberries, finished off the school year, and celebrated Miles' sixth birthday a few days early.

July 2nd was his big day, although somehow he's managed to stretch it out so that he has his two best buds from school joining him tomorrow for a friends' birthday hang-out. No big party this year, as it just didn't fit into our schedule, and I wanted to head off some of the birthday frenzy at the pass.

Amongst all of this, the garden is somehow thriving, although deer, bunnies and a certain groundhog that may just prompt me to finally learn how to shoot have all taken a toll. If we ever get some warm weather, we'll be swimming in tomatoes. Until then kale, peas, beets and beans are all doing very well. (The chard just tries to hide from the varmints).

And joy of joys, I am knitting again. A few modifications to daily life have reduced the pain in my wrists, and soccer gave me great swaths of (mostly) uninterrupted knitting time. I've revived my Ravelry account (dhautaniemi, if you'd like to find me), and although I'm a bit stalled on a boring bit of an exciting project, I'm pretty happy with my progress.

How could I almost forget?! There was also a crazy wonderful day with my Dad, youngest brother, and Miles at the Watkins Glen Indy Car race. It was Miles' first race, and while it wasn't the most exciting race ever, it wasn't dull. Motorsports ... yum.

Other parts of life have been less positive and more stressful, but I'm not going to devote more time than I already have to those bits.

I hope I still have a few readers, and that all is well for you and yours.

My Baby Turned Two ...

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 19:21:00 +0000

Why is two such a milestone birthday?

She had a wonderful time, and delighted in all of the attention. Then got a cold. She was better in time for the family birthday on the weekend.

She's in a serious baby doll phase right now, which seems so at odds (to me) with her personality. However, who am I to say? Her disregard for my confusion is spot-on.

Just ignore the state of the house ... May was a killer month. Here's to June!

Who, Me?

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 00:48:00 +0000

Has it really been over a whole freaking month since my last post? Obviously, I do not live to blog. And I will admit that this post just *might* coincide with finishing the last available Battlestar Gallactica DVD. Damn obsessive personality.

On a not-so-fun note, I've also been having some trouble with carpal tunnel syndrome, or repetitive stress injury. This makes me pretty unwilling to type in the evenings. I'm trying to find some low-key therapeutic approaches to the problem, but I'm still in pain by the end of the day. Knitting has also taken a hit.

So I'm not gone, just resting. I do plan on doing the next 1% Challenge, and I need to finish my final review from last year. Until then, you can find me in the trashy mystery section of the library.

And if I don't get to it, a Joyous Passover and Happy Easter. Or just enjoy the coming Spring.

1% Well-Read: The Inheritance of Loss

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 01:38:00 +0000

Kiran Desai's The Inheritance of Loss was another substitute title of the 1% Well-Read Challenge, found in the last week on the shelf of the local library. To be honest, reading Loss took up the majority of the last week, as I found it to be a more dense and contrary read than I had anticipated.

I was surprised, because normally (and be forewarned, this is a broad statement), I do pretty well with literature from the Indian Diaspora. It probably serves me right then, to get bogged down in my own arrogance and assumptions! Loss was a fine read, but it was not what I expected. Much like the mist that featured prominently in the book, story lines materialized and faded away when I least expected, and I never felt that I had a firm grasp on the plot or the motivations of the characters. In the end, I felt unsatisfied and like the main questions posed by the novel were left unanswered. I think this is more my hang-up than a fault in the novel, however. Probably it comes from reading too many mysteries, and a love of traditional plot and narrative devices. Everything Is Illuminated was hell for me, I tell you. My greatest disappointment was not getting to know Sai, the young heroine, better that I did.

Because I am typing one-handed with a sleeping baby, this will be a short review, Suffice it to say, this was another title that I had been meaning to get to, but may not have without the impetus of the 1% Well-Read Challenge. I'm glad I read it, even if it wasn't my favorite book.

1% Well-Read: The Optimist's Daughter

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 22:15:00 +0000

In my attempt to finish the 2008-09 1% Well-Read Challenge, I made a desperate run to our small local library to see what they might have on the shelves. Normally I rely on inter-library loans through our extended regional system to find specific titles, but with a week or so left in the challenge, I had run out of time for that option. It was a remarkably successful trip, and one that netted me Rabbit Redux, two other titles that shall be discussed later, and an American Library volume of Eudora Welty's complete novels. Of all of Ms. Welty's works, The Optimist's Daughter was the one chosen for the 1% Well-Read Challenge source list (or at least one of them).

Although I enjoyed The Optimist's Daughter, it struck me as an odd choice. It felt much more like a novella, and was the only work I read that felt like something that would have been assigned for an AP English course in high school. I don't mean to be derogatory; East of Eden, a high school assignment many years ago, remains one of my favorite novels. However, The Optimist's Daughter was that sort of fast-paced, clear-eyed observation of society that is so favored in high-school curricula. The characterizations and dialogue, however, were very witty. I understand that Ms. Welty was an acute observer of her milieu, and her perception shows.

One of the things that made this work such an interesting read was that the culture and setting of the main characters, rather than the characters themselves, filled out the story and provided the orientation for the reader. In my read, each character was actually rather one-dimensional, but it was the ambiguity of their interactions and positions in society that gave complexity and depth to the story. It was hard to feel close to Laurel, the protagonist, but it was easy to become engaged in her actions and choices as she navigated her father's death, the social rituals of her home-town, and interactions with her father's wholly inappropriate second wife.

I liked Ms. Welty's style and prose, and would probably enjoy other works even more. She wrote female characters well, even if there was very little mercy at times. I don't think I will carry the story with me for any great length of time, but in my mind, it would make a very acceptable substitute for many standard titles in lit intro classes.

I had not realized that Ms. Welty enjoyed such a long life, and was alive until 2001. Strange that this fact should alter my perception of her, and in my mind render her less bounded by 2oth Century literature, but it does. How little know about American writers; as a reader I read for pleasure, but in doing so, sometimes I miss important bits of context.

1% Well-Read: Rabbit Redux

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 01:59:00 +0000

I will admit to an irrational and totally unfounded (former) dislike of John Updike. As the Hubby is able to testify, (but perhaps is loathe to admit for fear of retaliatory oversteeped green tea the next morning), I can be pretty unreasonable in some of my long-held prejudices, and none die harder in me than skepticism about lauded male writers and whiny male singer-songwriters. I do like to think, however, that I can admit when I'm wrong. It happens often enough, goodness knows I get my practice in. And I was wrong about John Updike.

So wrong, in fact, that I could compare my former opinion of Mr. Updike to the year spent in Italy neither dating nor eating meat (Fool!). So maybe not having read any Updike until my mid-thirties doesn't quite rise to the level or skipping prosciutto in Parma or Romans in Rome (what was I thinking?), but it's pretty close. From the first page of Rabbit Redux, I knew that I would love not only the book, but also the author's dialogue, descriptive phrases, and probably even the pacing of the narrative. If Blade Runner is the planner's movie (although I think Pleasantville should be up for a shot at the title), then Updike, like Pratolini and Russo, was a planner's writer. Updike "got" cities, and particularly how to describe different neighborhood and the slow, disintegrating sprawl out to the suburbs. Updike's language is so rich in visual and emotional cues that reading is almost as vivid as walking down the street in a city that you are just getting to know. I'm sure I could get all undergrad lit-crit here and wax on about urban form and the construction of the main characters, but that would really be pushing my credibility. I read because I love to and because it is almost a compulsive need, not because I do the best analysis on the block.

I have to admit that I am glad I started with Rabbit Redux and not Rabbit, Run. Given that the beginning of the Rabbit series features the death of a child, I would have put the book down and never returned, even skipping the sequels. Updike does such a wonderful job of building up and tearing down his characters, however, that I didn't feel as if I had missed any key pieces. Another sign of Updike's mastery was that I also didn't notice clunky "backstory inserted here" passages. Instead, the story was well-paced, readable, inventive without stretching the limits of plausibility, and hinted at myth and archetypes without becoming pedantic. The language fit the characters, even as dated and racist as their notions could be. Rabbit is a figure that I can both loathe and love. I already have Rabbit is Rich waiting on the bookshelf.

So here's to long-held assumptions disproved and discarded. The 1% Challenge got me to read Updike, and I'm so glad that I did.

I Have Fallen Off the Yarn-Diet Wagon ...

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 01:40:00 +0000

but seriously, have you seen this stuff?

I will never think of camels in the same way again.

I have one precious skein, and I'm not sure what to do with it yet.

On the upside, I have been doing a lot of knitting, but Miss T just decided that blogging is *not* on the menu tonight. Later.

1% Well-Read: Sister Carrie

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 02:16:00 +0000

Theodore Dreiser had been on my "must read" list for years, and the 1% Well-Read Challenge gave me an excellent opportunity to finally make good on my intention. I'm sorry I waited so long, although I'm very glad that I didn't pair The Grass is Singing with Sister Carrie. If so, I might have been to depressed to breathe.

*Spoiler alert*
I suppose The Grass is Singing came to mind because of the similar themes of financial ruin and the slow, seemingly unavoidable ruin of primary characters in the book. And my desire to shake some sense into both George Hurstwood, which echoed my sentiments about Mary. What a bleak view of human nature Dreiser must have had! Odd, though Carrie left very little impression on me; I didn't dislike her or find her actions to be reprehensible. She was clearly a survivor and adaptable in ways Hurstwood was not, and I certainly got the sense that Dreiser chalked these abilities up to both age and gender. However, Carrie was such a blank slate, for so many around her, that as a reader (and a female reader), I never felt close to her or even all that interested in her decision making. There were a few interminable chapters when I did wish that she would make any decision, or at least the obvious one where Hurstwood was concerned. Rather than a horror, it was a relief when she started to succeed, even though I knew her success would come at the expense of Hurstwood. However, that trade was Dreiser's decision, not an inevitable consequence of Carrie's actions. I suppose Hurstwood was the intended protagonist, and Carrie merely a foil, but that seems so unfair.

Realistically, though, I suppose that I shouldn't be looking to male writers of Dreiser's era to be fair to their female characters. If I had more time in the month to finish the challenge, maybe I'd pick up some Virginia Wolfe to cleanse my palate a bit.

Speaking of the 1% Well-Read Challenge, I also have reviews for Rabbit Redux and The Optimists' Daughter to get written. I've discovered that I own (but have not read) Fugitive Pieces, so I can get another quick read in. However, I am running out of time, and will have to scrap my original list in order to finish. Better pacing next time!

Mama has been getting out more ...

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 01:23:00 +0000

but the downside is that my blogging takes a hit when my focus is elsewhere.

As my kids have learned to say ... "Bad Mama." Usually the phrase is uttered sotto voce, but with great feeling.

I'll be back, but right now my new Battlestar Galactica habit calls.

1% Well-Read: Tipping the Velvet

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 00:49:00 +0000

I didn't like it. Well, maybe that's not the full story - I did like it, but not in a "1001 Books to Read Before You Die" sort of way. It was fun and jaunty and sexy, but not challenging or significantly enlightening. I read books of a similar caliber every week; they are the bread-and-butter of my reading habit. I can take a stack back to the library and feel happy to have read each one, but certainly not feel changed or that groping loss that comes with the end of a book you can't put down. So perhaps that's where I should leave it ... I was happy to have read Sarah Waters' Tipping the Velvet, but I did not find it all-consuming. I did begin from a patently unfair starting point - I made the mistake of reading the review blurbs on the cover, and some comparison was made to Jeanette Winterson (After all, one British lesbian novelist is the same as another, no?), and I love Jeanette Winterson. Although Ms. Waters can tell a compelling story, her prose is not lyrical. And although I said I should leave it, I just have to add that I found the theme of salvation through a good woman, working class community and just causes to be tedious. The only stereotype left unjustified was sensible shoes. I liked the heroine, Kitty Butler, more when she was a kept dandy. So there.

With that said if I come across more of Ms. Waters' work, particularly Fingersmith, I would certainly pick it up. Of course, it would feed my crime-novel/mystery habit, but I make no apologies for that now.

The 1% Well-Read Challenge is almost over, and I honestly do not know if I will finish. So many books to read, and so little time! Regardless, I will probably sign up for the next challenge; at the very least it gives me fodder for posting, and a continued excuse for more reading past my bed-time.

Crossing the Delaware

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 18:09:00 +0000

.... So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America’s birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:
"Let it be told to the future world...that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet [it]."
America. In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children’s children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God’s grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

Amen.

iPod Convert: Family Folktales

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 20:04:00 +0000

One of may favorite genres of podcasts to hunt down is the quality child-friendly storytelling podcast. I love The Moth for myself, but it is not for listening to between home and daycare, if you know what I mean. Storynory is always a hit with The Young Man, but as I mentioned in my earlier review of Storynory, was looking for a bit more diversity in the sources of the tales told. I've tried a few podcasts I found through iTunes, but several were either too saccharine or just weird.

Enter the Nashville Public Library Family Folktales Podcast. Although it's a pretty no-frills production it is solid and high-quality. Family Folktales has introduced us to new and unforgettable characters, like the Tanuki in "How the Wicked Tanuki Was Punished." The sources of the folktales seem to be pretty international, which is such a bonus for my kids who are exposed to a steady and mind numbing stream of Transformers and Power Rangers through school. Who ever thought that returning Strawberry Shortcake and those silly plastic ponies to the kids market was a good idea? Oh, never mind, the same geniuses who brought us Bratz! But I digress (which probably could be a title for this blog if I ever decided to change it).

There isn't a whole lot of information about the podcast, previous shows, or the narrator on the main webpage. However, it is worth looking through the archive on iTunes, although there are only six episodes. I certainly hope they keep up production, because we have enjoyed every single one of the shows so far, and how may podcasts can you say that about? The narrator is pleasant and engaging without trying too hard, although I would guess that acting is not her day job. The more I pay attention, the more I think that librarians get to have all the fun. I will say that these are pretty unfiltered traditional fairy tales. Parents die, grow-ups are wicked, and princesses get saved (so far, at least). We haven't run into any nightmares yet, but these stories are in the vein of the original Snow White, red-hot iron dancing shoes and all. So be forewarned, but please, please don't be scared off. Barney is a whole lot creepier, in my opinion.

So, if you are looking for stories with a bit more depth to them to share with your kids, or if you yourself are a fan of traditional fairy tales and folktales, please try Family Folktales and think about spreading the word and subscribing. Everyone likes a little appreciation, and in this case it is well deserved.

A Winter Radish Fairy Tale

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sat, 10 Jan 2009 01:51:00 +0000

Once upon a time, on a very recent Friday evening, a certain Famiglia Dilettare found themselves hungry and cold, searching for the perfect vegetable side dish to an artfully doctored jar of pasta sauce and a box of rigatoni. Now Mama Dilettare, having bartered the family's last cow for a local winter CSA share, opened the refrigerator with a heavy heart, knowing that she would find only a motley collection of root vegetables, including half-a-dozen white winter radishes (which gave her a bit of a fright). The two bambini languished at her feet, weak with hunger. Mama briefly considered the kind babysitting offer from the woman who lived in the lovely gingerbread house in the forest behind the back forty, but thought the better of it. Gingerbread would surely spoil supper for her poor dears.

As the pasta sauce bubbled on the stove, Mama's eyes fell upon a not-yet withered clementine, and like a magic bean, a seed was planted in her mind. As the bambini poked at the ashes in the cold fireplace (the stove was much more efficient with fuel), Mama sliced, diced and spun those humble radishes into culinary gold. As she set the table, her woodsman husband tromped in, spreading cold air and snow over the rushes. He had a sad tale of their neighbor Bianca, and a fight with her father's latest squeeze that left Bianca homeless (it appears the hubby had to help the poor lass out of a bit of a bind). Although Mama felt for the poor girl, her own children were hungry, and she couldn't wait to share the radish-y revelation with her husband.

The children eyed their radish slices with suspicion, but quickly left their fears behind after tentative first bites. Heartily, the woodsman tucked into his portion, then boomed his approval in a manly voice. Mama simpered ... it was nothing, really. After all, couldn't anyone turn a winter radish into gold?

That evening, the children settled into their beds, with visions of obscure root vegetables dancing in their heads.
Finis

And here is the recipe, for those mamas (and dads) stuck with mild winter radishes, hungry kids, and only a few minutes to get dinner on the table.

Mama's White Radish Salad

3 medium white winter radishes
1 orange (or clementine, if you must)
1/3 c olive oil
1 lemon
1t dried or 1T fresh mint (thyme, marjoram, parsley or basil would also work)
salt and pepper to taste

Wash, halve, and thinly slice the winter radishes. Place in a medium to large bowl. Peel and section (if you're fussy) the orange. Slice the sections into small chunks. Combine with radish slices.

In a separate dish, whisk together olive oil, the juice of the lemon, and the dried or fresh herbs. Season with a dash or salt and a few grinds of pepper. Combine with radish mixture, and serve.

Buon Appetito.

Miss T, 19 mo.

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 22:07:00 +0000

Miss T, 19 mo., originally uploaded by twitchycat.

I seem to remember this stage from her brother. The developmentally appropriate colander-on-head months.

Did you know that there is actually a Flickr group devoted to pictures of colanders on heads?

Happy Holidays

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 21:27:00 +0000

From our Casa to yours.

May chaos and disorder only touch upon you lightly, and may peace be amongst (most) of us all.

Blogging for the Giveaway

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Fri, 19 Dec 2008 20:11:00 +0000

Back when I spent Fridays at home and had a bit more time, I was a big fan of Prizey. Since going back to work five days a week (although at a reduced schedule), I've had less time to keep up with potential freebies. I am happy to pimp out the blog for a giveaway, since "free" is maybe one of my favorite words of all time. It's up there with "yarn," "tea" and "nap."

So when I came across a new Plan Toys giveaway today, I knew I post was in the making.

Jolly Mom is a new site to me, but this is a killer giveaway. I am obsessed with fake food anyway, and the Plan Toys we have here at the Casa are great quality toys. I'm not super optimistic about my chances for winning, but it's such a great opportunity I thought I'd spread the word as I got another entry.

I Want to Give Judith Warner a Hug

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 16:42:00 +0000

Despite the fact that I'm really not the hugging type, and I suspect that she is not either.

From today's NYT's Opinion page, Judith Warner has written an op-ed that has me screaming in recognition. Now, I was not a huge fan of her 2005 book, although now I understand her position a bit better than I did at the time. But today's piece is such a heartrendingly accurate description of some of the mama-angst I've mentioned here, that I feel I just have to point it out.

How many times have I questioned my own mental health as I regard my children and have to catch my breath for the intensity of the moment? Is motherhood really a bit of temporary craziness? It feels out of line to be so completely involved in another human being, but if parents don't do that, who will?

Just one quote for thought, in case you are tempted not to click through and read.

Do we dream our children into being? Are they destined to inhabit the voices we imagine for them?

For the record, my answer is no to the above questions, but they are shockingly familiar.