mink river and hello, fall.

since starting to work in the bookstore, i have created a shelf that consists entirely of books that are on my "to read" list. that shelf only ever grows bigger--unpacking boxes at work every day, hearing customers rave about a new title, working on old lists of recommended books from friends: they all conspire to make catching up on reading an impossible task. recently though sylla, my boss, asked me to read a new book by an oregon author. it's called "mink river," by brian doyle. she told me it was a unique book, and that if i managed to read it that she would love to hear my thoughts. the fact that sylla, who is an extremely well-read person, felt the need to talk about the book with someone really intrigued me. i borrowed a copy on my lunch break, and by the time i finished the first page, i was hooked.
it isn't often that novels (especially) command my attention from the first page. typically, i find myself struggling to get into them--having trouble keeping characters straight, and getting frustrated when thirty pages in there is no clear focus. "mink river" was completely different. the first page sang. it sounded like a poem. i had no idea what was happening, but that was okay.

this book is the best book that i have read this year, and that's saying a lot. i don't have a lot of books that i would recommend to other people without qualms or qualifying remarks, but this is one of them. every word, from start to end, was lovely, poetic, moving. doyle uses a wonderfully creative and playful voice that captures the way that thoughts feel inside of our minds--the way we run words together, skip around, make odd, spontaneous connections. he also writes beautifully about the experience of living in oregon (the story is set on the oregon coast): the gloom, the small, depressed towns, the odd individuals who are sprinkled around the edges. he writes about the search for happiness, and all of the challenges that stand between us and attaining it. he writes complex and beautiful characters who are richly flawed, but still worm their way into your heart.
really, i can't say enough about it: you'll have to read it. and if you do, let me know what you think.

****

so it's been a long time since i wrote last. the month of october completely consumed me in illness, mad work schedules, and shortening days. for the first time since leaving school, i felt really out of control of my life: in the end all i focused on was getting through the days. it made me sad to watch a whole month pass this way, but it did push me to make some decisions. i quit the coffee shop, deciding that having two days to myself was more valuable than the $300 dollars it was paying me, despite having made friends with many wonderful customers. i started working on a quilt for erik and i. i opened by my box of stationery supplies, and have plans to write many letters. i have been slowly catching up on emails and blogs from my friends who are now scattered all over the world, having their own adventures. i've started thinking about the future--engaging possibilities, trying to uncover what it is that i really want for my life, and yes, reading. i am going to start writing again.

i'm glad to have come to my senses in time for the last kick of gorgeous weather, before i will be leaving and coming home from work in the dark. i managed to make salsa and pear jam. erik and i have been renting fun movies, making popcorn, and buying beer. we're pressing cider with my family next weekend. i got my sewing machine out of its case for the first time since june. things are looking better all the time.

b

currently reading:

austerlitz, by w.g. sebald
farmer jane, by temra costa
chez panisse vegetables, by alice waters

where does the time go?

i foolishly thought that after i graduated from college, that the intertia of my life would lessen somewhat--or at least maybe pause. now it's already the end of september, and i am eating those innocent hopes every day as i realize that i missed peaches, and missing blackberries, and the tomatoes may not ripen if this cool weather keeps up. where does the time go?

i feel a bit like the leaves that are now beginning to tumble across the ground. buffeted. ragged. crisp and chilly. still clinging to their green. some mornings it's the best feeling in the world. others, i just feel tired.

my days recently are marked mostly by the passage of various books in and out of my hands. their weight is constant, which occasionally lulls me into the security of lost hours and their similarity. and then i realize i'm three titles further down the line, and i don't remember what i read four covers ago.

my start-of-fall recommendations:

"room" by emma donoghue
"zoli" by colum mccann
"all american poem" by matthew dickman

may your days pass slower than mine,

b

summer zen

favorite bits of summer so far:

-harvesting a three pound cabbage from our garden row this morning
-seeing the tomato plants double in size every time i visit them
-reading lots and lots and lots of books (recent recommendations: plenty, the worst hard time, and, if you are so inclined, the organic farming manual)
-waking up at sun up and deciding that i can sleep for another hour or two
-summery wraps for dinner with veggies and homemade hummus
-that itchy feeling you get after your first sunburn
-summer fruits for dessert
-discovering how easy it is to make your own cheese (new projects!)
-the smell of lemon trees during long, warm evenings
-the way the hills start looking hazy after a few days of hot weather
-watching the tour de france with erik
-hints of a chaco tan
-iced basil and mint tea

*

i am currently re-reading zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance. i will freely acknowledge that this is at least the third time that i have attempted to read this book. each of the previous times i have just struggled and struggled to understand and make sense of the meandering and (apparently) purposeless prose. what the hell is this guy talking about anyway? all of the last times i tried, i ended up moving on to greener pastures by the time i hit page thirty. when i noticed a used copy of it sitting in the spirituality (?) section at third street books though (sporting a sweet old cover, yellowed and well-thumbed pages, and a friendly three dollar price tag), i decided to give it another chance... and i love it.

four times the charm, and i have come to see that this is one of those books you have to wait a while to be able to read. maybe you need to be in the right frame of mind. maybe you need to be feeling particularly patient. maybe you need to sit down to read it with a glass of iced tea and no distractions. i don't know. regardless, i hear ringing through these words so many of the sentiments that i have been carrying around inside of myself these past months, that reading it feels like sitting in a hammock. weird analogy i know, but you must know that feeling: the way you sink into it carefully, and at first you are certain you will wobble over the edge to your doom. then you learn to sit back and trust it. it curls around your body, suspends you in the open air, lets the brush of a breeze rock you mildly back and forth.

i think what i am most enjoying about this book is that it doesn't rush itself. it takes the time to notice red wing blackbirds, to reflect on the meaning of landscape, the way that it moves us as much as we move across it. it notes the significance of intuition and reflects on the modern affliction/situation of technological reliance and (utter, in most cases) lack of savvy. all things i have been thinking about. all things that i think i needed to hear someone else say.

hooray for reading books in their proper season. it makes me want to return to so many other books that i think were completely lost on me: to kill a mockingbird, of mice and men, a room of one's own, the great gatsby.

*

i think i will make coleslaw for dinner. what to do with the other half of that monster cabbage...


b

ups and downs of twelve day work weeks

i found myself in a truly atrocious mood this last monday and tuesday. i was crabby, cranky, not sleeping well, exhausted, body sore, and just not into hanging out with friends, or even erik really. at the end of wednesday, my first day off in a good long while, i glanced at my calendar and realized that i had just worked for twelve days straight. i suddenly felt justified not only for sleeping in until almost noon that day, but also for being such a mess. twelve days was about five more than any sane person should ever agree to. i'll try not to make that mistake again.

to make things clear, i really love my jobs. i get to make coffee two or three days a week, steaming and swirling and stirring up drinks for about half regular customers whose faces i now recognize, even if their names still escape me, and half visitors who have been reveling in the oregon sunshine and mcminnville's sweet little downtown area that has been looking especially spic and span this summer. the other days i work, i am literally surrounded by books, answering questions for my fellow readers, tracking down hard to find books for excited customers, and recommending titles to those who happen to share my interest in memoir, nature writing, or food lit. i have no idea how i had the good fortune to land these two jobs. i take at least three applications from hopeful teenagers every single shift i work at the bookstore. i'm not complaining.

the downside of this is the reality of having two part-time jobs: very little time off. i'm the go-to person at both of my places of employment for covering shifts and last-minute calls of desperation ("can you come in today at noon??"; text received at 11:30). most days i say yes to these requests, figuring i need the hours anyway and for the most part enjoy what i do. long runs like this last one though, tend to end on a sour note. like the three people who came into the bookstore tuesday that i just could not make happy, or the poor woman that evening whose chai was not hot enough, too sweet, too milky, and i just couldn't get it right. by the end of that day, i felt like sitting down for a good cry. time for some time off.

i'm learning also that it is important to structure my time off carefully. too much lazing around the apartment, and i just feel gross at the end of the day. i take my time getting up, make myself coffee or tea and toast, sit down with a book until i feel like doing something. work on some small productive project for a while (we are still unpacking and arranging after all), and then make myself a nice little lunch. i also work hard to get out of the apartment those days, even if it's just for a little trip across the street to the library for more reading material.

*

today it is a little gray and gloomy in mcminnville, and i'm welcoming the need to wear flannel and a sweatshirt for a day or two. the world is a little less bright and overwhelming, and it feels good to linger over dinner and cuddle with erik until we both fall asleep. it reminds me why i look forward to fall all year long, and also why summer is always better with the occasional rain shower to help wash the hot and hectic days clean again.

happy july.

b

noticing lately...

old men wearing suspenders and plaid
the way evening light falls
bird silhouettes on power lines
the smell of rain-dampened roses
busy traffic on 2nd street
the smooth feel of new book pages
stationery and the promise of letters to come
the slow unfurling of my baby lettuce plants
craving black, milky tea on chilly mornings


*

i've been living without internet recently. i don't get to start the day with a convenient, unfamiliar poem (courtesy of the writer's almanac), and a quick perusal of my favorite blogs, but otherwise i am enjoying the freedom of an internet-less home. instead of compulsively checking my email or otherwise wasting time online, i have been reading a lot, slowly moving in, making summer plans, going to bed early, hanging out with erik, becca, and steve. i find myself calmer at the end of the day, and less tired in the morning, without the distraction of endless possibilities that the internet offers.

as erik and i slowly get settled into our little house, one of the major projects i've been working on is making it feel less apartment-y and more homey. this has involved numerous trips to goodwill, st. vincent de paul, and the restore. recent exciting purchases include a heavy wooden desk/work table, a big bookcase (which we painted bright orange and yellow!), and a sewing machine. my mind is overrun with possibilities of curtains and blankets and creative wall art involving old door and window frames. perhaps when i get better at arranging my days i will start in on those projects, sticking at first to necessary things like mending belt loops and torn pockets. i'm looking forward to finding a rhythm that allows for bread baking, writing, and visiting with friends. until i hit my stride though, i'm grateful for the extra hours the lack of internet provides.


b

slow morning

the past few mornings, i have been giving myself time. i don't need to be anywhere, and even though i have plenty of things to do, my body thanks me for the extra hour or two of quiet before i begin the day.

this morning, i stumbled across a handful of lovely blogs. i love these collections of other people's snapshots and musings--everyone needs a little inspiration. i would like to start recording my inspirations in a simple way, as these do.


http://gracefullady.blogspot.com/
http://greenolivesdesign.blogspot.com/
http://www.hearblack.com/
http://folkloricblog.blogspot.com/

also: listening to this song.



b

hello june

walked across a stage.

earned first tips.

secured housing.

packing packing packing.


b