The Day I Reread Attachments

 Dear Rainbow Rowell,

    I first read your book Attachments in September of 2014.  You were coming into Northern Virginia for a signing, and I read the book before attending.  That might seem like a random fact to remember, but I recall it for several reasons.  One is that you came into town the same week of my birthday and my husband planned a surprise party for me that year.  As my friends and I left the signing, I asked them their plans for the weekend and they kind of shrugged awkwardly.  Not that my friends can't keep a secret: they later told me they felt like they were awkward.  I just thought they hadn't made any plans yet and didn't think it odd at all.

    The other reason I remember it so well is because I'd experienced the same tragedy that Jennifer does in the book about a month before reading it.  Unlike Jennifer, I didn't know that I was pregnant.  I woke up in pain and it took a visit to the emergency room to confirm what was happening to me.  A month later, I was still grieving, though not so continuously as I had been.  I'd ceased thinking about it every minute of the day, but random things could still make me cry or give me anxiety.

    I suppose there's a scenario in which reading this book would have been terribly upsetting and hard to manage.  In reality, though, it was the exact opposite.  Throughout Attachments, we get to know Jennifer and Beth through their emails to each other as best friends.  Just like Lincoln, reading their emails makes us feel like we know them, like we're part of their conversation.  So when I read the exchanges between them after Jennifer's miscarriage, when Beth comforts Jennifer and they grieve together, I felt like Beth was comforting me.  And even better, when Jennifer mourned, we mourned together.  She cried, just like I cried.  She wanted to rant and rave to everyone she knew, just like I did.  The thing is, that ranting and raving about your miscarriage to everyone you know is painful for everyone in the long run and still doesn't heal the wound.

    Jennifer's experience made me feel incredibly seen.  The kindness Beth and Lincoln show her was as soothing as the kindness my own friends and family showed me.  The entire book is sweet and wonderful, but it was also therapeutic.  

    It's six years later now, and I no longer experience the same kind of anxiety or crying at the thought of my lost child.  I do think of him/her wistfully from time to time, and wish that my daughters could meet their oldest sibling.  But again, reading this book was a comforting experience.  It was reuniting with old friends and revisiting our joys and our sorrows.  It was not just being seen this time, but also being remembered.

    Thank you for that, not just then but also now and with every reread (and I anticipate many).

Sincerely,

Jeannette

The Day I Made Empanadas

I made empanadas with my daughter for the first time last week.  She's only 3, so I'd thought I'd have to help her a great deal.  She caught on quickly: three spoonfuls of stuffing, fold, seal.  I don't know if I caught on so quickly.

To be honest, I don't remember the first time I made empanadas with my own mother.  I know I did it.  I know I would stuff them, and she would have to help me seal them, until I learned how to fold the edges properly myself.  I do remember when she taught me to do that.

I don't really know how to cook a lot of the food my mom would make.  I'm not as well-versed in Latin American cuisine as I would like to be.  I want to share what little I have with my daughter, but I also want to learn it for myself.  I want to connect with my heritage.  I don't want my daughter to lose it.

My daughter is an amazing, curious, clever kid.  She deserves so much.  Being quarantined is a weird thing, in that we're all basically shut in here except for brief walks and quick trips to the store for me and my husband.  At the same time, I feel like it's more an opportunity than a limitation.  Maybe it's an opportunity to think more and be creative and catch up little things that need it.  But most importantly, maybe it's an opportunity for me to share all these things that I want with her..

The Day I Became a Work-at-Home Teacher

It's been nearly one month since I woke up and found out, quite by accident, that I wasn't going to work due to Covid-19.  I'd woken up at my usual time of day, grabbed my phone in my desire to procrastinate actually standing up, and randomly logged onto social media.  There it was: an announcement that due to parental concerns, the school was closing, but just for the day.  Within 3 days, school was closed for the next month.  Shortly after that, the governor closed all schools in the state for the rest of the school year, though they are required to provide for some sort of continuity of learning.

It's a strange thing to be suddenly a work-at-home teacher.  For one thing, I miss and worry about my students - "my kids," as I call them.  I don't know that they'll do their best work in an online situation.  It's different and it's a stressful time.  Though I know they might surprise me; they have before!

It's also just hard to stay focused on work.  There's a child running around, the knowledge that my husband is running around after her with his mind preoccupied by our precarious finances, and just the fact that my mentality is different at home.  It's hard to focus when there's about a billion other things I want or need to do.  I've gotten done the things I've had to, but it's been a bit rough.

The nice thing has been the actual being at home during a stressful time.  My husband and I have time to talk.  I have time to read.  I don't sit in traffic so long.  We've planted roses.  My family washed cars.  I can be sluggish about chores, because there's no rush.  We're here all the time.  I'd certainly like to be more productive, but I also feel like it's okay to be kind to myself, because everyone is feeling a bit out of it.

The one thing I would like to do is write a bit more, and journal, so here we go (again).

The Day I Shared My Secrets

So yeah, I read a lot.  And one of the things I'm often asked is how do I read so much?  I have a full-time job and a family, and somehow I'm still at over 90 books read this year.  The truth is that I don't actually know how I fit them all in myself, but here's what I've noticed about my own reading habits.

1. I start and end my day by reading.  I'm the slowest person to wake up in the world, but I typically fall asleep with my book in bed or my Kindle in hand (or under my pillow, and yes, once on my face, but that hurt and woke me up).  When I wake up, typically I don't want to move, so I set my alarm a little earlier than I actually need to be out of bed, and I slowly accept my fate with a few quick pages.

2. I tend to do routine things while reading.  I'm the only one awake when I get up.  So I can brush out my hair or pull on some pants and socks while knocking out a paragraph or two.  This works throughout my day.  I can fold laundry and read at the same time.  It doesn't take my full attention to put two purple socks together.  There is a semi-famous (around my friends and family that is) picture of me reading and washing dishes at the same time.  Sure, there are some things you have to look at to do right, like scrub a pot or put on mascara (darn you, makeup!).  But something routine like rinsing a plate?  The movements are mechanical, so why not get a short paragraph in?

3. I've learned to read in short increments.  Sometimes I get my 30 minute lunch break to read.  Sometimes I get 5 minutes and then a student walks in to talk to me.  My daughter wants to read books all on her own, and then she wants me to build a city with her out of blocks.  Sometimes there's nobody in the workroom while I'm making copies, and then someone walks in and says hi.  I get in paragraphs when I can.  It's like exercise.  It adds up.  But along with that...

4. I have come to terms with mid-chapter pauses.  No, I take that back.  I'm learning to embrace mid-chapter pauses, which sounds crazy.  Who wants to stop in the middle of a page?  But the thing is, I have a job and a kid and a husband.  When 6:45 rolls around and I have to leave for work, or my daughter needs me to color with her, it is my job to put the book down, even if Miss Marple has only just arrived on the scene.  This used to bug me (not the coloring, but the sense of incompleteness), but here's the little advantage that I think it gives me: when I come back to the book later, I'm starting in the middle of the action.  I feel like my reading paces itself more quickly because I'm eager to return to that cliffhanger I left for myself.

5. I always have a book on my Kindle.  This is actually how I often end up reading multiple books at once.  I actually don't like reading multiple at once because it slows my reading pace per book down, especially when the two books are similar.  But having a book lined up on Kindle means that I always have a book I can access on my phone - even if I forget my book.

Those are the first five I've noticed, but definitely going to keep track and keep adding tips!

The Day I Got My Library Card

When recording our podcast yesterday, we discussed why we love libraries amidst the current kerfuffle over Macmillan's new ridiculous embargo on library e-books.  It seemed like a good time to tell this story.

I learned to read at 3 years old, not that long after I learned to speak, in fact (weird off-topic trivia).  From what I'm told, and what I can figure out from vague bits of memory, my parents read to me often.  They were avid library-goers, and I always had a stack of my own.  I can still remember picture books and books on tape which were particular favorites to check out.

One day when I was about four years old, I visited the library with my mother.  I don't remember what I'd chosen, but I remember having to wait for Mom as she perused the stacks for her own selection.  I suppose I must have been impatient.  Regardless, as I gazed at the check-out counter from across the room it occurred to me that if I had a library card of my own, I could already have checked out my books.  Not only that, but then they would truly be my library books.  I turned to my mother and asked her how old one needed to be to get a library card.

I remember pretty firmly believing the answer must be something like 5, and I'd be too young.  But hey, at least I'd made my interest known!

My mother had no idea.  But you have to give this woman credit for not letting the grass grow under her feet.  She walked me directly to the counter (now that I think of it, I don't even know if she'd finished choosing her books).  Once we had the librarian's attention, she prompted me to ask my question.  The librarian asked me if I wanted a library card, and how old I was.  I told her.  She then signed me right up, and I had a card to the Falls Church City Library.

Over the years, that library became another home to me.  It's where my friends and I hung out after school.  It's where I met some of my favorite characters, and explored worlds I've never forgotten.  And it started me down a path of library love that has never faded.  

I could reflect on all the times I've sought refuge in a library, from being a shy kid who took full advantage of the school library in kindergarten to spending classes writing and reading away homesickness while living in Ecuador.  I could reflect on my unhappy times living in South Florida, seeking solace by finding as many local library branches as I could.  But those are all their own stories, and they all amount to the same thing.

Libraries have always been and probably will always be my safe haven.  I'm blessed to live in an area where I've never been more than a couple of miles from a branch.  When the world gets too busy (and it does!), a half-hour walk through the stacks can reset me for the next few days.  As an introvert in hectic extroverted job with a busy, extrovert husband and a small child, a moment alone can be a gift.  When it's needed, I can feel that tether drawing me back to the peace of my local library.

The Day I Was Reminded

This is a delayed post, written July 29, 2019.  I just didn't have internet connection, so I forgot to post until now.  So the title has a double meaning? -J :-)

I was reminded today that I don’t have to do all the things.  I don’t have to be what someone tells me. I can write what I feel and what I think, and someone out there will probably want to read it.  I just need to be true to me.

I’ve also, if truth be told, had a glass of wine and a good day, so consider the world warned.

I stopped writing mostly due to stress.  I had to quit my part-time job, which stressed me financially.  My husband has been under-employed for two years, we’ve had major house repairs to make, and it’s not until now, two years almost to the date since it all began, that I’m starting to feel like we might somehow survive and be safe.  It’s not normally hard to write in that mode for me, but add a toddler on top, and there you go.

Today is different.  Today is different because today is the day they fix one of the two major basement issues we’ve been having.  This was the more major, and the one we didn’t see coming.  Fixing it seems like a sign.

Fixing it also meant daycare day for my daughter, so I got to enjoy a winery for the day.  Thus the glass of wine.  That might even be part of the sign.  This is legit the most relaxed I’ve been in ages.  And the most I’ve felt free to write. 

When you have no money with a toddler and you’re not a good outdoorsy person, you spend a lot of time at the library.  Well, I do, because I’m a nerd.  So I’ve read a lot, and I plan to write a lot about books and reading.  But there will be other stuff too, I hope.  And I hope anyone who’s reading this right now will enjoy it.

The Day I Turned Thirty-Something

I really love birthdays - not just mine, anyone's. But this year I was a little bit reluctant to think about my birthday and what it might mean or even what I might want. Not just in terms of gifts or silly things like that, but in terms of what I want from the day and the year overall.

This past year has been hard. Since just before my last birthday, It seems like things have been repeatedly going to pieces every couple of months. Sometimes it's literally (basement, I'm looking at you). Sometimes it's emotionally or figuratively, like when two adults in their mid-30s suddenly have to question their career goals of the past 10 plus years. And yes, I recognize that just the act of things falling apart is in its own way a gift because it means something was built there to begin with, but it still hurts when it falls.

Nevertheless, whether you know where the year is taking you or not, birthdays will come. This one brought with it the gift of knowing that I have many friends who have my back during the tough times, who give of themselves without questioning, and whom I love with all my heart. They are my second family, and they will probably never know how I treasure that. I have the gift of knowing that no matter what may fall to pieces, I still have a foundation of God's and my family's love, which is stronger than adamantium. That's where I draw my strength from, and clearly, my badassery is a testament to how powerful love is.

I know what I would most like from this upcoming year. I'd love increased health, time for me and my loved ones, and financial security. Looking at that, my needs are apparently not very different from a video game character's, but I digress. I can't guarantee any of that. I can hope though, and make efforts, and I do believe that we'll come through.

I've been engaged in a lot of deep thinking about the nature of time, journeys, and new beginnings. I rarely think of my birthday as a beginning, coming as late in the year as it does. But maybe this time it can be a turning point. More reflection, more self-awareness, more efforts. But tonight I'm just starting with gratitude.