Carol Snow’s What Came First follows Laura, Vanessa and Wendy as they grapple with issues both familiar and foreign to many mothers. Laura and her bright, kind-hearted son, Ian, love their lives in suburban California. Born after Laura’s visit to a sperm bank nearly a decade before, the two-unit family would like nothing more than to welcome a third . . . but Laura, perpetually single, isn’t sure how to make that happen. Posting on a website designed to link families who may have conceived children from the same sperm donor, she eventually “meets” Wendy — a harried mother of twins.

Wendy’s son and daughter have major behaviorial issues, a problem that drives her to seek out potential biological siblings to compare notes on her kids’ temper tantrums. After Wendy and Carol exchange notes and start their own research into their children’s DNA, they eventually find an answer to some of their questions — which leads them to Vanessa, a twenty-something trying to get a diamond from her live-in boyfriend. Ready to start a family of her own, Vanessa waits desperately for an engagement ring . . . but Eric seems no closer to committing than he did when they met.

All three women have trials, difficulties; no one’s life is perfect. And that’s what I loved about Snow’s novel dealing with fertility, motherhood, what it means to be a family — and what I always appreciate about her warm, rich and true-to-life characters. I probably related best to Laura, a type-A go-getter who can’t accept her family won’t grow. Her desire to have another baby seemed enviable rather than desperate, and I definitely felt her frustration and pain.

Vanessa was probably my least favorite character, especially as events . . . transpired . . . (sorry, trying to be obtuse and non-spoilery here) and she failed to understand the importance of it all. I was sympathetic to her plight and felt her frustration regarding her relationship with Eric, too, but sometimes felt like she was just so young. Though her issues were no less important, Vanessa’s problems seemed to pale in comparison to Wendy and Laura’s. But then again, what do I know?

Where the story began and where it ended were completely different than I expected, and I love that What Came First surprised me from beginning to end. Though often light-hearted and very witty, Snow’s novel also raised questions about how families are formed and how love develops. In Wendy’s case, especially, I could see how difficult conceiving children who were not biologically “his” was for her husband, and these troubles were something I’d never considered before. I love a good slice of women’s fiction that also makes me think!

Fans of Snow — as I am, from books like Just Like Me, Only Better — will appreciate her take on love, relationships and moving forward. If you’ve never devoured a Carol Snow novel, you’re missing out — and What Came First is a great, feel-good place to start.

4 out of 5!

ISBN: 0425243036 ♥ Goodreads ♥ LibraryThing ♥ Amazon ♥ Author Website
Review copy provided by author in exchange for my honest review

I wrote an entire post for today, grappling with some of The Big Questions I’ve had on my mind lately. It was scheduled to post this morning. That post was very cathartic, cobbling together my thoughts on life and death. Everything shifted into focus once I’d typed it out.

But then I did something strange, something I rarely do: I made it private. I changed it to “draft” and let it burrow quietly into my blog dashboard, to be seen — and remembered — by me alone. I usually have no difficulty bearing my soul . . . and, to be frank, I sort of enjoy it. Writing is the way I typically come to terms with what I’m experiencing. Writing about everything that has happened of late was a huge relief to me, especially as I’ve stopped writing in a journal.

The relief was in the writing, though. Not in the posting. Not in the validating. I didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for me, and I’m not seeking praise or comfort. I didn’t want to bring a total downer of a post into the world.

I simply wanted to record what I was thinking and make sense of it by stringing together sentences — just as I always do. And though I’m pleased with how I expressed my foggy thoughts, I’m remembering a resolution I’ve made to myself: to keep some things to myself. Some things for me. For my family and friends. For my boyfriend. Not to bear my soul repeatedly in every a newspaper column or blog post.

I’m being obtuse, I know — and I’m sorry. I’ve felt so strange and out of sorts lately. I’ve barely been reading, have been focusing just on work — but I know that time will march forward now, taking us with it. That everything will be all right.

Blue skies will be here again.

No, not that Anne Hathaway — this Anne Hathaway! Photos from April 2011.

For more Wordless Wednesday, visit here!

Did he do it?

She doesn’t know, but she’s going to find out.

Jennifer Haigh’s Faith is a powerful, intriguing and engulfing examination of one family’s skeletons and proves a fascinating examination of love, devotion and the long-reaching arms of childhood experience. As you’d expect from a novel named Faith, religion — in this case, Catholicism — plays a big role in each character’s formation. Do they have faith? Do they need it? In whom do they place their faith — and is it misguided? What happens when it’s gone?

Given I’ve had an incredibly heavy month, I wasn’t sure I should read this one now. Pedophilia and church corruption aren’t quite the light-hearted topics I favor for distraction. But once I’d picked up Haigh’s novel, an engrossing story I couldn’t put down, I was too invested in Art’s fall from grace to put it down. And though it moved me to tears more than once (and once while waiting for an oil change at Jiffy Lube, for God’s sake), I couldn’t stop reading it.

I loved the way the novel was framed: a narrative that read like journalism, a memoir from the fictional Sheila McGann about her disgraced brother and all he still means to her. We got enough hints along the way to know the story would be a difficult one, but Haigh masterfully divulges just enough to keep us wondering about Art’s background and future, about Kath and her son, Aidan.

The story was so intricate, so involved, that it was impossible to pluck out one character and single them out as an individual. Art was shaped so indelibly by his early life with Mary, his mother, and her second husband, Tim; Mary’s staunch Catholicism greatly impacted the lives of her three children, and eventually made Art the crown jewel of her affections. When he took his vows and entered the priesthood, Art could do no wrong. Until he did. (Or did he?)

What so captivated me about Faith was my own flippancy while reading. There were times I was absolutely sure Art had harmed Aidan, but then I’d flip right around and scold myself for every even going there. He was a good man — a holy man. Of course he didn’t. Kath was a drug user, a mutilated woman without a soul. But it would be too easy to say she was a liar, a fraud; it was too simple to simply believe her to be A Bad Person. No one is purely bad, nor purely good. Everyone has that darkness and that light within them.

Despite the fact that Sheila is our guide, the novel is really as an examination of Art: who he was; what he believed; how he believed he’d failed. There were points at which my heart absolutely broke for him. Having been raised Catholic, I related to much of their childhood spent in and out of parish halls — but I can’t say I’ve ever given much thought to the sacrifices and loneliness of priests. In thinking about how he’d never have a family, never have what other people have, Art thinks:

“Love to marriage to home and family: connect those dots, and you get the approximate shape of most people’s lives. Take them away, and you lose any hope for connection. You give up your place in the world.”

Sheila seeks to tell her brother’s story in a way no one else has, and in doing so unearths many shocking revelations about Art’s history and her own family’s foibles. Their brother, Mike, has his own share of difficulties — but I found him to be an incredibly realistic, well-drawn character. Though I often wanted to take a swing at him, I understood him as a father of three little boys. That the allegations leveled at Art would hit so close to his own family was another facet I really appreciated.

Faith is one of those books I could talk about all day, dissecting layer after layer. It’s the sort of story you want to shove into the hands of friends, if only so you have someone with whom to discuss it. It’s not always an easy read — indeed, points were so sad that I had to stop reading, and some passages disturbed me enough to bite my lips — but it was never graphic, never tawdry.

It’s about redemption. About penance. About the secrets between parents and children, brothers and sisters. About the shadowy failings we hide from each other — and even from ourselves. But above all, it is about faith. As Sheila realizes in one startling moment, “It was a thing I had always known but until recently had forgotten: that faith is a decision. In its most basic form, it is a choice.”

And you should choose to read Faith. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

4.5 out of 5!

ISBN: 0060755814 ♥ Goodreads ♥ LibraryThing ♥ Amazon ♥ Author Website
Review copy provided by TLC Book Tours in exchange for my honest review

Having read and loved Marisa de los Santos’ first two novels, I eagerly anticipated grabbing Falling Together. While the plot was slow-moving and cumbersome at times — even confusing — it’s impossible not to appreciate the lyrical quality of her writing. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to redeem this one for me.

Though the novel is ostensibly about three best friends who have drifted apart since their tender college days, Falling Together focuses mainly on Pen, a wounded single mother working to maintain an amicable relationship with her ex for the sake of their child. Having recently lost her father, Pen is a walking open wound. She bravely pretends to have forgotten about Will and Cat, her beloved college friends, but her split from them was worse than any pain she felt in love. Pen grieves as much for her father as she does for the loss of Cat and Will.

Here’s my main issue with Falling Together: the tension between the three friends feels so melodramatic and forced. We spend pages upon pages waiting for an explosive reason for the dissolution of their almost obsessive bond with one another, but it never comes. Or, rather, it’s just a let-down. Pen and her issues grated heavily on my nerves as she reconnects with Will, someone she’s so obviously in love with, and I found myself growing really frustrated with her. Plus, it was hard to understand the dynamic between them. An outsider jokes once about them being in a three-person romantic relationship, and there was some sort of unsettling vibe there I couldn’t shake. Not even by the end.

The action picks up in the latter half of the novel as several characters go on a hunt for a missing member, but it wasn’t enough to save Falling Together for me. Marisa de los Santos crafts lovely prose, but her characters here were enough to set my teeth on edge. If you’re new to her books, I recommend Belong To Me. It moved me to tears.

Other thoughts:
• S. Krishna’s Books
• The Book Chick
• Jenny’s Books

My Name Is Memory by Ann Brashares
Where I stopped: Audio disc three

Chalk this up to bad timing or awful narrators. Whichever you choose, I couldn’t pop My Name Is Memory out of my car’s stereo fast enough. To begin, I felt the audio narrators weren’t appropriate choices, age-wise; I know Daniel is supposed to have been alive for thousands of years, etc. and so forth, but the point at which both he and Lucy are interacting as teenagers makes him sound like a creeper.

Okay, that’s harsh. But true. When we got through the awkward moment where Daniel appears in a darkened room after a stabbing at a school dance (?) and he’s all, Look at me, I’m lurking here. And btw, I love you. Even though we never talk and you have no idea who I am, I thought things would improve. Alas — they just got incredibly boring after that. By the time Daniel was recounting crazy stuff that happened back in the time of Christ or something, I was mentally checked out. Not interested in a long-winded history lesson, thanks.

Would I have enjoyed this one more had I read it in print? Doubtful. I probably wouldn’t have even made it as far as I did with a borrowed audio version.

Other thoughts:
• Belle’s Bookshelf
• At Home With Books
• The Girl From The Ghetto

For more Wordless Wednesday, visit here!

I’m sort of a flippant reader. Since I started write meg! and began reviewing books in a more organized fashion, I think nothing of casting aside stories that just aren’t working for me. I generally give it the 50- or 100-page test: if it hasn’t gripped me by that point, to the donation pile it goes.

I know this isn’t always the best method — and that, if I’d just stick with them, some books would yield fabulous results. Sometimes a book just doesn’t click with me . . . and not because it’s a terrible book. It could be my mood, my emotional state, my general level of boredom. Anything, really.

That’s what makes being a panelist in the Indie Lit Awards so much fun: my reading is all picked out for me. In these blogger-sponsored and blogger-run honors, I’m introduced to a myriad of new-to-me authors as a fiction panelist. While serving last year, I discovered Peter Geye’s Safe From The Sea (reviewed a year ago today!) — and that turned out to be one of the best books I read in 2011. Would I have discovered it without the Indie Lit Awards? Maybe. But I doubt it.

Nominations closed in December, and we have our short list:

2011 Fiction Nominees

• Dance Lessons by Aine Greaney (Syracuse University Press)
• Cross Currents by John Shors (Penguin Group: NAL Trade)
• The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (Knopf/Doubleday Publishing Group)
• Silver Sparrow by Tayari Jones (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill)
• The Last Time I Saw Paris by Lynn Sheene (Penguin Group)

Check out the nominees in other categories, too, like biography/memoir, GLBTQ, poetry and more. Feel free to read along as we gobble up these stories, begin lengthy discussions and announce our winners in mid-March.

Any early favorites here? Anything you’re excited to read yourself?

But things don’t go as planned. Fifty years from their planned arrival on the new planet, Amy wakes up — and nearly drowns in her ice-filled chamber. Elder, the ship’s future leader, is there to rescue “the girl with sunset hair” — and Amy wakes up to a scary world on Godspeed. Elder is part of a new race of people led by Eldest, a serious and somewhat tyrannical leader, in a place where any differences are discouraged and mating is regulated. When Amy discovers she’s not the only one being woken prematurely, Elder and Amy embark on a quest to discover who could be trying to kill the Frozens aboard Godspeed — before it’s too late for all of them.

Beth Revis’ Across The Universe is a heart-pumping, rollicking ride through space that had me gripping the steering wheel (this was an audio!) for dear life. With enough twists and turns to keep me intrigued, Revis’ debut novel — the first in a series — was powerful, thought-provoking and entertaining.

Amy is the type of YA heroine we all champion. Aggressive, loyal and wise beyond her years, she’s a fully-dimensional and empathetic character who captured my attention from the get-go. Across The Universe’s opening scene, in which the Martin family is undergoing the freezing process, had ice running (pun intended) through my veins. The early passages featuring Amy’s frozen dreams were spine-tingling. And don’t get me started on when she wakes up — yikes.

What bonded me to her, though, was not her sense of bravery or loyalty to her family. It was her girl-next-door-ness, if you will; the feeling that, despite the horrific and crazy things happening to her, she’s a normal girl struggling to make sense of an incredibly abnormal situation. The passages where she recalls Jason, her boyfriend back on Earth, and acknowledges that he would have been dead hundreds of years by the time she awakens . . . well, that was gut-wrenching. I imagined choosing now to leave behind my entire life — my friends, my other family, my hopes and dreams — for a chance to wake up on a new planet 300 years in the future. And I can’t — not without feeling sick.

For as well as I felt I got to know Amy, Elder is a little more foreign and otherworldly — which works, I guess, considering he’s . . . well, otherworldly. Born and bred to be the future leader of Godspeed, Elder is under the tutelage of Eldest, a truly frightening character. What scared me most about Eldest was the idea that, despite everything, his methods of containing Godspeed seemed perfectly logical to him. And when we realize Eldest isn’t giving us the whole truth, that scared me more.

Never once did I consider turning back once I’d started this adventure, and though it initially reminded me of Amy Kathleen Ryan’s Glow, a book I read last year, it was entirely its own story (and Across The Universe was actually published first). Loving this one so much actually forced me to revise my earlier opinions of Glow, something I don’t normally do, because the world of Godspeed was so tangible compared to the regulated one of the New Horizon. Both feature strong female leads (Amy and Waverly), but I much preferred the fast-paced and eery quality of Across The Universe.

And what of the love story? Despite the suggested intimacy of the hardcover art (at left), the growing closeness of Amy and Elder isn’t as critical to the story as I’d anticipated. This was no problem for me, considering I was so tied up in the intricate layers of deceit binding Godspeed together. All the same, I did nurse a little hope that Amy would come around to admiring Elder for his strength and bravery — and that maybe they’d hook up as an act of (serious) rebellion.

Guess I’ll have to check out the sequel for that.

Fans of fantasy, dystopian novels and stories set in deep space will find plenty to enjoy in Revis’ fast-paced, gripping novel. The societal issues regarding regulating the general populace, controlling the population and its mating habits (ooh, sexy!) and the absolute power of dictators (wasn’t Eldest doing exactly what he preached against, anyway?) elevated this above a simple dystopian novel. Despite its young adult designation, plenty of adult themes were laced into this awesome tale — so bear that in mind for young readers.

4.5 out of 5!

ISBN: 1595144676 ♥ Goodreads ♥ LibraryThing ♥ Amazon ♥ Author Website
Personal audiobook borrowed from my local library

My feelings on the narration: A female and male narrator voiced Amy and Elder’s parts, respectively, and while I enjoyed both, Elder’s impersonation of Amy sounded like a caricature. You know how boys tease and imitate girls by making their voices all funny and high-pitched? Yeah. Like that. Thankfully, those moments were rare — and overall, I felt the narration and pacing were very well done. Elder almost had a slight accent, too, which contributed nicely to the otherworldly-ness of his character. When Amy admitted to having a hard time understanding the dialect, all the better.

My uncle loved to golf.

One of my earliest memories of spending time at his house, a mere two-minute drive away, featured a plastic golf set. He’d purchased one so my sister and I would have something to play with when we came to visit. Though I don’t have an athletic bone in my body, Uncle Phil patiently showed us the ins and outs of a good swing — and then left us to our own devices. He didn’t micro-manage the process.

Winters always brought us to Uncle Phil and Aunt Jacki’s, where a tantalizingly-large hill perched in their backyard. After getting permission, my parents, sister and I would schlep over with our sleds and saucers (like on “Christmas Vacation”!) and spend hours sailing up and down the battered grass. As a parting “thank you” gift, we’d usually build a snowman in Uncle Phil’s front yard. On one memorable occasion, we drove by days later to find our creation had collapsed. When we laughingly confronted Uncle Phil, asking if he’d pushed it over, he denied it. And he never did ‘fess up.

Uncle Phil was diagnosed with cancer about three years ago. Though we worried we’d lose him several times, he fought bravely and was strong until the end. My uncle’s faith was very strong, and I know he’s with God today. Despite our sadness, we’re grateful he is at peace.

I’ll always remember my uncle for his jokes and our love of photography, something he shared with Mom, Spencer and me. He had frequent conversations about the latest gear with my boyfriend, and it was fun to see him so excited about a new lens or camera body. When Spencer and I would talk about plans, Uncle Phil always had a great restaurant recommendation or weekend getaway spot. He loved food and traveling, another shared passion.

Uncle Phil loved to learn and was fascinated by new technology, around which he based his long career. The IT expert and tech guru in our clan, Uncle Phil was always there to set up a new router or printer. I remember him coming over when we bought our first desktop in 1995 or 1996. He explained “The World Wide Web” to my parents, who then explained it to Katie and me. Things weren’t too plug-and-play back then, so Uncle Phil had to make everything jive from scratch. To a kid yet to develop any computer savvy, it was like conjuring magic.

His faith guided him through his journey, and I’m grateful we were able to see him in his final days. We’ll all miss him very much.

I’m a stress baker. (And stress shopper, but that’s an entirely different post.) Last Sunday I was wandering around with my head in a fog, anxious and upset and struggling to make sense of things that make no sense. In one of my circuits around the kitchen, I spotted my trusty cupcake carrier. And for a half hour, the chorus of worry in my head was quiet.

There’s something so Zen about baking. As I get more adventurous, I feel comfortable crafting unusual recipes and sliding away from always using recipes. In fact, I didn’t use a recipe for this one at all . . . which, as you’ll see, was no big deal. Because it’s not really a recipe. More of a culinary suggestion, if you will.

Everyone likes angel food cake, right? It’s light, fluffy — and for all you New Year’s resolutioners, fat-free. (Yes!) When I raided the cabinets for something to bake last weekend, I came across a box of angel food cake mix and tried to think of how I could use it.

Angel food is delicious, yes, but not very . . . sexy. Or interesting. It’s just sort of, “Hi, I’m here — your regular old angel food cake.” At the suggestion of my sister, I jazzed it up. And since I’m obsessed with extracts (rum! coconut! almond!), I fumbled around until I found my orange bottle. And I added some.

Combined with a tub of orange frosting left over from last Halloween (it was fresh and unopened, I swear!), we crafted a batch of fluffy, chewy and delicious orange angel food cupcakes that were consumed with a day or two. I might have had two (or three . . .) as soon as they cooled.

Here’s what I did — but remember, it’s simple. Like, really simple. Almost as simple as this “recipe” I created.

But sometimes the easiest things are the most delicious.

Orange Angel Food Cupcakes

Ingredients:
1 box angel food cake mix
Water, as called for on box
2 tsp orange extract
Colored frosting, as desired
Sprinkles, as desired

Directions:
Prepare angel food cupcakes as directed on package, adding 2 tsp orange extract to batter. Bake as directed, or until tops of cupcakes are brown and dry. Cool in pan, then move to cooling rack. Frost and decorate as desired, or enjoy as-is! Yields 24-28 cupcakes.

In belle époque Amsterdam, Piet interviews for a position teaching the talented but strange child of Maarten and Jacobina Vermeulen-Sickerts. Young Egbert, one of the family’s three children and the only son, is haunted by invisible demons demanding he put himself through grueling paces like playing the same song on piano hundreds of times. Piet is determined to help the child — if only to continue living in the lap of luxury at his wealthy employers’ home.

Ruled by lust and a desire to ascend to the privileged class, Piet begins to change the Vermeulen-Sickerts’ lives in swift, tangible ways. Long kept at arm’s length by her husband, Jacobina is desperate for attention — and companionship. Louisa and Constance Vermeulen-Sickerts, sisters and polar opposites, exercise a due wariness regarding Piet’s infiltration but have plans of their own. And Maarten, the family patriarch, is so desperate to “cure” his only son that he’s willing to look beyond the obvious. Is Piet pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes — or is he merely another pleasure seeker in a vast, complicated game?

Richard Mason’s History Of A Pleasure Seeker is a lush, sensuous and finely-wrought story of how, through charisma and seduction, one man is able to change an entire family and free them from their stuffy, well-made cages. In return, Piet is able to leave behind his poverty-stricken youth and seek all the pleasures to which he feels entitled as a self-made man.

I was initially attracted to this book because of a line drawn between it and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, one of my favorite classics. After finishing History Of A Pleasure Seeker, I can see the parallels between the two. Though our setting here is The Netherlands, Piet functions as a sort of Gatsby-like anti-hero. I took turns loving and despising him, wondering if he possibly felt for the Vermeulen-Sickerts family or merely sought to snap off a piece of their prestige. That feeling morphed many times over, and I’m still not completely sure how I feel about Piet. Other than, you know . . . seduced.

On one hand, he’s a selfish devil accustomed to getting what he wants — and when he wants it. Whether a lusty embrace comes from a man or woman seems to be of little consequence, and he’s already daydreaming about receiving satisfaction from a fellow employee at the Vermeulen-Sickerts’ residence just hours after arriving. I don’t think this was so much a bisexual tendency as a rampant desire to be pleasured when he felt the urge — regardless of who was there to satisfy him. The true nature of his sexuality didn’t seem to be of much consequence outside of what it asked him to do for others, and what he asked others to do for him. As you’d expect from a book with such a title, History Of A Pleasure Seeker is really all about Piet’s pleasure.

And it’s hard not to be seduced by Piet. On the surface, he’s a talented pianist, an educated dreamer, a reliable employee. He’s described as devastatingly handsome and all too aware of what his attractive physique can afford him from others. (I pictured him as a Henry Cavill type, at right.) Whether everything is just an elaborate scheme to buy himself fortune, I’m not sure — but I’m leaning toward not. At his heart, I don’t think Piet was a cold and calculated gold digger. I think he was just a little tortured and entitled.

Though Piet is our central character, he isn’t the only one craving release. Louisa and Constance Vermeulen-Sickerts want to be freed of the confines barring women from doing much beyond finding a good husband, becoming a good mother. Bright and devastatingly sarcastic, Louisa was a favorite character of mine; her sassy observations and unwillingness to become a pawn in anyone’s game made me smile. Little Egbert desperately wants to be freed of his inner demons, and Maarten craves only the security to take care of his family in the manner to which they’ve been accustomed. And Jacobina? She just wants to be loved.

History Of A Pleasure Seeker was a fast, intoxicating read — and though my interest waned slightly as Piet moved on from Amsterdam, I was very invested in the plot and characters. The novel features several scenes steamy enough to make my cheeks flush, but I wasn’t bothered by the erotic and hypnotic nature of the story. If you’re easily offended by sexual content, I’d suggest tiptoeing around this one — but those seeking a raucous, entertaining and sexy story of one social climber pawing his way to the top will find Richard Mason’s novel goes down a treat.

4.5 out of 5!

ISBN: 0307599477 ♥ Goodreads ♥ LibraryThing ♥ Amazon ♥ Author Website
Review copy provided by Amazon Vine in exchange for my honest review

But sometimes, there are no words. No words that I know.

A good friend’s brother-in-law was killed in a sudden, senseless and violent act this weekend in Philadelphia. Since we learned of his passing on Sunday, my head has felt fuzzy. Kevin seemed like such a wonderful, funny and caring man. He was my partner in her wedding party just four months ago; I can still feel the solidness of his arm when I placed my hand in the crook of his elbow. He was 23.

After a long and hard-fought battle, my great uncle is entering the final stages of cancer. A bright and caring man with an illustrious history, my grandfather’s little brother means so much to our family. Up until recently, I always thought Something Would Happen. Modern medicine would pull through after all. But I know some things cannot be healed. We’re going to see him today.

I don’t have the right words for these occasions. I feel so sad about Kevin; I feel so sad about Uncle Phil. I feel sad about each in their own, distinct way, and grief is a strange and funny beast. We have long days yet to come, I know, and I’m bracing myself for them. But it’s hard to know how to react. Or how to think or feel.

I don’t have the right words for my dear, dear friend. My heart breaks for Kevin, for Erin, for her husband’s family. If you have a moment today to think a good thought, please send it to them. I’m sending everything my own tender heart can muster.

And I know it’s not about “the right words.” Writing Erin after hearing that news was a terrible, terrible thing. I don’t have the right words for my uncle, for my own family — but sometimes, I think, it’s not about words. It’s about presence. It must be about showing love by showing up.

I can show up.

I will show up.

——-

If anyone has any information that may help find Kevin Kless’ killers in Philadelphia, please step forward. A reward of more than $15,000 is now being offered for any information that could lead to bringing justice for his grieving family. I can’t express how surreal it is to see Kevin’s face on ABC News, but I hope the exposure drives home to someone out there how important it is to come forward. If you were in or around Philadelphia and might have been at or near the scene in the wee hours of Saturday morning, please speak to detectives. It only takes one small tip — however insignificant it may seem to you — to help solve this case. Thank you.

Sometimes you find a postcard, and sometimes a postcard finds you.

After last week’s post and other musings on my desire to slow down and enjoy the simple moments, the postcard above arrived from Frank in Germany. As I went the Spanish route in high school and know exactly zero German (except, you know, gutentag), I had to rely on alternate help.

Since I couldn’t find an English translation of “Kleines Glück” online, I did some investigative work — and that turned out to be the most fun I had all day. Google Translate never lets me down. For someone madly in love with words, examining the sentiment behind the poem — “Little Pleasures” or “Small Fortune” in English, I think — was fascinating.

I went through the alternate translations for every word, stitching Irmgard Erath’s poem together like a quilt. I’m sure it’s not perfect, but that’s okay. Like all art, it’s open to interpretation. And this time? The interpretation was mine. That feeling was bold and empowering. It felt like deciphering an ancient text — and this text was all too applicable to my own life.

“Little Pleasures” reminds me how truly alike we all are. And how, with our incredible technology, not even language can separate us now.

Little Pleasures
by Irmgard Erath

Each day carries thousands of possibilities
for joy, for hope
and is a small fortune in itself:
Very quietly and unnoticed
in the midst of this noisy world
can the magnificent happen.
There are those small events
that make life bright and beautiful –
those precious moments
of which only the heart knows.

With stints on “In Living Color,” “Seinfeld,” “The Marriage Ref” and more, Ali has found her niche as a quirky but lovable character and eventually married one George Stephanopoulos. In the funny but circular way life often works, being a political correspondent’s wife brings her back to Washington. She and her husband welcome two daughters, and mayhem ensues.

Ali Wentworth’s Ali In Wonderland is a fun if haphazard memoir detailing her childhood and teen years and the unexpected events that befell her once she arrived in L.A. Touching ever-so-briefly on her marriage to George, which was my real vested interest in all this, Wentworth manages to weave together a book that is amusing if not wholly satisfying.

My biggest gripe with Ali In Wonderland is its disjointed nature. The book is told through vignettes without real regard to space and time. We may jump from childhood to adulthood, D.C. to L.A., and I never knew whether I was coming or going. This could have worked had their been some unifying theme or parallelism, but as it stood? I felt a little motion sick.

Also, I’m told over and over again how hilarious Wentworth is — and am even informed this by blurber Alec Baldwin. And Wentworth has certainly had an interesting, colorful life. But did I find myself snorting coffee or choking back uncontrollable belly laughs the way I am with my nose in a Jen Lancaster book? Not really. Plus, the book’s tone would shift so abruptly — from talking about a funny show to an attempted rape (literally) — that I further heightened my “am I coming or going?” feeling. I mean, is this humor or true crime? This isn’t funny, right?

There was plenty I liked about Wentworth’s stories, especially when she described her high school years and trips overseas. At less than 300 pages, it’s truly a quick read. But I felt like we’d barely skimmed the surface when discussing her family and marriage. Considering her husband is a prominent journalist and her mother a former first lady’s social secretary, perhaps she just didn’t want to go no-holds-barred and expose her family’s inner workings. I can respect that. But as an American with an insatiable appetite for celebrity gossip, I still craved something juicy.

I guess now would be the point where I admit to having a slight, teeny, almost invisible crush on Wentworth’s husband. George Stephanopoulos exudes control and charisma, and my sister, dad and I were lucky enough to greet him between takes of “This Week” once at the Newseum downtown. (Katie shook his hand! I was too nervous.) As I’m native to the area myself, I could definitely relate to Ali’s descriptions of Georgetown and life in D.C.

Fans of Wentworth or humorous memoirs might find Ali In Wonderland to be a pleasant, diverting afternoon read. Wentworth comes across as very likeable and down-to-Earth, and I never considered abandoning the book. But waiting for the laugh-until-tears-stream-down-my-face moment I craved never quite materialized.

3 out of 5!

ISBN: 0061998575 ♥ Goodreads ♥ LibraryThing ♥ Amazon ♥ Author Twitter
Review copy provided by publisher in exchange for my honest review

The quickest way to perk up my afternoon is to make myself a cup of hot tea. I have no less than six different kinds in my desk drawer — and I often find that the most exciting part of my work day is choosing a flavor. (It’s the little things . . .) When my boyfriend’s parents were in town at Christmas, I took his mom to an awesome local tea room. I just wanted to gobble up everything there!

2. Pretty postage.

I send lots of mail. Whether we’re talking postcards, love letters or old-fashioned mail to family, I better have a hefty stack of stamps at my disposal. I have the “Garden of Love” stamps now and use them to death.

3. Spencer’s wrinkle-nosed laugh.

Everyone has a Face. It’s the look you make when someone has really tickled your funny bone, you know what I’m sayin’? I’m not talking an obligatory chuckle here — I’m talking a big, from-the-gut, uncontrollable laugh that cannot be controlled. And when I say something that really makes Spencer double over or do something clumsy and hilarious, he wrinkles his nose and gives me a look of utter disbelief. That makes me laugh. And I love to laugh — especially with him.

4. Beautiful book cover art.

I totally judge books by their covers, and sometimes their covers are awesome. The books themselves? No clue. But at least they’re pretty.

5. Nail polish.

My obsession has reached a critical juncture. I joined the Julep Maven (affiliate link) program and am now treated to surprise nail shades and goodies coming to my mailbox every month, and let me tell you: this is bad. Well, I mean, it’s good; it’s awesome getting surprises in the mail. But it’s bad because I have to pay for it. And I have very little self-discipline when it comes to cosmetics.

It’s also bad because I’m the nut who now needs to change her polish constantly, and since I’m rarely sitting down long enough to do it . . . well, I’m typically up at 11 p.m. trying to keep my eyes long enough to give myself a manicure. Don’t stare too long at the smudges.

6. Post-Christmas clean-up.

I love holiday decorating as much as the next guy (or gal), but I’m very eager to pack up the inflatable snowmen and Christmas bulbs once the season has passed. We cleaned up our house last weekend and Spencer packed up his place this week, too. My desk is now free of miniature pink Christmas trees and my officemates have helped take down all the hanging icicle lights once strung along the ceiling of our office space.

The new year always feels like a clean slate, and I like having a (literal) clean space in which to embrace all that possibility. It feels good to have order restored, you know?

7. Instagram.

Yes, yes — after joining the iPhone world, I’ve become completely obsessed with the Instagram app for photos. You might have noticed my own recent shots look a tad bit different than the photos I normally share, and that’s because I can’t stop snapping shots with my phone.

While I once judged this and judged this harshly (I mean, what kind of quality are you getting with a phone?), I understand now. Instagram is awesome. And if you thought I took too many pictures of my food before, be afraid.

I’m also doing a 2012:366 project (leap year!) wherein I take one iPhone photo daily for 2012. I’ve seen lots of folks doing similar but always thought they were unrealistic for me. Since I’m not going anywhere without my phone, it’s easy to remember to document at least one small part of my day — and it gets my creative juices flowing on otherwise hum-drum occasions. And yes, there’s an app for that.