A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

 A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith x 2

1998

Weight: 15 oz

Method of Disposal: Giving one to a friend and one to my Mom

This book was recommended to me by a dear friend who I used to work with at Waldenbooks.  I ended up with more than one copy, and I decided to read it while home sick with COVID.  Many years after I was told to read it.  It was great, and I recommend it.  I can see why it is a classic.  It is the story of a working class  Irish American family surviving and living in the city, and it focuses on the young girl, Frankie, who we watch grow up.  Frankie is incredibly lovable, and all the characters in the book are complex and interesting because of it.  Her dad is an alcoholic, but he is not someone we hate, because how could we? Frankie loves him so much, as does his wife and her mom.  They have no money, but the mom has a strong determination and work ethic and moral compass, which she shares with her children.  It is good.  You should try it.

Mutts: Shelter Stories

 Mutts: Shelter Stories By Patrick McDonnell

2008

Weight: 1.2 lbs

Method of Disposal: Donating

I remember lining the dog's cages at the shelter with newspaper and unfolding the comics to see a Patrick McDonnell strip many mornings.  This one reminded me of one of my favorite dogs of all time, Tenchi, who had to wait years to find her home, but when she did, it was the best home.  She has since passed away, and they have adopted again.  I posted this one on her cage while she was at the shelter because no one would look at her since she barked so much in her cage, and they thought she was unfriendly.  She was absolutely the sweetest girl and was so quiet when she got out and, later, when she was in a home.  It can be hard to know what behaviors from the kennels will stick and which ones will go away with time, exercise, training, love, patience.  I just knew that once she was out of the kennels she would be great though.  I needed to get someone else to see it.

In the end, it was someone doing community service who was around long enough to get to know her, and he took the chance on her. And, I love him for it.

Another memory I have is from 14 years ago.  I walked into the vet clinic, and saw a beautiful brown pit bull, scared and despondent in her cage.  There was blue painter's tape above the bars with the name "Hershey" written in sharpie.  She was the color of chocolate, of course.  I thought to myself, "that is my 3rd dog", and then I quickly shook my head and inwardly rolled my eyes--absolutely not.  I did not want another dog with my boy Phoenix being so old and already having a rocky transition with Sergei (Serg/Sir Gay/Nader/Nader Nader Alligator/Sergio/Asshole/The Jackass/The Criminal/Sergei Ivanovich McKelvey/My Soulmate), coming into the home.  I had been at the shelter maybe 7-8 months, and I was still learning so much.  I had no idea what I was doing.  I still am learning now, after all these years in rescue.  I guess that never stops.  But, I had never seen a dog like "Hershey" before.  I cannot tell you now exactly why I found her so striking.  Maybe it was because my metaphorical heart knew, and the rest of me did not.

I remember sitting on the steps in intake with someone from the old leadership team.  They told me that she was abandoned, tied to the gate on the coldest day in December, but that we could not keep her at PAWS.  They had tucked her away in the clinic while they tried to think of an alternative.  It was a different time then.  She told me that they would rather euthanize her than send her to animal control, where she would surely be euthanized, but she would be so much more fearful as she left.  Now days, we love and support our animal control, and we do not see a dog going there as being worse than death.  So much has changed, not only with animal controls all over the country, but with us, at the smaller, non-government funded facilities.  And thank goodness.

I was told that I would get five years of heartworm preventative, and that she would be spayed and vaccinated at no cost if I would just take her as an individual and foster her until another placement could be found.  They would help me.  I did it because I could not stand to think of that beautiful creature dying for what?  Because she was a pit bull?  She was spayed, and they discovered she had 9 puppies.  And then, I took her home.  My then girlfriend, Vallan, tried to name her "Le Chien Nikita" and we compromised on "Madeleine" (Lion/LyLy/Mattie-Lion). My dear friend, Tracy, told me her ears were something special, like satellites and, when I wanted to know how she was feeling, I needed to only pay attention to those ears.  She has not been wrong.

I had not introduced Madeleine to either of my dogs, and I was winging the whole thing all the way.  By some miracle, she always did well with Phoenix, thank goodness.  He was an old man and had no interest in other dogs, and he deserved peace.  She mostly did well with Sergei,  but Sergei and her were hot and cold, and the cold would present itself in these rare but scary, shocking, and sudden dog fights that would cause me to scream and panic, while frantically pulling them apart.  No one was ever seriously injured, and I know now that is because of them and not just me.  I have many dogs with dog aggression who are a lot more determined and serious about it, and they have been wonderful dogs, but there is no way they will be making any canine friends.

My girlfriend at the time once through beer all of us to break the two of them up.  It did not work, but we were all wet, and I was trembling and worried about what we would do next.  I could not bear it if she hurt Sergei.  I was really uninformed at the time.  I learned over the years that Lion was dog intolerant and would be aggressive to other dogs that jumped on her or tried to play.  Sergei was a resource guarder with food and toys.  Lion was a resource guarder only with other dogs with food and sometimes water.  They both were wary of strangers, but Sergei would actually bite you if you took something away from him or got under the bed (his self claimed space) to grab something, but Lion would not.  I learned to always keep them in separate rooms when I was not there to supervise and to never give them treats or food together.  I learned how to communicate with them better.  Inadvertently, they learned that I would lose my mind if they fought, and they did ultimately stop.  They also learned each other.  If Lion approached the water bowl, Sergei would walk away and come back when she was done.  If Sergei had a tennis ball, she would not try to take it but, if she had a plush toy, he would not try to take it from her.  They worked out this whole system, and they compromised on so much.

This is not how it goes for all dogs, and I do not recommend forcing a dog aggressive dog to get along with other dogs.  It can be dangerous and heart wrenching. But, I do recommend taking a chance on loving a dog that doesn’t love other dogs or doesn’t exhibit the behavior you are use to (but can be kept safely in the community). It is 100% worth it. They need you more then any other dog at the shelter, and many of them will love you fiercely. They will absolutely teach you a lot, and you will love them fiercely too. 

Madeleine was just tolerant enough, and both of their triggers were really easy to work out, with some time. Sergei is the only dog I think Lion has ever truly loved, though she tolerated a handful of others within reason, because her moms work in rescue. I catch her spooning with him now, and I did even before her mind started to go. Now, he makes her feel safe. She lays close to him so she won't fall off the bed with her poor mind, bad vision, and hearing, it is an absolute necessity for her at night when we all go to bed.

She is scared of going outside at night, and she will not go to the bathroom without Sergei there. He is very tolerant of her needs and does not even growl (though he will groan) when she stumbles all over him and steps on his face. I never would have believed it circa 2008-2015. They have not fought in ages, and I do not expect they ever will again, though I am always sure to separate them when I am not there and do all the things I have always done to ensure they get along and are happy. I suspect they would be fine, maybe even better than fine. They have really worked out their differences, but Harriet and I agree. It is not worth the risk. They done so well all this time.

Unfortunately, before Vallan and I knew that Lion did not like dogs, she took her to a friends house to play with their smedium dog, Lucy.  Lion, apparently, hopped like a bunny, grabbed the dog in her mouth, and started shaking her.  Vallan got in the middle of it and was determined to break them up and save our friend's dog.  Not surprisingly (she was a determined and passionate person), she was able to break them up, but she got bit in the process.  Lucy was totally fine, but Vallan had to go to the doctor.  

All the support I had been offered went away.  I was told to euthanize her.  There were too many friendly pit bulls dying to hold onto an aggressive one.  The vet I assisted in spay/neuter surgeries was angry with me for not listening to reason.  The trainer was more gentle and offered alternatives but, ultimately, agreed that euthanasia might be the best option.  And the thing is, neither of them were wrong really.  In some situations, there are dogs that are truly unsafe to adopt out, but they weren't right about my Lion. I just knew it was dog aggression and that she had redirected on Vallan but was not dangerous.  Vallan agreed.  

We kept her and began looking for a home for her.  We made flyers, contacted the pit bull group that everyone vouched for (but was later shut down after a Fox 5 Investigation).  We posted her on social media and told people in the line at the coffee shop about her.  There was no one looking for a dog aggressive pit bull with a bite history.  I was so frustrated.  I did not want to keep her.  I remember saying that, "she was the only dog I ever met that I did not like."  I was resisting her, but it was all so ridiculous, because Lion was and became the best dog.  She was well behaved, protective, loving, playful, loyal.  So, we gave up looking for a home.

I love everything about Madeline. I loved her then, all the years in between, and I love her now, more than I could possibly describe here. She is 15 years old and has developed cognitive dysfunction and has serious mobility issues from muscle wasting. I wish so much that Harriet and I could soothe her mind and strengthen her legs. When I most felt alone, and I was at my breaking points, I always had Lion and Sergei to soothe and strengthen me. Phoenix had passed away of a heart attack some time after Vallan moved out and, in time, the three of us became a true pack and a family. I stayed and fought for my life because I could not imagine letting them down. No one had wanted either of them. Who would possibly take care of them if I did not?

The deal was that if Vallan and I ever broke up, she would take Lion, and I would take Sergei and Phoenix. Phoenix (P-Beast/Feanie/Beast) was my childhood dog after all, but the way life worked out, she would only have been able to take Phoenix, and I would never let him go.

I am so glad.

I’m so glad I fell for it and took Madeleine home, though I don’t recommend getting people to rescue that way. I’m so glad no one else adopted her when they had the chance. I’m so glad we could see past her dog aggression and know that she was not human aggressive, though maybe wary of strangers. And, I am so glad I ended up with custody of all three dogs, though, at the time, I felt overwhelmed. Vallan sent "dog support" and always loved them. It is funny to me now to think about how worried I was, after all the dogs Harriet and I have fostered, rescued, worked with, and even adopted. Three dogs? We have five now, and they are not "normal" dogs!

Lion met Harriet maybe four years after Lion met me, and they’ve loved each other ever since. I can forgive Lion for considering Harry to be her favorite, as she has been my favorite human too. So, I understand.

Madeleine has been the best girl, and almost everyone who has met our pack has considered her the favorite because she is so sweet, loyal, and playful, but also, she is the best behaved pup in the pack.

I’ve never had a dog love me like Lion has. Until her cognitive dysfunction took over, she would do anything to protect me. Unless Harriet was around, and she had to choose. Then, she would choose Harriet, and that was perfect because I am protective of both of them. It is hard watching her age and change, but I am so grateful for the opportunity.

Now, we have been battling with the knowledge that she will need to be euthanized before this gets worse, but it is hard to admit that, after all the medications, food, the expensive Impact crate , all the love and attention and thoughtfulness. She never had to be crated before, but she started hurting herself when we left. My dad began to call her "The Termite" (He is responsible for "The Criminal" too), as she was eating our new house from the inside out. This was not a trajectory we expected. Over the last year, she has begun having accidents in the house 2-3 times a day after being a housebroken dog all her life. She will chew on the window frames and base boards if we let her free roam when we leave. She is our sweet girl, and we know she cannot help it. We just take her out often and try to make her feel safe. But, it is hard to see her like that and know she is scared too.

She panics and hurts herself when we leave so we have her on anti-anxiety medications that might take the edge off, and the crate does help a little. Maybe. We play calming music and sometimes use diffusers with lavender oil. She has been restless at night and now she is restless anytime she is not in her bedroom. Her legs sometimes spasm, and she gets up with a start and takes off, but she can't "take off" anymore so she will fall and then panic and not be able to get up without help. It is shattering our hearts to watch her, but we've been able to find ways to bring her happiness even as she forgets everything and we have mom ears for when she is struggling, even when we got COVID and a fever and thought we could only sleep. If she was struggling, we were up and lifting her and telling her to slow her roll. It was okay. She is no longer wary of strangers and loves them. She no longer knows the words/commands she once knew. Her whole life revolves around eating and when she can get her next treat. She has become fixated on food. She gets confused sometimes when trying to figure out doorways or turns. She will completely fall, splayed out, if she is even accidentally nudged by Sergei or one of us.

We said we wanted to say goodbye to her before she did not recognize us anymore. We did not want her to feel like she was with strangers when the time came, but there are times where she clearly does not know us now. Most of the time, I believe she does know she loves us and feels safe with us, but when she doesn't, you can see her get scared and confused. She almost "snaps out of it" when the recognition finally comes--usually from your smell, or your voice, or something she is used to hearing you say even if she does not know what it means. She has no muscle and falls over her own feet, Benebones on the floor, the weight scale, a piece of fluff, pretty much anything. And, if she falls, she cannot often get up. We cannot leave her alone because it is torture for her.

And yet, I cannot imagine living in a world that does not include her. At this point, that does not revolve around her. I know that we have to, and that it is not fair to her to make her suffer now that she is truly suffering more than she is not. We are supposed to say goodbye to her Tuesday, at home, but I keep telling myself and Harriet that we can cancel it, but I know we cannot and Harriet knows we cannot.

I worry about Sergei. He is also fifteen and is wonky after a bout of vestibular. How will he handle losing Lion? I've always said he was a sociopath, so he might be okay, but I do suspect that they love each other deeply after all these years. I thought as they aged, their relationship and Sergei's attitude would get worse but, like I have been so many times, I was wrong.

Tonight, when I was pulling up her breakfast for tomorrow, and adding all her "powders and potions," I realized that, once she is gone, I will miss the whole process of feeding her because, even though there are calming probiotics, fish oils, Clonidine, Prozac, Galliprant, Dasequin, Gabapentin, and it is changing all the time with new medications are coming and old ones are leaving. While I am pulling up all these things, I know she is still alive. And, when I am not, I know that she is gone and that we might have bought time, but there are no miracles other than that we all found each other eventually. I know that there is no amount of money or effort that can turn this around or change a forever goodbye. It is unbearable. Harriet and I use to agree not to cry in front of her when this all started. We did not want our sadness to increase her anxiety, but now she does not even notice tears or tissues or whimpers or cries. She is always seemingly trying to figure out who and where she is and what she is suppose to be doing.

One of the kindest things we will ever do for our dogs is to let them go. And while it can be scary, because you do not want to take away any bit of happiness or hope from them, and you cannot ask them what they want, you know there really is no other option. It goes against every desire in my body to imagine laying in bed without feeling her body in between mine and Harriet's. She sleeps there now, with Sergei at the foot of the bed to feel secure. I need to see her senior lady tongue, hanging out of her mouth while she snores. On what planet will I be that now she cannot spoon me or Harriet when we are not spooning her. When I was single and living alone, she would always through her paw over me and hold me like a human, and it was oddly comforting. I can see her at 2 years old, leaping, and running, and chasing her teaser toy--a toy on the end of a rope on the end of the stick. I can see her at 4, when we used to go hiking every weekend. One time, we almost went over a waterfall, but I grabbed her by the harness with super human strength and pulled her out of the water just in time to get her back onto sturdy ground and then scramble up after her. Was she six at the horse farm, when Sergei went missing, and my world was falling apart, and I could not function, but she was right there, concerned, and ready to comfort Harriet and I. We took her on walks all over, hoping her female marking would give Sergei a path to follow home, and maybe it did. Who knows? But, he came back, and it was the happiest day of my life. She loved Kong Wubbas and then she loved those weird, round Bark Box toys--the Olympian in particular. We ordered her another after her first one was destroyed. She loved the toys that had smaller toys inside of them she had to pull out. She loved Harriet's mom, and her gifts from England. She loved everything about us, and we continue to love everything about her.

There are so many stories, so many beautiful and happy moments. There are thousands of pictures and videos, but there will never again be another Lion. I am grateful I got to spend her life with her but, right now, I am just scared and heartbroken and dreading Tuesday, but feeling like it might also be too long for her to wait, and hoping she will rally, as dogs do, right before the end.

Rick Bragg

2 x The Speckled Beauty and His People 

Where I Come From: Stories from the Deep South 

2021 

Weight: 20.13 oz

Method of Disposal: Giving two to dad and one to a friend

Two different people gifted me The Speckled Beauty within weeks of each other, and I felt loved.  I had just finished reading Where I Come From, which I purchased at Little Shop of Stories in Decatur, Ga.  Bragg has a couple essays where he mentions The Speckled Beauty and some other dogs, The Dancing Skinny and Pup McGraw.  I had already started naming dogs at the shelter after them.  We are still on the lookout for our Pup McGraw, but we had a Speck, a Speckled Beauty, and a Dancing Skinny.  I guess I should do a Bragg too.

Everyone seems to love Rick Bragg, and I like to buy at least one book anytime I go into an independent bookstore--or really any bookstore these days--so, when I saw his name on the new arrivals wall, I grabbed it right away.  It was a collection of essays, and it was good.  I did think I would have enjoyed them more by stumbling on them one by one in magazines or online but, realistically, that had not happened often so this was my best chance to read them.  I just could not resist reading them all at once, which might have taken away some of the power of them individually.  I thought about my dad several times, especially when he talked about fishing without the idea of catching anything.  My father often says he is going to feed the fish when he goes fishing.

The Speckled Beauty I enjoyed even more.  I liked the feel of reading it.  It was a slow meander and, though my bad dogs are indoors and I would never dream of doing some of the things with them that I read in the book, like his brother using motor oil to treat mange, I am not unfamiliar with this way of being with dogs.  I have met and talked with dog owners like these (Given, I have told them not to use motor oil). Bragg describes his dog, his brother's dogs, his mama's dogs.  They all have a different outlook on dogs and a way of being with them, and they all clearly love dogs very much.  Bragg and his mom take in only the most pitiful of strays and love them no matter how terrible they are, maybe love them because they are so terrible.

But, this book was not just about a dog or about dogs.  It was about people, about the South, about getting older, about loss.  It was beautiful and sad and funny and easy and hard.  At one point, Bragg caught me so off guard that I just burst into tears.  I was not expecting it at all and was shocked, as I laid in bed next to my sleeping wife, holding this book close to my chest, scaring my own dogs who woke with a start when they heard my sobbing.  And, it was not because the dog died, and it was not because of the dog at all.  In fact, the main dog lives in this one, folks.  That is a rarity in and of itself.  It was because Bragg has a way of letting you in so that you do not just read the words but feel them fully.  His indirect descriptions bring up powerful emotions.  He may be talking about a dog, but through that dog we learn so much about him and his family.  

It is good stuff.

Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life

 Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life by Amy Krouse Rosenthal

2005

Weight : 12 oz

Method of Disposal: Giving Away

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I did not know Amy, but I think she might have appreciated how I came to discover her.  The universe just fell into place.  I do wish I had found this book in 2005 because I know I would have loved it and would have loved engaging with Amy, hoping to be one of the first one hundred she had encouraged to write her in the book.  

As it were, it was just this year that I was in Oregon and looked in the window of a closed bookshop and saw My Wife Said You May Want to Marry Me by Jason Rosenthal, amongst some other books I thought looked interesting.  I made a mental note to look it up later and, when I did, I read about Amy's Op-Ed, which I vaguely remembered peripherally but had never read.  Later, the book came up as an audiobook I might be interested in and, needing something to listen to, I purchased and downloaded it.  While cleaning out dog kennels, I listened to a husband tell us why his wife was so fun, loving, and full of life.  My heart could not handle the thought of losing Harriet and so I felt immediately connected to this man in this way, as many people do, I know.  He talked about a woman that loved family, letters and words, what might appear to be coincidence.  Immediately following, I looked into her children's books and booked an ultrasound to see what the cysts on my ovaries were doing.  I was way overdue, and I thought this book was potentially a sign to take another look.  As of now, I was lucky.  Everything was fine.  All the cysts were there, but no one was yet causing a problem, and I was grateful to have had that extra push to look, to be so careful.  

Later, Sleater Kinney came to Atlanta with Wilco.  Their show had been postponed due to Covid and was finally happening, outdoors, with vaccination or negative Covid test required.  I was there for Sleater Kinney/  I had no idea who Wilco was, but I knew that Amy and her husband had loved them.  I had just read his book!  So, when they started to play, I thought of this stranger I never knew and tried to imagine what she would have been like.

A couple months later, I was having knee surgery, and my friend surprised me with a box of books.  Some that were her favorites, some she was currently reading, others that her late sister had loved.  I was so excited and so grateful.  She pointed out Enyclopedia of an Ordinary Life and said it was one of her favorites.  I started there and, as I read, I started to feel like I recognized the author.  I did, of course.  It was Amy again.  Her book breathed life into the the image of her I had been given.  Her love of word play and letters made even more sense.  Her optimism and approach to life soaked through each page.  At times I felt like I was just like her.  At other times, I thought my friend was just like her.  And, still at other times and far fewer, I could not relate at all.  I enjoyed getting to know her via this "encyclopedia!"  When she wrote it, she did not know when or how she would die.  She says so herself several times.  It was painful in those moments.  

Still, how wonderful to have put your impact on the world in so many ways. That even a total stranger could look around and see these beautiful parts of Amy sprinkled around.  Not falling all at once like an avalanche but slowly, peacefully, landing here and there, touching different people.  I am so sorry her family had to say goodbye to someone they clearly loved so much.  I am grateful that she and they shared her legacy.

The Letter Q

The Letter Q: Queer Writers' Notes to Their Younger Selves Edited by Sarah Moon
2012
Weight: 1.3 lbs
Method of Disposal: Lending Library

My most exciting discovery from this book was that Bruce Coville self-identified as bisexual and then queer in his essay.  I remember reading his books growing up.  I remember thinking that there was something very wrong with me and being so ashamed.  I remember realizing that I was attracted to women and thinking I might be the only girl to feel that way.  I was so jealous of my brother every step of the way.  Being a boy.  Staying out late.  Dating girls.  All along, gay, lesbian, bisexual, queer, and transgender people were around me, leading the way, making a path, helping me survive, showing me another way, even when hidden behind the words on the pages of books about alien teachers and dragon hatchers in the books I stole from my brother's shelf.

This book is predominantly gay with a capital G.  A few dashes of lesbian.  And maybe a pinch of gender fluidity.  It, ultimately, aims to reassure kids that life will get better for them and that they are not alone.  What would I say to Little Laura?

Dear Laura,

I am proud of you and impressed with you for coming out when you did.  I know it is not always easy, and it will not always be easy.  But you learned to fake confidence when you were not feeling confident, and I think that likely saves you.  You will have your nose shattered, your car keyed, they will put pictures of dead gay people in your locker, say horrible things about you that you still cannot imagine ever saying about another human being, and ultimately they will make your car inoperable.  They will also call you ridiculous names that will make you laugh because they just show you how little they know about sex, pleasure, love, and happiness.  "Leg Licker" will stand out as a particularly ridiculous insult in a stream of insults..  Do not let these things break you.  You will want to let them break you.  You will meet plenty of girls and women that are interested in you.  You will inspire people even when you think no one is paying attention.

People are not at all wrong when they tell you that you will love college.  I know you struggle to believe that because you feel so alone and fit in nowhere, but it is true.  In college, all the things the middle schoolers and high schoolers hated about you will make people respect you and reach out to you.  Some people will want your advice.  You will actually, and I know this is hard to believe, be grateful for all that you went through, at least in some ways, because, while a lot of people are discovering who they are in college and going totally wild, you will feel safe in the security and knowledge that you already know who you are.

The person I most want to speak to is you in 6th, 7th, and 8th grade.  Your mom's friend will tell you that those will be the best years of your life some day and that you will miss them.  You struggle to believe that is true.  Your mom will tell you that she wishes she could tell you that people grow up and are more mature, but it is not true.  The difference, is that you grow up and are more mature.  More able to find your own people and set your own boundaries.  Your mom's friend is 100% wrong (making you 100% right--you are stuck in the worst time of your life), but your mom was right. 

Don't get me wrong, you still have a lot of terrible things to face.  I will warn you now never to drink in that dive bar by the school, or at least to get the fuck out when some random guy you do not know gives you the creeps.  Up until then, there is not much you regret but, if you do not get out of there, you will regret so much for so many years.  Everything else will make you who you are and make you stronger. 

You will never again feel that soul crushing loneliness.  You will never again think that you are so uniquely malformed and maladjusted that you do not deserve to live.  You need to live and you need to meet the woman you will give all of yourself to.  She will not be the woman of your dreams.  It turns out your dreams were extremely limiting and were holding you back.  She is far more amazing than anyone you could have ever thought up, and you spend plenty of wasted time trying to find that imaginary person until the beautiful year you spend finding her.  The good news is that all that trying is what prepares you to be the person she needs when you find her.

Anyway, I do not know what to tell you and what not to tell you that will pull you through those hard years.  I think the most important things are as follows:

1.  One day you will not only be okay with being a lesbian, you will be GRATEFUL for it.  You will not want to change it even if you could!  This part of yourself has sparked in you so much more.  You are caring, empathetic, active, passionate, loving, fighting, worthy, open, interested, intrigued, turned on, compassionate, ever-evolving.

2.  Do not start smoking.  Your mom is so right.  Once you start it IS next to impossible to stop.  And right now, you think you do not have much to live for, but one day you will have so much to live for that, instead of dancing with death, you will start to fear it.  Having been a smoker will not make this any easier.

3.  Get the fuck out of that bar when it starts to feel wrong.  You will be in your senior year of college.

4.  You will one day realize you were and are incredibly lucky.  Your parents are amazing (your dad is not what you think he is), you have friends that love you, and your partner is, as previously stated, incredible.  You have a not so small menagerie of dogs that follow you around and get jealous if you give your attention to anyone else.

5.  Stop with the suicidal whatever whatever.  You will one day realize that you are not just the oppressed but the oppressor.  You've had too much privilege to take it all and throw it away without unpacking it, examining it, and dedicating your life to making change.  You do not get to give up.  There is too much to fight for.

6. Masturbation is normal and wonderful.  I know it does not take you long to realize this, but just in case you need some help.

7.  Dana Scully really is that cool.  You will always think so. 

8.  If you can set your life up to where you and your family can hide away for the year 2020 and have enough food, supplies, money, etc.  Please God, do it.

I need you to be strong for me.  Hold tight.  There is so much more in you and in the world than you know.

Take care of you.

Laura

Poisonwood Bible

Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
1998
Weight: 3.3 lbs
Method of Disposal: Lending Library

I finally got back around to the Poisonwood Bible.  I always swore I would, but I always picked up something else.  Reading The Bean Trees is what did me in.  I got a little addicted to that book, and I wanted to feel that way again.  Not to mention, you always hear about The Poisonwood Bible.  People love it, and it is likely Kingsolver's best known book. 

It did not give me the same feeling as The Bean Trees!  I am sure that is sacrilegious and says nothing good about me.  I know the other is the first in a series, and I have not yet read the others.  It is not as well rated.  I had never heard anyone talk about it.  I know. I know.  I just loved the characters. 

I was less in love with the character development in this one, but it was not because it was bad.  I loved how it developed, but it was slower and matured as the characters grew up.  Poisonwood spanned a longer period of time.  It allowed you to see the characters as a silhouette of themselves or a stereotype and then you grew to know them deeper over time without you even really noticing it at first.  You hated them, but then you understood them.  You maybe pitied them or grew to worry about them.  At some point, some of them even became likable.  With The Bean Trees, the character development almost whacks you in the face.  Here is your lead girl!  Isn't she strong?Isn't she rough and tumble?  What is she going to do?  No, really, what is she going to do??  Not to mention, now is the time to talk about immigration.  Just like it was all those years ago when Kingsolver wrote the book.

I suppose that now is also the time to talk about Evangelists--that scourge on humanity.  Oh, the world is a devolving and darkening place.  Sometimes it seems like we are all evolving and getting better together and sometimes it seems like we will never stop repeating our mistakes until we force ourselves into a position where we do not get the chance to try again.  That irrevocable line we cannot cross but are always getting closer to, according to The Scientists.  And when I say THE scientists, I mean the vast majority that see Global Warming happening all around us but are at a loss as to how to stop it.  That line.  There is a line in The Poisonwood Bible too--a different line.  You know from the start it is coming and there are times when you think it has arrived and you are wrong.  The tension builds and builds. 

If you have not read it, give it a shot.  I would love to know what you think.

We Were the Lucky Ones

We Were the Lucky Ones by Georgia Hunter
2017
Weight: 16 oz
Method of Disposal: Donating to Goodwill

It is no surprise that when you pick up a book about the Holocaust you will leave that book with a deep, dark, gut wrenching sickness.  It is impossible to truly grasp or imagine that many people being starved, tortured, and brutally murdered by their neighbors.  It is devastating and, no matter how much is written about it, makes no sense.  I have read the research and the studies showing that people everywhere are capable of this, and I believe it, but it just does not make sense.  The world is changing in so many scary ways.  There are countries all over the world going more conservative and being led by angry, shouting, womanizing leaders who have disgust for entire groups of people.  You never want to demean what people went through in World War II by comparing modern day situations to what happened then arbitrarily, but sometimes the mirrored experiences are frightening.  It is hard not to think of one when reading about the other. 

As a child, we were taught about the Holocaust with the idea that if we could learn about it we could ensure it would never happen again.  In college, my eyes were opened to other genocides happening in other countries.  I struggled to know what I could do as an American about Rawanda.  About Darfur.  Now, I am hearing the horror stories coming out of immigration detainment centers, and there has been an explosion of gun violence aimed at all people, but pointedly at the Jewish, the LGBTQ latina community, black people in their own churches.  Hatred is bubbling up in these very explosive and loud ways.  Meanwhile, our President is coming up with travel bans, transgender bans, insulting the disabled publicly, talking about sexually assaulting women openly.  We have placed yet another man accused of sexual assault in the highest court in our land. 

The very title of this book digs into your psyche.  You follow a whole family through the Holocaust, predominantly in Poland, and you get attached to them quickly.  They see terrible things and suffer in a variety of ways.  You see the woman digging a grave for herself and being told to dig one for her child as well.  The mother who cannot account for all her grown children and their children.  The grandfather who worked hard to build a life for himself and those he loves just to have it all stripped from him.  And yet, many of them make it out alive, and they are truly "the lucky ones."  Thinking of them as lucky is soul crushing in and of itself. 

This is a novel based on a real family, and it is reader friendly in that it is character driven and not bogged down with details.  I think that the style the author uses has made it to where people of varying ages and temperaments could pick it up, read it, and find themselves moved.  One thing I wonder when I read all of these books is when do you get out?  When is it too late?  There is a lot of talk about staying and fighting, but would you do that if you had a crystal ball and could see how bad it would get?

Giselle's Bucket List

Giselle's Bucket List by Lauren Fern Watt
2017
Weight: 1 lb
Method of Disposal: Lending library at a shelter

This ended up being my beach read in Sanibel because I had absolutely no time for reading, and this is something you can fall in and out of easily.  It reads quickly and is full of pictures of an incredible and sweet mastiff, Gizelle.  The author is a young, confused woman who is trying to figure out her place and meaning in the world--I can still relate to that, and I am just under ten years older than her!

 I am only slightly kidding.  I remember being 25 years old and being desperate for meaning and answers.  It was very frightening and it all felt so urgent.  I only made it through because of my dogs (and ultimately meeting my wife).  It is a scary age to own a pet because a lot of 25 year olds cannot afford the medical bills or know what it takes to truly commit to a dog for life, but I believe it is a time when many people would benefit from having a pet.  Lauren clearly did.

I, of course, cried when Lauren had to say goodbye to Gizelle and could absolutely empathize with her.  My heart broke.  6 years is definitely not long enough.  I am glad Gizelle had Lauren and her family and friends though.

I don't know that this book had a real trajectory.  The author tried to use the bucket list as the glue that bound it all together, but the bucket list did not really seem to be the big, powerful thing.  It seemed like she tried to fit the list into the book instead of the list driving the book.  I think, like in life, she was confused about what to do with herself, her feelings, and her grief and so she wrote a book.  I think she did a good job for where she is at in life, though it did not speak to me as much as it might have when I was younger.  I can still remember and relate. 

I also appreciated her sharing the difficulties she faces loving an addict/her mom.  That was heavy and sad and something else the author was trying to make sense of.  Her honesty in and of itself was helpful, and you could see the love shine through the sadness and frustration in her acknowledgements at the end of the book.  This book is not going to teach most people anything, including the author, but it is a sweet love letter to the dog Lauren adored so deeply and a good peek into what it feels like to be twenty something and not know what you are doing with your life, relationships, and career.

Rosa Lee

Rosa Lee: A Mother and Her Family in Urban America by Leon Dash
1996
Weight: 8.8 oz
Method of Disposal: Give back to mom or lending library

This book was brutal.  It was a window into a world I can clearly see I have no known experience with, and it was hard to face.  The very idea that a mother would feel like she had to sell her own child and that she felt the child had been able to consent in any way is truly shocking to me and what is more shocking is that you cannot just villainize that mother and neatly put her away in a box labeled "terrible."  There is so much more to Rosa's story--good and bad. Rosa Lee's family is so influenced by institutionalized racism that is impossible to even imagine what would have happened to them in a different society or place.

I understand the fear that some people have that this book makes black people look bad, but I definitely disagree.  It is very clear that it does not represent all black people or all poor black people and, if you were ignorant enough to think it truly did, the author clearly writes that it is a thorough case study on just one family and explains why he thinks it is important.  Still, I know that there are many people who would read this story as evidence for whatever they already believe and that is always scary. 

The author writes, "I recognize that there are many ways to look at Rosa Lee.  There is something of her life to confirm any political viewpoint--liberal, moderate, or conservative.  Some may see her as a victim of hopeless circumstances, a woman born to a life of deprivation because of America's long history of discrimination and racism.  Others may give her the benefit of the doubt in some cases but hold her personally accountable for much of what she did to herself, her children, and her grandchildren.  A third group might say that Rosa Lee is a thief, a drug addict, a failed parent, a broken woman paying for her sins, and a woman who seemingly was so set on placing her children on the path to failure that it is amazing that even two of them manage to live conventional lives" (p. 251).

No matter how the reader feels about whether it should have been written or not, there is one thing we should all be able to agree on.  It is heartbreaking from beginning to end.  The destruction the drugs wreaked on this family and this community is unbelievable and frightening.  The individual understanding, accountability, and expectations each hiv-infected person had about their illness, their future, and the future of others around them was eye-opening. 

I could not help but think about myself now aged 32 and Patty Cunningham, Rosa Lee's daughter, being in her thirties in the book and completely addicted to heroine.  Unable to get through a single day without the drug, despite the danger she was in, without jail time.  The sexual abuse she suffered again and again.  We know what happens to Bobby and to Rosa.  I don't know if I want to know, but I cannot help but wonder what happens to Patty and Junior.  I also wonder about the others, of course, about Alvin, Eric, Ducky,Richard, Ronnie, hell, even Mr. Dash.  This appears to be Patty: http://www.tributes.com/obituary/show/Donna-D.-Wright-86154465.  What did she do until 2009?  I suppose it is none of my business, but I am grateful to the author for taking the time and for Rosa and participating family members for sharing their secrets and their lives.

Prayer Warriors

Prayer Warriors: The True Story of a Gay Son, his Fundamentalist Christian Family, and their Battle for his Soul by Stuart Howell Miller
2000
Weight: 8.8 oz
Method of Disposal: Lending Library

This book was an easy and quick read though, of course, it is never "easy" to stomach the homophobia and cruelty put forth by someone's family to their own son.  It was easy only in that it was very conversational, was made up of basic language, was fairly short.  The author would randomly throw out a joke with his audience that would pull me out of the story very suddenly, and I would actually say out loud, "what?" and then reread the sentence to be sure it was there.  These little snippets were usually overtly "gay" and felt unnecessary. Of course, Stuart's family often came out with the more seriously off the wall shit.  Here is an exchange where both of them do from page 144:

"Troy retold the story of how an electric fence nearly killed my sister when she was a child and then said, "The lifestyle you have chosen is more dangerous than death by electric shocking.  God loves you Stuart.  Please do not spit in his face with this homosexual lifestyle you have chosen for yourself.' 

I immediately ran outside and searched for a pretty girl to marry, but the closest I could find in West Hollywood was a drunken, gravel-voiced drag queen. 'I don't want to marry,' she said, 'I like my freedom.'"

What?

The author was clearly very involved in the L.A. Community and has a very impressive resume.  I had hoped that would make it easier to find out how he was doing 18 years later.  I do not really need another book, though this one was a basically good read, but I would love an article about if his family ever came around, and/or if he managed to hold up okay. 

I also think this book would have been more powerful to me had I read it when it was first published.  So much has changed since then--not to say these things still do not happen--because they do, but I had less access to information and community then.  A lot of us did.  I was more isolated, though I was not completely alone like some folks in generations before me, and I would have held this account more closely.  At 32, I have read many many stories about white, gay men struggling with conservative christian families.  I have also, of course, read many more violent coming out stories.  Maybe that is the larger thing here, I have read and heard thousands of coming out stories and, while I know they are important, I am not as keen on seeking them out and reading them as I use to be.  Any who, I wish the best for Stuart, and I appreciate him sharing his story.  I think that, in the right hands, it could be a much more powerful book. 

Other People's Love Letters

Other People's Love Letters: 150 Letters You Were Never Meant to See edited by Bill Shapiro

2007

Weight: 1.4 lbs

Method of Disposal: Donating

This book was great.  It made me feel all the feelings out there! Maybe, most of all, it made me want to write my wife a love letter and then cherish her and then feel so lucky to have found her.  I really was grateful that the editor included letters about sex, fucking, illness, divorce, family, dating, war, peace.  The letters ranged from the early 1900s and on.  There were letters from a mom to a daughter's lover, from an ex to an ex, rejections, marriages, loss.  It really had almost everything.  I am really inclined not to give this book away. but I am.  I want it to bring someone else the joy it brought me.  

When I saw the drawing above I thought it was an adorable thing for a man to do for his mildred.  I wondered if he had heart issues or if he just exercised every morning. It wasn't until many pages and much later that I read the following, and I cried and cried and cried.

There were others that were happier and also wonderful:

And some that were unimaginable--that I hope I never ever have to know what it would be like...

Durable Goods

Durable Goods by Elizabeth Berg
1994
Weight: 8.8 oz
Method of Disposal: Giving to Tracy

I was smitten with the first half of this book.  I loved the 12 year old girl and, though we were very different at that age and living in entirely different circumstances, I felt I could relate or remember so much through Berg's descriptions.  Katie is an inquisitive little girl with a slightly older best friend who believes herself to be the walking source guide on womanhood and femininity.  Her dad is an abusive military man that keeps her and her older sister moving about the country.  Their mother is dead after having suffered illness.  Berg really captures the agony of pre-teen-dom.  I am so impressed.

The last half is heartbreaking.  It is still good, but it did not have the same magic the first part had.  I do believe I have found a book I recommend.  It is a quick read, and you will care about the main characters.
 

Bottled Up

Bottled Up  by Jaye Murray
2004
Weight: 4 oz
Method of Disposal: Leaving in Decatur, GA

I just read this the other day because I was not feeling well and was laying around.  I wanted something easy and quick to read so I picked a teen lit book.  I thought it was pretty good.  I appreciated many components of it.  It was important to see how many positive influences Pip had to have and how a little luck also went a long way to setting him on the right track.  I appreciated that the adults were portrayed as people who didn't always know what the right thing to say or do was.  It could be an important read for many teenagers, whether they are going through something difficult or not.

It has rave reviews on Amazon and a lot of people praise the authentic teenage voice.  I am not going that far.  Particularly in the beginning, I had trouble believing in Tye-dye loving, drug using Pip.  I felt like the description of marijuana use was WAY over the top.  The portrait painted of the alcoholic father was good, but the portrait of the mother was really lacking.  It was an alright book.  I am afraid I will loss it soon to my declining memory.

Marley and Me

Marley and Me: Life and Love with the World's Worst Dog by John Grogan
2008
Weight: 12 oz
Method of Disposal: Donating

 

Today, My Beautiful Baby Girl, Bayah, went into a trial adoption period with a very nice woman from work.  I was more of an emotional wreck about it than I have been in the past.  I had consistently been tormenting myself, going back and forth, about whether or not I should adopt her.  For once, my dogs seemed like they would allow it.  I could not even bring myself to say goodbye to her.  When I brought her in this morning, I had no idea she would be leaving this afternoon.  I, admittedly, went and top-secret, stealth cried on the walking trail.  It is always difficult to let a foster go but, as you may have read in past posts, often it is more clear to me that I am doing the right and necessary thing.  Bayah will have a wonderful home with this woman.  I do not doubt that, I just question my heart.  I loved her intensely.  Did I let her go because it was best for her?  Because I was afraid to take on more responsibility?  Because I was scared of being so connected to a foster?  I don't know.

 

 

 

Bayah (then Beau) was rescued with a single puppy, Aries, over a year ago.  They went into foster care with Harriet and Connor.  Aries got an amazing home with an incredibly kind, warm, loving man and Bayah went home with someone else.  She was fed a poor diet and returned to the shelter a year later overweight, with 6 teeth, hair loss, and looking like she had aged by at least five years.  We had nowhere for her to go at the shelter, but I could not just watch Harriet's foster walk back out the door without knowing she would be safe.  I took her home because I could not bare the thought of Harriet going through the emotional trauma of hearing what happened to her foster and not knowing the outcome.  I took her home because I loved her the second the woman said she had been cared for by a British couple. I would like to say it was before that, but I had hardened my heart.  How many other animals had come in before her that we did not have room for that day?  She embodied the love I felt for someone else.

 

 

I had her for a month, and I fell hard for her.  I loved her for who she was, a lazy, easygoing Chihuahua that felt like an overgrown potato in my hands.  I could bring her with me anywhere.  She played with my friend's dogs--okay, she did not play, but she could be around them, watching them warily or ignoring them.  She was the perfect co-pilot in the car.  She cuddled, burrowed, and snugged like no other.  Most importantly, my dogs tolerated her, were curious about her, and could leave her be when necessary. 

 

 

 

Today, she went home with a very nice woman who has another small dog.  A very well-groomed and spoiled Shih Tzu.  She will have a wonderful life, and I will be able to get updates about her.  It is the perfect, fairy-tale ending so why do I feel so lonely tonight?  I know it was the right decision.  I feel more and more confident about it as the hours pass, but I do not feel better about it yet.  Good luck, Sweet Bayah.  Look at me.  All in a frenzy and do not forget this blog started with the words "trial adoption."

 

 

 

Annie John

 Annie John  by Jamaica Kincaid
1997
Weight: 8.8 oz
Method of disposal:  Giving to the first person to ask or leaving in a public place

Annie John was given to me as a birthday gift by my dear friends, Harriet and Connor, and it was recommended to me by a lifelong friend, Skye. I was very excited to read it, and I was not let down in the least. It is about the growing relationship between a young girl and her mother. Their relationship transforms from one made in heaven, with every kindness being bestowed on the daughter to one full of aggravation and doubt. As a child, her sense of security in her life is only troubled by nightmares and seeing disasters happen to other families, but her mother is always there to reassure her. As she becomes a teenager, the relationship shifts, as it ineveitably does in any other mother/daughter relationship. It is painful to watch from the outside. As a bystander, there are so many times where you want to offer advice, explain both sides, stop a wreck from happening but, like in real life, you cannot.

I would like to pass on the recomendation that was given to me. You should read Annie John. Please let me know if you would like a free copy!

Xena

Xena: Warrior Princess

1998

Weight: 2 oz

Method of Disposal: Leaving somewhere

I was never a fan of Xena, though I felt like admitting it was like admitting I was a traitor to my lesbian history.  The love of the warrior princess became a way of recognizing other lesbians without any talk about sexuality amongst strangers.  Women the world over were smitten.  I still hear references to Lucy Lawless as the epitome of attraction.  I just never got into it.

I did hold onto this book for years though, and it was because of how it came to me.  My grandmother who was not at all comfortable with my lesbianism bought it for me.  Maybe it was my grandfather?  I just know that they gave me a stocking for Christmas.  I was digging out the mandatory nail clippers, dolphin figurines, and candy when I stumbled across this little purple book.  I wondered all sorts of things.  Was this a peace offering?  Did they know how popular she was amongst lesbians?  Did they just get it for me because she looked like a strong woman and knew I would appreciate that?  Was it given to them and in a moment of horror did they pass it on to their only granddaughter?  Did it accidentally fall into their bag while shopping and then into my stocking without them noticing?  How had it come to be?  I am still full of questions.  I decided then that it must mean something good.  That some level of understanding had been reached, even if it was not something so elaborate as God loving homosexuals.

Behind the Lines--Oh no they didn't! Get it, Lines/Lines.

Behind the Lines by Andrew Carroll
2005 (audio book)
Weight: 5.6 oz
Method of Disposal: Donating or giving away

I think about my brother often, and I think about him in different ways. I think of him as a child. I remember playing a post office game. There was some piece of furniture outside the door of my room with small drawers on the bottom. We would leave each other letters in the drawers. Is this where I developed my love of letters and of sending/receiving mail? I think about bodysurfing in the ocean and wiping out. Sometimes, I think of the mean sibling antics. I remember crying, as he threatened to “turn me off” with a remote control or key. The taste of batteries after he convinced me to lick them, they taste like candy. I especially like nice memories, like him giving me one of his favorite toys for my birthday. I saw a piece of the truck sticking out of the poor wrapping job, and I knew exactly what it was. I was so happy. I wanted to be just like him, have toys like his, hang out with him and his friends. He once saved up his allowance money to buy me a beloved Aladdin’s lamp, where the genie could come out and go back in his bottle.

 I think about him as a teenager. His massive Kurt Cobain poster and his constant strumming of an electric guitar. His girlfriend, his El Camino, and the Mane and Tail he used to grow his hair out long. We sometimes got in all out brawls. I once threw a tire at his head. Another time, I screamed at him and his friend, silencing them for once, and then walked straight into a shut door with such force that I fell to the ground, taking away all the ground I had gained. I also remember that when my mother told me that her and my dad were going to divorce, I grabbed my cat and ran, crying, to a nearby lake. My brother came after me to take care of me and to tell me it would be o.k.

Before he went away for boot camp, we watched atomic dog and talked about personal things, like my trying to come to terms with my queerness. He thought it was fine, better than fine, and was very comforting. He commented on how obvious I was, with all my Gillian Anderson pictures plastered on my walls. He noted that often the men in my posters were covered. I felt like he had become my best friend but then he had to go away. I wrote him letters all the time.

I often think about him as a soldier. I think about when he went to Iraq and how I had never been (and have not been) so scared in my entire life. The night before he left, I drank a bottle of vodka and had to stop at a KFC on (or near) base to vomit on our hike to the going away ceremony. I hated saying goodbye and could not look at him without bawling, full on weeping. I had to walk away and then run away. Another soldier was screaming at his mom in the parking lot, telling her he wished he would never see her again. I could not imagine it. I was in college dealing with relationship troubles, roommate situations, and ant invasions. He was getting shot at, sometimes I would see him in the local newspaper or on the news.

He is still a soldier, and he is also now a husband and a father. He is still amazing, and I am overwhelmed with love and protective feelings when we get the chance to hang out. The last time I saw him he read me a book while I drove. We learned all about plane crashes and why they happen.

Sometimes, when he is far away, I do ridiculous things trying to feel close to him. Things that make no sense. I buy things I would not usually buy—the consequences of being born into capitalism. Spend Money, feel better. I bought this audio book when it was on sale. I hope that I will never understand war fully. I do not want to know what it is like to lose friends, to have to kill people or be killed. I wish so much that my brother did not have to see the things he has, the things I rarely hear about, because he loved his country and his family. I do not want to know what that pain is like, but I do want to understand and know to the best of my ability. Does that make sense? I do not want to turn my back on one of the many facets of his life. I bought this book and others like it, trying to feel connected or get a glimpse. Sometimes, I would read or watch whatever I bought right away and other times it was too painful, and I would put the items away until I found them again.

The other night I noticed Behind the Lines on my bookshelf, amongst the actual books, and I took it to work. I listened to it while I cleaned out puppy cages and later in my car on a drive to Loganville. There were times when it brought tears to my eyes and once I even laughed. Components of it aggravated me. It seemed to have a Christian bias, didn’t it? There was an attempt at diversity. In some ways it was successful, but not in all ways.  The letters were from soldiers, civilians, people on different sides of the war.  There were men and women.  Some letters seemed to be selected with such an obvious purpose, like the one from a Japanese girl in an American camp stating that she was lucky to not be on the outside. With no other letters beside it I felt like it was such a placating, let us not think about what we did, moment. There were a lot of good things too. I have more positive feelings about it than little critiques. The letters spanned many wars and years. Soldiers of the past and the present were tied together by their feelings of love, fear, remorse, camaraderie, pride, hope. Overall, I liked it, for lack of a better word. They were actual letters and they all contained so much value and so much truth—some truth told through thinly veiled lies.

So many different people. I thought about the letters I received from Iraq and the many I sent. The letters that went to boot camp. The rare Yahoo Messenger conversation or e-mail. The photographs. And, while this book did not bring me closer to my brother in any unexpected way, I did find myself missing him again. That is why I was drawn to it after all. I did remember how grateful I am, despite anything else in life, that he is back, safe, with a loving family, and happy. I wished on every star, eyelash, and penny thrown into every pond from the day he left until the day he came back that he would come back alive, but also happy. How lucky am I?

Life Among the Savages

Life Among the Savages by Shirley Jackson
1997
Weight: 11 ounces
Method of Disposal: Leaving somewhere in Decatur, GA



Shirley Jackson is a brilliant author and, in this case, amusing. This book is an autobiography, and it shows the chaos and interlinked thoughts of a mother and a housewife. The whole book is just detail after detail about regular family life. The first few pages are my favorite.

I do not have any stories tied to this book. I bought it from a used bookstore. It cost me $4.25, and it would have retailed at $11.95. I recommend it, though I know that there are people close to me who will not enjoy it. There are others that will love it. Just be prepared for hectic, inappropriate, and loving family life. This is the closest I come to trying to understand.

10 Cent Comic Books and Exchanging Letters

Maus by Art Spiegelman
1996
Weight: 1.5 lbs
Method of Disposal: Shipped to my grandmother

I have always sent letters to my grandmother, but it was not until my own mom moved to Taiwan that we started a full-on exchange. I am loving it. We write to each other about different things, but we always mention the books we are reading at the time. The woman has read almost everything—whether you mention a classic piece of literature, a contemporary short story, or a new book on animal emotions. I recently wrote to her about Maus, which also led me to mention the brilliant Fun Home: A Family Tragicomedy by Alison Bechdel. Two popular graphic novels that are popular for good reasons. I found Maus, but I could not track down Fun Home. This project has led me to search for various books that I loved and, apparently, lost mysteriously. It has been frustrating because I want to write about them, but it is also amusing because it almost validates the whole thing. I had not even realized they were gone until I was ready to let them go.
I am going to send Maus to her by way of the USPS. I have been looking at it a lot lately—not wanting to let it go. Today, I received a card from her in response to mine about the graphic novels. She told me about how she learned to read with 10 cent comic books when she was a child. She said she became interested in classical novels after reading several of them in comic book form. Les Miserables was the first classic comic that she read, and she was mesmerized. This woman’s life is a huge collection of incredible stories, and she always has a new one to tell me that I have not heard before. I am enthralled by all of them.
Maus was an excellent book about the Holocaust, surviving the Holocaust, and being the child of a survivor of the Holocaust. It was beautiful and intense. I could not stop reading it for anything. It is the author’s honesty about his own actions, attitude, and irritation that really separate the book from others. It is a careful examination of multiple people and the diversity of methods people have to deal with their lives and hardships. The book I have is the complete Maus, books 1 and 2. I am curious to know what she will say about it, but I know she will be impressed. It is hard to imagine that anyone wouldn’t be. In case you haven’t picked up on it already, I recommend reading it.