Happy Birthday, Mr. Adams!

Today is Douglas Adams' birthday!

You may or may not remember, but The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is my favorite book.

When I am feeling sad, or unsettled, lost, or just not right, I can pick up this book and open it to literally any page and start reading. It doesn't matter where I end up, it's always a good part of the story.

I am very pleased to say that recently, The Husband started reading this book. Now, bear in mind, this book, which is very important to me, is almost 800 pages long. I know that The Husband must like me at least a little, because it is quite a commitment to read someone else's favorite 800-page book. Meanwhile, every few nights, I glance over at his kindle and read over his shoulder for a few minutes. I can't say if he will love this book as much as I do, but I can say that it makes me feel even more loved that he is reading this special story for me. The occasional snicker I hear while he is reading fills my heart with even more love for this book AND this man.

I've had some people posit to me that this book is not actually very well-written. I ignore those people. Yes, I do teach Composition and occasionally Literature at the community college, but that doesn't mean that I am restricted to only reading capital-L Literature. I don't care if this book is not Literature. This story fills my heart, and any opportunity I have to share it brings more love and laughter to my life.

Dearest Husband of mine, I only hope that as you continue working your way through this monster of a book, that you continue having fun with it. That's really the point, right?

So, that's it. I bow my heavily-scarred head to you, Mr. Adams, and thank you for all of the joy, past, present, and future, your story has brought to my life. Happy birthday!

Fave Quote of the Book: The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

Amazon link:

In Margaret Atwood’s dystopian future, environmental disasters and declining birthrates have led to a Second American Civil War. The result is the rise of the Republic of Gilead, a totalitarian regime that enforces rigid social roles and enslaves the few remaining fertile women. Offred is one of these, a Handmaid bound to produce children for one of Gilead’s commanders. Deprived of her husband, her child, her freedom, and even her own name, Offred clings to her memories and her will to survive. At once a scathing satire, an ominous warning, and a tour de force of narrative suspense, The Handmaid’s Tale is a modern classic.

I've taught this novel in the classroom. The experience of teaching this novel was made even more interesting because this book is easily in my top 10 favorite books of all time. Point of interest: I collect signed books. I've always wanted a signed copy of this book, and interestingly, when I mentioned this in class in the fall of 2017, I failed to be entirely clear with my intent. At the end of that semester, I received a gift from three students: a signed copy of the book.

Let me clarify. This book is not signed by Margaret Atwood. Instead, it was signed by those three students.

"Mrs. Blank,
Coming into college, the impression we all were under was that all college professors sucked and we would be miserable, especially in English. Over the past semester, you have not only been one of the coolest teachers we've had in high school and in college, but you've been one of the best. You've taught us so much but at the same time, we've had a lot of fun. I know myself, Student B, and Student C have been a handful and we appreciate you dealing with all our crap. You said you wanted a signed copy of this book so we went out and got you one. See you around campus, Student A, Student B, and Student C"

The class these boys were in was one that affected me deeply. It was my third year teaching, and this was one of the first classes in my short experience where I discovered that the dynamics of a classroom can make it feel like only a classroom, or the dynamics can make it feel like a real community. This was a class of very smart students with very bright futures, and we laughed, but we also had some very serious conversations. I won't say that this specific group of students was my favorite class I've ever taught, but they sure came close. It was because of these students that I realized that teaching did not have to be painful. I learned as much from those students as I hope they learned from me.

Without further ado, my favorite quote from this book, when the protagonist is speaking privately and illicitly with her Commander in his office: He tells her that the Republic of Gilead is better than what they lived with before. "Better?" The protagonist asks. "How can he think this is better?":

"Better never means better for everyone, he says. It always means worse, for some" (Atwood 211).

This is something that I hadn't thought much about, in general, or specific to this story; nonetheless, when I first read this, I underlined it as something to contemplate. Is this always true? It feels like it is a universal truth, but I am not sure. Is this what life is about: a zero-sum game where some win and some lose?

Those special students of mine expected to be miserable in my class. (Why do so many people hate English class?).

I was able to show them that my class could be better than what they expected, but I am sure, over the years, that there have been enough students whom I was unable to reach.

Even in a book that I have read easily a dozen times, I am still able to share those glimpses of magic, those moments when the world between the pages grabs at you and refuses to let go.

Fave Quote of the Book: Disobedience by Naomi Alderman

Disobedience by Naomi Alderman

Amazon link:

When a young photographer living in New York learns that her estranged father, a well-respected rabbi, has died, she can no longer run away from the truth, and soon sets out for the Orthodox Jewish community in London where she grew up.

Back for the first time in years, Ronit can feel the disapproving eyes of the community. Especially those of her beloved cousin, Dovid, her father’s favorite student and now an admired rabbi himself, and Esti, who was once her only ally in youthful rebelliousness. Now Esti is married to Dovid, and Ronit is shocked by how different they both seem, and how much greater the gulf between them is.

But when old flames reignite and the shocking truth about Ronit and Esti’s relationship is revealed, the past and present converge in this award-winning and critically acclaimed novel about the universality of love and faith, and the strength and sacrifice it takes to fight for what you believe in—even when it means disobedience.

I read this book in one sitting two Christmases ago, before all of this happened. The Husband and I were locked away in a cabin in the middle of the woods with no cell phone signal, no television, and barely enough internet for it to be worth it.

It was wonderful. We spent four days off the grid. I read five or six books in that time. We sat by the fireplace and listened to Frank Sinatra and other jazzy favorites of ours. I really couldn't ask for a better Christmas.

So, without further ado, my favorite quote from this book:

"All things, when measured in spans of years, seem simple. But human lives do not occur in years but slowly, day by day. A year may be easy, but its days are hard indeed" (Alderman 222).

Just a little over a year ago, I put a bookmark* on this page because even then I knew I would want to revisit these sentences. How could I have known how viscerally that quote would hit me today? The true gut punch here is that 2019 was arguably one of the most difficult years of my entire life for a variety of reasons. So many of my days in 2019 involved physical, emotional, spiritual suffering, and I did not know how to get through it. There is a quote attributed to Winston Churchill which some quick Googling tells me is probably misattributed to him, but the quote is still quite relevant: "If you are going through hell, keep going."

Those who know me well know that my stubbornness and spite have gotten me through some truly difficult experiences. For that, I blame inertia. A *me* in motion will stay in motion unless acted upon by some outside force. I may not be the fastest in the race, or the smartest in the class, but my stubbornness has carried me along with good strong inertia.

Each day that was oh so difficult last year, regardless of the reason why, was punctuated by a semicolon; this may be a pause in the sentence, but tomorrow I will start again, spiting and stubborning my way through the day. And before I know it, 2019 is over, and we are into a new year (and new deductible, if you feel inclined to donate). I have a feeling that this year will be difficult, but you know what? I've made it through lots of difficult days, which add up to lots of difficult years. Day by day, we carry on.

So it goes.

*A random scrap of paper; bookmarks are for quitters.

Books: The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly (Fin)

I am finally and unfortunately finished with this story. This is the kind of story that I wish I could start again and read it for the first time again. Immediately upon finishing this story, I realized that I would need to rearrange my top 10 favorite books, because this Book of Lost Things was firmly in the top 5. At the ending of this beautiful book, David returns to the land that is not quite like our own to find that it continues to reveal surprises.

"[A] woman appeared. She had dark hair and green eyes. In her arms she held a baby boy, barely out of the womb, who clutched at her blouse as she walked, for a lifetime was but a moment in that place, and each man dreams his own heaven. And in the darkness David closed his eyes, as all that was lost was found again" (Connolly 338-9).

Damn you, John Connolly, for writing a book that brought actual tears to my eyes! It has been quite a long time since a book has made me cry, and every time I re-read these last few sentences, I feel that tingle, as if I were cutting onions.

I don't know if everyone fears death, but I do know that there are only two innate fears that every human is born with: falling, and loud noises (the "acoustic startle reflex"). Do I fear death?

Sometimes.

Sometimes it terrifies the hell out of me. One thing that I struggle with is the unknown (as I am sure is common for many of us). Death being the ultimate unknown is terrifying. But occasionally, every once in a long while, I will find a moment of peace. Was I afraid of being born? What, fundamentally, is the difference?

Unanswerable questions.

Back to The Book of Lost Things: a death like David's seems almost unfair. No pain. No trauma. Just the final literal steps in a journey, only to be greeted by those whom he had loved and lost and found again.

If death is like this, there is nothing to fear. There is nothing but joy and love at the end of the journey. We could spend a lifetime regretting the things we may or may not have done, but regret is meaningless in the end. Regardless of what you do or do not believe in, and regardless of your faith or lack thereof, save the regrets. Instead, spread joy and love where you can.

So.

Instead of regrets, I will try to cherish my memories and my mistakes. Those mistakes have made me who I am today. In the end, I can only hope that sharing joy and love will balance out any mistakes I have made.

Anubis casting judgment in S1 Ep3 of American Gods

Books: The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly (Penultimate)

Towards the end of this story, David has grown old. He married and was widowed. He wrote his story in the book that I hold in my hand now, and he called it The Book of Lost Things. As he did in his childhood, he can hear the books in his room speaking to him; however, unlike his time as a child, he is no longer afraid of the voices.

"[I]n the deepest, darkest hours of the night, David would lie awake and listen. The books had started whispering again, yet he felt no fear. They spoke softly, offering words of comfort and grace" (Connolly 337).

My entire journey with this diagnosis has been one of learning to give myself grace. We are all our own worst critics, and I will be the first to admit that I am no peach, but I have learned the hard way that I need to be more forgiving of myself. I mess things up. I forget things. I drop food on the floor. I trip over nothing, and lose my balance like a drunk sailor even in the stability of my own house. Grace has been a difficult gift to give myself.

Meanwhile, I have more books than I will ever have time to read, The Husband built me three heavy-duty bookshelves with approximately 75 feet of shelf space total, and yet I still have books in my Amazon cart that I plan to order soon.

There was a time when I feared the future. I always said that life is too short for bad books, and I was afraid of there coming a time when I couldn't escape into the worlds contained within those hallowed pages. After brain surgery, I couldn't read; not that I was illiterate, but that I was incapable of maintaining the focus necessary for reading. After my diagnosis, I had an existential crisis. What was the point of reading stories, beautiful, engrossing, dreamlike stories, if there is an expiration date stamped on my brain?

I didn't want to die in the middle of reading a book. I didn't want to leave a story unfinished.

It has taken a lot of time, and a lot of meditation for me to realize that the only thing I can do is keep on keeping on. Inertia is my friend here. I have found myself able to lose myself in books once again (ha! Get it?). I have escaped into worlds unknown and worlds intimately familiar, like old friends .

I'm still interacting with the idea of giving myself grace. But after that hiatus from reading immediately after my surgery, I am so grateful that I can lose myself in the countless worlds that surround me in the pages of my treasured books. Truth be told, like David in this book, I find comfort in being surrounded by my books. They are my oldest friends, my truest family, my beloveds.

This may seem callous to my friends, my family, or The Husband, but everyone who knows me knows that I am who I am because of these books. The book that inspired me to apply to Clemson University (The Hot Zone by Richard Preston). The book that inspired me to teach (The Grass is Singing by Doris Lessing). The book that inevitably brought me to tears when I needed a good cathartic cry session (The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger). The books that inspired tattoos (The Traveler by John Twelve Hawks, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, The Sandman Series by Neil Gaiman). I have found inspiration and comfort within the pages of these books. I have found how to mend a broken heart, and how to love, truly love. I have learned about myself, and other people. My own culture and those unknown to me. My mind and my heart. My fears and my passions. So much still to learn.

I am surrounded by my cherished books, and they offer me comfort and grace.

Books: The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell with Bill Moyers (Part 4)

I am still working my way through The Power of Myth, and today, I want to think about the answer to life, the universe, and everything.
Before I get to that, remember that last time, I talked about learning from our imperfections, and I examined the cycle of death and life and death again. I looked at the beauty and ugliness in the world, and in myself.

I'm mentioned before that I've been a lifelong cynic, always the pessimist. I am sarcastic, I have a dark and morbid sense of humor, and I am composed of 65% snark, 25% spite, and 25% bad at math. I've been a lifelong cynic because life has been hard. I suffered a traumatic loss at fifteen years old. My first husband was no gem. My bad attitude cost me friends. I was an underachiever. I was born right at the edge of Gen X and right at the beginning of the Millennial generation; cynicism comes naturally to me.

Campbell discusses men risking their lives to rescue their compatriots during the Vietnam War. I would argue that it takes an extremely idealistic type of person to take such a risk for someone else. This kind of person must do what they do because there is some hope that they will succeed. Campbell says,

"Life is pain; life is suffering; and life is horror—but, by God, you are alive. Those young men in Vietnam were truly alive in braving death for their fellows" (Campbell and Moyers 141).

Life is funny that way. No matter how pessimistic we are, no matter how low our expectations are, life finds a way to kick you in the rear. All that pain, all that suffering, all that horror.


All of this adds up to so much terribleness (that doesn't seem like it should be a word), and yet here we are, plugging along, doing the best we can, even though we hurt, and we die. Even though we are frightened and alone. Even though we are betrayed and broken-hearted.

I know that I have the darkness: the pain, suffering, and horror are inside of me. I suspect they are inside of so many others.

But sharing that darkness inside of me with you allows me to have a spark of hope.

All it takes is one spark to light a fire.

Books: The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell with Bill Moyers (Part 1)

I'm currently simul-reading a couple of different books, but I want to talk about one that I am in the middle of right now.

Amazon has this to say:

The Power of Myth launched an extraordinary resurgence of interest in Joseph Campbell and his work. [ . . . ] With Bill Moyers, one of America’s most prominent journalists, as his thoughtful and engaging interviewer, The Power of Myth touches on subjects from modern marriage to virgin births, from Jesus to John Lennon, offering a brilliant combination of intelligence and wit.

This extraordinary book reveals how the themes and symbols of ancient narratives continue to bring meaning to birth, death, love, and war. 

This is a book that has sat on my bookshelves for years, and for some reason, when I finished When Things Fall Apart by the Venerable Pema Chodron, The Power of Myth reached out and grabbed me. I've been reading a fair number of philosophical or faith-based books, and at this point, I felt like it was time to change it up a little. This book touches on so many different topics, and I felt like I needed a book that took a different approach. This book is written in a bit of an unusual format compared to the other books I've discussed in the last six months.

In this one, Bill Moyers is interviewing Joseph Campbell. This long-form interview covers much of Campbell's works, but is particularly interesting because Moyers does not always agree with Campbell; in fact, they hash out some points of dissent over the course of the interview, further developing their own and each other's ideas.

As I have been on this journey of illness and self-discovery, weakness and epiphanies that have surprised me over and over again, I've realized many things about myself.

I am not always kind to myself. I have flaws that I'd prefer not to admit to, although I am sure that many of you have been witness to one or many of them. I have reserves of strength that reach deeper than I ever expected. I am even more stubborn than I ever thought I could be. People are complex. I am complex.

In an early part of the interview, Campbell says,

"the only way you can describe a human being truly is by describing his imperfections. The perfect human being is uninteresting—the Buddha who leaves the world, you know. It is the imperfections of life that are lovable. And when the writer sends a dart of the true word, it hurts. But it goes with love. This is what [Thomas] Mann called 'erotic irony,' the love for that which you are killing with your cruel, analytical word" (Campbell and Moyers 3).

The flaws in life are what make life interesting, right? It is too common for people to try to gloss over the faults in our friends, our family, ourselves. Think of the last funeral you went to: I have been blessed; for me, it was 23 years ago. People spoke so kindly of the dead. You know, and I know, that we should not speak ill of the dead, right? I felt so uncomfortable speaking so kindly of the dead and erasing the essence of who this person was. Of course, that is not to say that this person had no positive qualities, but ignoring those flaws swept away that which made this person so important, so loved, so missed. Ignoring those flaws distorted my memories, even as I knew that people were merely trying to be kind. 

But what did it mean that we, collectively, could not be honest with ourselves and each other about the true essence of this person? Why did we work so hard to pretend to ourselves and each other that there were only and exclusively good things to say about this person?


Moyers posits that

"what human beings have in common is revealed in myths. Myths are stories of our search through the ages for truth, for meaning, for significance. We all need to tell our story and to understand our story. We all need to understand death and to cope with death, and we all need help in our passages from birth to life and then to death. We need for life to signify, to touch the eternal, to understand the mysterious, to find out who we are" (Campbell and Moyers 4).

Anyone who knows me at all knows that my favorite book is The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I love it so much that I have a tattoo inspired from the book. In this book, among other things, they are trying to find the ultimate answer to life, the universe, and everything. The search for meaning appears to be a universal truth, contained within the pages of a British comedy trilogy and the pages within this more academic book about myth.

Something that I've always known about myself is that I love stories. I don't think that this makes me unique; stories tie us together, keep us together, bind us to each other. I love books, movies, tv shows, any medium that tells a story. This is part of what brought me to teaching at the community college. There is so much tucked away within the stories we read, the stories we tell each other, and it is far too easy to feel separated from each other when we are allowed to forget the universality of these stories.

I miss teaching. One of the best parts of teaching, for me, is getting to see the look of recognition on a student's face as they realize that this or that experience is not unique to their own life. I have interacted with so many students who feel alone in their experiences, singled out, on their own. Outcast, out of place, rejected. Having the opportunity to build connections and community with my students through shared stories has been the single most fulfilling part of my life. Finding shared meaning is so rewarding.

Books: When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron (part 6)

Let's keep thinking about When Things Fall Apart. As a reminder, so far I've talked about embracing fear, being vulnerable, embracing hope, letting go of control, and beautiful fleeting moments.

It seems overly cynical to say that life is about suffering, and yet, haven't we all suffered in life? Granted, some suffer more than others, but I think that suffering is a universal aspect of the human condition. We don't deserve to suffer, and still, we suffer.

I think that just as suffering is a universal aspect of the human condition, so is hope. Some (many) of us may be lifelong cynics who expect nothing but the worst in any particular situation, but even the most hardcore cynic among us feels that little spark of hope. We can't help it. I'll be the first to admit that my cynicism is tainted by a deep underlying hope that I'm wrong for being cynical.


The Venerable Pema Chodron says that:

"The first noble truth of the Buddha is that when we feel suffering, it doesn't mean that something is wrong [. . .] Suffering is part of life, and we don't have to feel it's happening because we personally made the wrong move. In reality, however, when we feel suffering, we think that something is wrong. As long as we're addicted to hope, we feel that we can tone our experience down or liven it up or change it somehow, and we continue to suffer a lot" (Chodron 39; emphasis original).

When I think of suffering and hope, I think of my own tendencies to run away from suffering. It is so easy to believe that suffering reveals the true nature of life, the universe, and everything.

Suffering is a universal truth.

How depressing is that? I hate to think about life this way, even as I've suffered particularly difficult trials in the past six months. The Venerable Pema Chodron says,

"Hope and fear come from feeling that we lack something; they come from a sense of poverty [. . .] We hold on to hope, and hope robs us of the present moment. We feel that someone else knows what's going on, but that there's something missing in us, and therefore something is lacking in our world" (Chodron 40).

Chodron describes hope in such a negative way here, and I can't get behind that. To hold onto hope is to acknowledge that there is something missing, something wrong. Even if it is more in line with Buddhist teachings to abandon hope and accept that which is lacking in life, this feels counter-intuitive. Hope keeps us striving for a goal of some kind. I've mentioned before that I am not good at letting go of control. While I have felt a deep connection with the teachings in this book, here is where I struggle.

I struggle, and I hope.

I suffer, and I hope.

I hurt, and I hope.

Hope is painful, but the simple fact is that without hope, there is only suffering. I cannot suffer without feeling the respite of hope, no matter how far-fetched or unlikely that hope might be.

I cannot take that medication that makes me vomit without hoping that it is working valiantly and violently against my cancer.

I cannot suffer the pain in the hole in my skull without hoping that it means it is healing appropriately.

I cannot be poked and prodded, tested and scanned, examined and stared at, without hoping that someday, eventually, someone will find a cure for my incurable cancer before this takes me.

I breathe, and I hope.