Blanket Statement

joseph afghan

Joseph and Papa share a love for Oreos, so this pattern called out to me as a birthday gift for Joseph.

Waaaay back at the end of August, I blogged about the coming of Indian Summer. Apparently we had one cool night and it tricked me into thinking we were moving into Fall. Ha! In fact, it remained warm throughout all of September. Sure, it cooled off a bit at night, but it never was consistently chilly.

In fact, this past weekend is really the first time that the night was cool enough that I dug out the comforter that I carefully put away in May. And when I say “carefully put away” I mean I threw it in the corner of the bedroom on the floor, fully intending to carefully put it away. That, my friends, is sort of the story of my life, housekeeping-wise (as Shirley MacLaine would say in one of my favorite movies of all time – The Apartment).

Kaiya is showing off the afghan I made for her last Christmas. She chose the pattern and shockingly selected primary colors rather than pastels!

Kaiya is showing off the afghan I made for her last Christmas. She chose the pattern and shockingly selected primary colors rather than pastels!

The coming of cooler weather brings out two things in me — the desire to braise meat and the desire to crochet. I have been doing both.

I love to grill in the summer. And, in fact, nearly every meal that I prepare for Bill and me from May through September involves the use of the grill. By September 1, I am extraordinarily sick of grilled chicken with lemon, grilled skinny pork chops splashed with beer, burgers, and even grilled steak. I am ready to put something in my Le Creuset pot on the stove or in the oven and let it cook until it is fall-off-the-bone tender. Yum. Braised lamb shanks with lentils are my personal favorite. Unfortunately, braised lamb shanks and lentils are probably one of Bill’s least favorite meals. Oh well.

But as the weather cools down, I start going through my afghan books, looking for something that appeals to me. I simply love crocheting afghans, especially in the Fall and Winter. The blankets start out small, but in short order, they become large enough to lay over my knees and keep me warm on the cool evenings. By that time I have memorized the pattern and I can do it while watching television in the evening or streaming a Netflix movie in the afternoon. Love it.

The problem, however, is that I have literally run out of people for whom to make afghans. My friends, my family members, all own a Nana original. So now I have started just making afghans and piling them up for, well, I don’t really know what. Here is one I crocheted last winter….

pink and gray ripple

I have recently been toying with the idea of opening an Etsy store. Selling the afghans I make. Offering the aprons that thus far Bill has been making but which I likely could learn to make. (Ugh, sewing.)  Place mats, scarves, dish cloths, hats, mittons, slippers. Lots of offerings. Here is Bill’s first masterpiece….

me in apron bill made

I will toy with this idea for a bit before I dive in. In the meantime, I will continuing stockpiling afghans. Bill and I will be prepared in case we get snowed in. In Arizona.

Bless the Children

Let the children come to me; do not prevent them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.- Jesus

I love this stained glass window at the back of the children's room at St. Thomas More Catholic Church in Centennial.

I love this stained glass window at the back of the children’s room at St. Thomas More Catholic Church in Centennial.

Sunday’s readings were all about marriage and family, featuring the always-popular story of Adam and Eve. You know, where Eve was made from the rib of Adam. Whatevah!

But since yesterday’s readings all dealt with family, it was no surprise that the gospel reading was Mark’s story about Jesus’ outlook on divorce. Wow, man. That one always makes me squirm. That’s because I’m divorced. Sure, my marriage was annulled by the Catholic church. As such, Bill and I were able to be married in a Catholic ceremony and are able to fully practice our faith. But I’m really just like my friends who are divorced. At the end of the day, the annulment is just a piece of paper. Or so I believe.

I don’t have any specific spiritual enlightenment about divorce. In fact, I’m only telling you this so that you know that Denial is not just a river in Egypt. As the deacon read the gospel, I just put my hands over my ears and said, “La, la, la,” figuratively speaking. I did, however, hear the part in our priest’s homily where he said not to judge those who are divorced and to love all of our brothers and sisters, just as our pope has recently preached.

But I happily listened to the final paragraph of yesterday’s gospel where Mark tells us that people were bringing their children to Jesus, and his disciples tried to prevent the kids from seeing him. Says Mark: When Jesus saw this he became indignant and said to them, “Let the children come to me; do not prevent them for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Amen, I say to you, whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it.” Then he embraced them and blessed them, placing his hands on them.

Recently I was babysitting the cousins, and for various reasons, they were getting put maggie steak n shaketo bed considerably later than usual. Because of this, I quietly elected to tuck them in without a book or prayers, thinking they would then be asleep sooner. I turned off the light and began closing the door. Suddenly, Maggie Faith says to me, “Nana, we didn’t say our prayers.” Well then.

So I went over to her bed and she closed her eyes and folded her hands and said (almost as quickly as those ads you hear on the radio with the disclosures that the product they are advertising doesn’t actually work), “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, angels watch me through the night and wake me with the morning light. God bless, Mommy, Daddy, Addie, Alastair, Dagny, Grandma, Busia, Nana, and Papa. Help me have a good day tomorrow and let me have the best dreams ever. Amen.

So there.

But I thought about Magnolia while contemplating yesterday’s gospel. The simple faith of children. That’s what we all should have. Why do we make it so hard?

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Seventy-Six Trombones

And so, there’s this……

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When you have four children, you have almost half a baseball team, just a bit over a third of a football team, and four-fifths of a basketball team. And apparently you have almost an entire marching band.

Addie has played the clarinet for a few years. Alastair and Dagny are just taking up their instruments — the flute for Dagny and the trombone for Alastair. According to Jll, the kids weren’t actually playing at the time, but just you wait. By the way, the extra trombone player (the blonde boy) is Alastair’s friend Will.

And also by the way, when Maggie Faith learned a photo was about to be taken, she — not being one to miss a photo opportunity –said, “Wait! Give me three minutes.” Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in three minutes, our little musician created her own instrument out of a straw, a binder clip, a bottle of lotion and a wad of paper.

I can only imagine how it will sound when they actually play music together. I’m guessing not quite like the Glenn Miller Orchestra. Not for awhile anyway.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Headmaster’s Wife

searchOnce in a while, I will come across an author who writes fiction that is so beautiful that it’s almost like poetry. Thomas Christopher Greene, the author of The Headmaster’s Wife, is such a writer.

The Headmaster’s Wife is short enough to almost be considered a novella, though the story is too complex to be considered as such. The book is one of the saddest I’ve ever read, but not in that traditional way where, for example, you become attached to a character who then dies of cancer. The Headmaster’s Wife is perhaps more poignant than sad, because the characters are so unable to face the unhappiness that has taken over their lives.

The story takes place at a fictional private prep school in Vermont. Arthur Winthrop is the headmaster, as his father was before him. The novel begins when he is found walking naked in Central Park in NYC.

Out of the gate, Winthrop becomes interested – obsessed, really – with one of his students. It’s a distressing story line, and one I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue reading. But at the end of Part One, something happens that made me literally say out loud, “Oh my God.”

Greene’s novel is written in three parts; the first part is narrated first person by Winthrop. The next two parts are told in third person, and what you learn in Parts Two and Three at least make an attempt to explain Part One. It’s an interesting format for a novel.

I really wanted to like the book a bit more than I did. As I said in the beginning, Greene’s writing is beautiful. I think what troubled me is that I just couldn’t come to empathize – or really even sympathize – with any of the characters. While not necessarily unbelievable, they just didn’t draw my sympathy.

Having said this, I do, in fact, recommend the book, especially for a book club. The discussion, I think, would be so interesting and thought-provoking.

Mr. Greene has been involved in academia in his interesting and varied professional life. His understanding of the politics involved in the area of education – and particularly East Coast educational facilities – makes the book more believable.

I recommend you give The Headmaster’s Wife a try.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

Thirty Days
October-2015-Calendar-Template-3
Hello October. I can’t believe you’re already here. One hundred percent of the time, I can’t tell you how many days a month has without reciting in my head: Thirty days has September, April, June, and November….. Well, I guess I remember that October has 31 days because Halloween is October 31. So 98 percent of the time. I laughed one day when Bill was trying to figure out how many days a particular month had, and he recited out loud: Thirty days has September, April, MAY, and November. Being ever the helpful wife, I suggested the little poem isn’t helpful unless you have it memorized correctly. He loves when I point things out like this to him. Wouldn’t you?

The Swarm
Our son Dave is in England playing rugby with some Denver team. Don’t ask, because I don’t understand it myself. Anyhoo, that leaves our daughter-in-law Jll as the single

I believe Dave is in the second row from the front and is the only one not looking at the camera!

I believe Dave is in the second row from the front and is the only one not looking at the camera!

parent of their brood of four. With the youngest being 7, it’s considerably easier than when they were small. Still, it’s a lot of work, especially as they are all involved in a variety of activities. So the other night, I invited them over for dinner. Only come if it’s actually making your life easier, I told her. I wasn’t trying to make it more complicated. They always make me laugh when the whole gang comes. I hear them coming from afar. They acknowledge me with smiles, maybe a hug or two, and immediately head out to the back yard where they quickly find entertainment. That night it was tossing a football. I had made a simple oven dish in which you put chicken pieces, potatoes, carrots, garlic, and onion on a cookie sheet, add salt and pepper, pour olive oil over the whole kit and caboodle, and bake for an hour-and-20 minutes at 375 degrees. The chicken and the bread were consumed quickly. They had to be coaxed to eat the vegetables, largely, I think, because I decided to add Brussel sprouts. A deal breaker for sure. That’s okay. More for Jll and me. Homemade milk shakes for dessert. No coaxing. A lot of slurping. And that was just Bill! It was a fun night.

Sew There
apronIn response to my post entitled Apron Strings, I got several leads on apron patterns. While Bill was in Chicago, I went and purchased some material. Yesterday Bill spent much of the day making my apron. I think it was more time consuming than he anticipated. What would make it easier, I asked him. A square apron, he informed me. The curves were a killer. But I think he did a good job all things considered. It is not quite complete since he ran out of rick rack. “Or whatever that stuff is called,” he told me. It’s called rick rack.

When You’re Alone and Life is Making You Lonely, You Can Always Go…….
While Bill was busily sewing at home, I had lunch downtown with my two besties from my old job back in the days when I got paid to write. I don’t get downtown much these days, but I enjoy the heck out of it every time I do. More and more apartment buildings have been built every time I go downtown. Will it ever stop? I guess it has to because at some point they’ll run out of space. I always think if I was a bit of a different person, I would live in lower downtown Denver where we had lunch. They have now built a King Soopers right across the street from Coors Field, and apparently a Whole Foods is scheduled to be completed next year. There are restaurants, bookstores, churches, parks….everything you need. Except grandkids living within walking distance and/or 10 minutes from you. I’ll stay where I am, thank you very much.

Ma Oui
Speaking of lunching with my friends, we ate at a place that has only been open for about three weeks, or so our server told us. It is called Bistro Provencal, and was very delicious and surprisingly affordable. (I still can’t get used to $15 hamburgers.) I had Tourte de Boeuf, which was basically a pot pie that had filet mignon and mushrooms in a creamy sauce. It was absolutely amazing. Of course, I think you could wrap puff pastry around an old shoe and it would taste good. I hope the restaurant makes it.

Ciao!

Cooking Teachers

I’m not sure I can entirely remember what life was like prior to Food Network. This fact, of course, isn’t exactly surprising since I can’t remember where I park my car at the mall. The irony I’m afraid is that I CAN remember my home telephone number from when I was a 6 years old and the words to all of the songs from the 1960s. Sigh. Way to waste those important brain cells.

I guess our parents used those funny things called cookbooks. They didn’t have anyone to teach them to cook from their little black and white television sets. Well, except for Julia Child. And I don’t know about anyone else’s mom, but my mom didn’t particularly want to learn to cook French food. I would have liked to seen the look on my dad’s face should mom have plopped sole meuniere in front of him one night.

My mom says she learned to cook from my paternal grandmother (her mother died at a very young age). I learned to cook by watching my mother. And more recently from watching Food Network and PBS cooking shows.

It used to be that Food Network consisted almost entirely of actual cooking shows. Nowadays, you can find a few cooking shows on during the day, but nighttime consists entirely of competition shows. They don’t particularly interest me. So I mostly watch during the day. Ree Drummond, Trisha Yearwood, Ina Garten, Giada De Laurentiis. Others.

If I’m to tell you the entire truth, most of the stars of the shows drive me crazy. I can’t imagine cooking showing as much cleavage as does Giada, if for no other reason than that I would undoubtedly splash my chest with hot bacon grease. I sometimes think that if Ina Garten says “How (fill in the blank) is that?” one more time, I will throw my coveted seasoned cast iron skillet through the television screen.

But I have learned things from all of these Food Network and PBS cooks that I think has made me a better cook. Here’s a few of the things I have learned…..

Ina Garten: As annoyed as I get when the Barefoot Contessa instructs us to use “really good wine” or “good vanilla” or, as in one recipe, “really good saffron” (as if you should spend even more on an ingredient that already requires you to pawn your wedding ring to buy), I have learned that she is right that the better the ingredients, the better the final result. But the way I look at it, it doesn’t mean you have to fly to Madagascar to pick up a bottle of vanilla. It means, if possible, buy real vanilla extract as opposed to vanilla flavoring.

Paula Deen: Paula’s use of butter is (and I think was meant to be) ridiculous. But she taught me not to be afraid to use butter in my recipes. It simply tastes better. I also learned the easiest way to prepare collard greens – fold them in half and pull the leaves off the stem in one fell swoop.

Giada De Laurentiis: Despite my constant annoyance with her cleavage and the fact that she won’t simply say “spaghetti” or “fettucine” the way we do, she has taught me to use the freshest ingredients possible. Recently, she made a pasta red sauce that looked delicious, and she threw the rind of a piece of Parmigiano Reggiano into the sauce to flavor it. I will definitely give that a try. Giada also uses a lot of fresh fennel, and once I gave it a try when using one of her salad recipes that included fennel and grapefruit, I was hooked. Yum.

Ree Drummond: The Pioneer Woman has given me permission to use store-bought ingredients. Though Ina Garten must turn her nose up at Ree Drummond, I love that Ree will open up a box of chicken broth or use a jar of store-bought pesto.  If she can do it, so can I! It makes me happy to see her use her cast iron skillet so often because it’s one of my favorite cooking utensils. I couldn’t live without it. I love her 16-minute meals. Next to Lidia, I probably use more of the Pioneer Woman’s recipes than any other.

Lidia Bastianich: I left Lidia until last because, well, you know. I want her to adopt me. She speaks to me. For example, the day after I burned my hand because I grabbed the handle of a pan that I had taken out of the oven a minute or so before, she told me, “Kris, make sure when you take something out of the oven, you place a towel on it to remind yourself and others that it is hot.” (Well, she might not have directed it specifically to me, but she said it on her show the next day, and I know she meant it for me.) She has taught me not to fear anchovies but to embrace them as a rich and salty seasoning that melts in your fry pan and therefore won’t scare others, who will simply wonder why your sauce is so good. I also learned to salt my food as I cook, every time I add an ingredient or move to a new step. (If you fear oversalting, place the amount of salt you want to use in a little bowl and take from that. That’s what Lidia told me.) And maybe my favorite instruction from her is, “Clean hands are your best kitchen tool.” Amen.

I’ll leave you with one of my favorite Lidia recipes…..

Pasta with Baked Cherry Tomatoes, courtesy Lidia Cooks from the Heart of Italy, Lidia Bastianich

Ingredients
3 pints cherry tomatoes, halved
½ c. plus 1 T extra-virgin olive oil
1/3 c. fine dry bread crumbs
1 t. kosher salt, plus more for the pasta pot
¼ t. pepperoncino flakes, or to taste
1 lb. spaghetti, gemelli, or penne
10 plump garlic cloves, peeled and sliced
1 T. chopped fresh Italian parsley
1 c. loosely packed fresh basil leaves, shredded
½ c. freshly grated pecorino (or half pecorino and half Grana Padano or Parmigiano-Reggiano) plus more for passing
4 oz. Ricotta or ricotta salata

Process
Arrange a rack in the center of the oven, and heat to 350 degrees.

Toss the cherry tomato halves in a large bowl with 3 T. olive oil. Sprinkle over tomatoes the bread crumbs, salt, and pepperoncino; toss well to coat the tomatoes evenly. Pour the tomatoes onto a parchment-lined sheet, and spread them apart in a single layer. Bake until the tomatoes are shriveled and lightly caramelized (but not dried out), about 25 minutes in all.

Meanwhile, fill a large pot with salted water, and heat to a rolling boil. When the tomatoes are nearly done, drop the pasta into the pot, stir, and return the water to a boil.

As soon as the pasta is cooking, pour the remaining olive oil into a big skillet, set it over medium-high heat, and scatter in the sliced garlic. Cook for a minute or two, until it is sizzling and lightly colored, then ladle in about 2 c. of the pasta cooking water, and bring to a vigorous boil, stirring up the garlic. Let half the water evaporate, then lower the heat, stir in the chopped parsley, and keep the sauce barely simmering.

As soon as the tomatoes are done, remove them from the oven.

When the pasta is al dente, lift it from the water, drain for a moment, and drop it into the skillet, still over low heat. Toss pasta quickly with the garlic-and-parsley sauce in the pan, then slide the baked tomatoes on top of the pasta. Scatter the basil shreds all over, and toss everything together well, until the pasta is evenly dressed and the tomatoes are distributed throughout. Turn off the heat, sprinkle on the grated cheese, and toss once more.

Serve immediately.

pasta with baked tomatoes

Nana’s Notes: I cut the recipe in half by simply halving the ingredients. I used fresh tomatoes out of my garden, which I’m madly harvesting. The only cheese I used was Parmigiano. The meal was delicious. Thanks again Lidia.

Falling for Fall in the Mountains

Sisters

Sisters

My sister Jen says it’s one of her favorite sounds in the world. I must admit, it’s right up there – somewhere between a really good choir singing Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus and the sounds of my grandkids’ voices.

What am I talking about? The sound of elk bugling in Rocky Mountain National Park in the fall.

That’s why Jen and I make it a point every year to trek up to Estes Park to spend at least one evening with the bull elk as they woo their girlfriends in their fascinating mating ritual. This year Bec joined us, and I think our annual tradition will become hers as well.

As dusk approaches and it begins to get darker, you start hearing the eerie sound of the bulls – a sound that begins low and increases in pitch until it echoes against the mountains. It is beautiful, and apparently the female elk agree. They can’t resist. Who could? We read that in preparation for the evening’s activities, the bulls urinate and then roll in the wet mud. What female could turn their noses up at such sex appeal?

Each year it seems we get a better show, and this year was no exception. We saw two Elk bugling 2015 (2)big bulls fighting for their territory. They lowered their heads and charged each other. They stomped their feet and charged again. Suddenly (or at least it seemed sudden to us), the fight was over. We couldn’t tell who won. The two just turned around and walked off in opposite directions. We never figured out the rules, though we tried.

We watched an interesting display that included three bull elks – one of which was injured and walked with a decided limp. He must have lost a fight. The other two played some sort of elk waiting game. Suddenly, one of the bulls walked over to the other bull’s herd and lured one of the cows to come with him. She seemed undecided, but the big bull elk helped her make the decision as he began to chase her over to his herd. We couldn’t quite figure out whether she was happy or not. At the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter because it’s the males that make the decision.

It was a glorious weekend. The first night we cooked steaks on the grill and ate them atsteaks estes park a table on our balcony at the Deer Crest Resort. It was a lovely warm fall night, and the grounds of this resort are beautiful. I promise I’m not being paid by the hotel to recommend this accommodation. The resort and the owners are both delightful. I can’t recommend it enough. The owner joined us that evening at the fire pit, shortly after the three of us drank our Fireball whiskey shots. Now that’s a sentence I never thought I would write. But, well, yum.

We spent much time sitting by the Fall River, listening to the sounds of nature.

We spent much time sitting by the Fall River, listening to the sounds of nature.

The second night, after the amazing elk show, we ate dinner at the Dunraven Inn, which provided us another grand experience. Jen ate mussels, and Bec and I each had cioppino. If I wasn’t such a lady, I would have licked my bowl. Yum again……

cioppino dunraven

We had a wonderful weekend, which unfortunately concluded with the car incident about which I wrote yesterday. But what the heck! Even that provided us with a great story to tell.

Bill will be home today, and it is my sincerest hope that he will NOT have rolled in mud.

 

 

This Time It Wasn’t the Yellow Bug

Fall River

Beautiful Fall River in Estes Park, Colorado.

When my sister Bec was visiting back in July, we had plans for a sisters’s weekend in one of our favorite places — Estes Park. I have mentioned before that we have pleasant memories of family vacations in that pretty little town just outside Rocky Mountain National Park and Bec, Jen, and I try to spend a weekend there once a year. Unfortunately, as they say, “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” (Those Scots. They’re so optimistic.)

Well, awry the plans indeed went as I ended up in the hospital last July. However, since resiliency is our middle name, we immediately made new plans for Bec to come back early in the fall so that we could not only hear the elk bugle, but see some fall color as well.

So, we spent this past weekend in Estes Park, and had an amazing time. I will tell you about it tomorrow. Because I have to tell you about some more best laid plans that went where? Yes, you guessed it. Awry.

We decided to conclude our wonderful weekend with a walk around Bear Lake before we would leave for home. The walk is not only breathtakingly beautiful; it was one of our mother’s favorite activities. We walk it partly in memory of Mom.

After morning coffee and some relaxing time sitting by Fall River, which flows merrily past our hotel, we packed up the cars — Jen’s and mine. I had elected to drive the Hyundai to Estes Park because Bill is in Chicago and it is so much nicer to drive in the mountains than my yellow bug. I agreed to drive into the park to Bear Lake. We all got in, put on our seat belts, and I started the car. Smooth sailing. Until I try to put the car into reverse and it won’t happen. A no-go. A deal breaker. It won’t move out of park and my dashboard is black. That seemed troublesome.

I won’t go into detail about how calm, cool, and collected I WASN’T. Thanks be to God my sisters kept me centered. Jen worked with Bill via Face Time and regular telephone in an attempt to figure out what was wrong. We finally narrowed it down to it being a problem with one of the fuses. Bless Bill’s heart. He really tried to talk us (and when I say us, I mean Jen) through a number of attempts to diagnose and perhaps even fix it, but at the end of the day, I called my old friends at AAA. God bless AAA.

“Hello Kris. How have you been? What’s the yellow bug up to now?”

hyundai tow truck

Bec and I end up driving back to Denver in a tow truck, pulling the Hyundai behind us. Bec sat on the hump. She’s a good sister. As you would imagine, there are not a plethora of towing companies in Estes Park. Bob’s Towing is about the only game in town. So Mrs. Bob’s Towing towed us while Mr. Bob’s Towing stayed in Estes Park awaiting the next call. Apparently they get many calls every day.

We enjoyed our conversation with Mrs. Bob’s Towing (whose name is actually Diane) as we drove down the mountain into Denver. The car is awaiting repair, and I’m back to driving the yellow bug, which is feeling smug that for once, it wasn’t the cause of the AAA call.

And Bec is wondering if she will ever visit us without drama ensuing.

Saturday Smile: Ben

depositphotos_9155720-Rat-cartoonAbout this same time every year, we have evidence that mice are preparing for the winter by gathering food from our back yard. I stop filling the bird feeders with sunflower seeds around mid-August in an effort to discourage their presence. The reality is that I don’t mind if the little buggers are outside; I just don’t want them in my house.

For this reason, I have been very clear with the grandkids that they need to CLOSE THE SCREEN DOOR when they go in or out of the house. I have explained to them that there are mice outside who are preparing for the winter and that they would love to get into our nice, warm house. For the most part, the kids have complied.

Late morning of the first day that I explained this to Kaiya and Mylee, Mylee (who had kaiya mylee hats (2)been in the house playing with Legos) came outside to join the rest of us. As she stepped outside, carefully closing the door after her — she said at the top of her voice, “Nana, show me those rats that are in your backyard.” I could almost hear the neighbors gasp in unison.

By the way, probably only baby boomers will understand the reference in the title of this blog post. Remember Ben?

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The House We Grew Up In

searchThe stars of Lisa Jewell’s highly readable novel The House We Grew Up In are about the most dysfunctional fictional family I have ever come across in a novel. And I read a LOT.

But here’s the thing: Despite their ups and downs, you can’t help but like them all. Well, almost all of them.

Clearly the most interesting thing about this novel, and the thing that at least in part makes the reader unable to turn off the light and stop reading is the hoarding. Reading about hoarding is like having a scab that you can’t leave alone. It’s unpleasant but oh-so-interesting.

And yet there is so much more to the novel, and so much more to the characters.

The Bird family lives in a pleasant cottage in the Cotswolds in England. Lorelei Bird is a lovely, charming mother of four who wants nothing more than to provide a life of joy for her children. She loves pretty, colorful things, and likes to hang on to them like we hang on to memories. Her husband and children find her to be delightful and full of love. Easter is her favorite holiday, and her annual Easter Egg Hunt provides joy each year. Until it doesn’t. Because one year something particularly terrible happens, leading the family to slowly begin to crumble.

I enjoyed the way Jewell told the story, telling the tale from each of the characters’ perspectives, going so far as to use Lorelei’s online love relationship to fill us in even more, via her letters to her online friend.

There is so much more to the novel than hoarding, but as we undoubtedly all have a secret fear that we are hoarders, it is the most compelling part of the novel.  Let me assure you, this novel will put your mind at ease. We may need to send a few things to Goodwill, but most of us can get to our kitchens.

I particularly loved the way this novel ended, despite the distressing facts we learn about some of the characters. Jewell leaves us with the idea that families who love one another can get through unbelievable stress and tribulation and love will rise above it all.

The House We Grew Up In would be a WONDERFUL novel for a reading club. Please consider it. It will be one of my favorite books of 2015.

Now, excuse me while I go clean my basement.

Here is a link to the book.

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