My Way or the Highway

Posted in Desserts, Recipes, Whimsies by kzmclain

I’m going to hear a collective gasp from many of my readers – not the least of which will come from both of my sisters – but I don’t particularly buy into the notion that birth order largely affects one’s personality.

I’m sure birth order – like many things – impacts the way one sees life. However, I think that there are so many variables involved that you just can’t say unequivocally that he or she is that way because of placement within the family. For one thing, any time I read anything about birth order, it talks about first-born, middle child, and youngest. That implies all families consist of three children. So since I am the second of four, I guess that makes me a middle child, and so is my younger sister. And yet I assure you that she and I are not alike in very many ways. Mom always did like her best.

In my family, my brother is the youngest. Supposedly that makes him a free spirit, a risk taker, and charming. Now once everyone who knows my brother stops laughing at the notion of Dave being a free spirit, stop to think that he is the only boy in what was a traditional family. So, despite being the youngest, he had a lot of responsibilities that his sisters didn’t have, particularly when it came to helping Dad in the bakery. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure Mom made his bed every day (and if not, I will soon hear about it from him).

Having said all of the above (implying that I, too, am an amateur psychologist), I will tell you that where the birth order supporters get it right is when it comes to the first-born. Nearly every first-born that I know has many of the same characteristics – they religiously follow rules; they are born leaders; they feel responsible for, well, everything in the world; and they see things as black or white, right or wrong, real or imagined. I love first-borns and am delighted to let them take over my world.

Because I have three sets of grandkids, I obviously have three grandkids who are first-borns. I am not able to observe Joseph on a day-to-day basis, but when I’m around him I can easily see that he has a strong sense of the way things are supposed to go. When they don’t, he feels responsible. (His younger brother Micah agrees – Joseph is responsible!) He is a sensitive kid, often bearing the woes of the world on his shoulders (when he isn’t sharing his sweet grin).

If you look up first-born in the dictionary, you will see Addie’s picture. She is responsible for everyone and everything. She is self-confident, ambitious, and successful. She knows what is right, and tries to make sure everyone toes the line. In fact, sometimes when she is visiting with her siblings and her brother is not behaving as she would like, she will begin disciplinary procedures. I gently remind her, “Addie, I’ve got this.” She looks at me as though she is thinking, “Well, you may think you’ve got this, but you don’t got this very well!

Kaiya is a bit of a different story. She is actually not a first-born, having a brother who is 14 years older. Still, she has a lot of the characteristics of a first born since she for all intents and purposes plays that role in the family. Kaiya notices everything, and has a strong sense of the way things are supposed to be. She is the one who notices if I’ve changed something in the house. She doesn’t hesitate to let me know that I really should have left well enough alone.

I recently got a new cookie jar. I bought it primarily for the color, which goes well with my new kitchen colors. Etched on the cookie jar are the words Fresh Homemade Cookies. For the most part, the cookie jar contains Oreos, because that is the cookie of choice for ALL of my grandchildren as well as their grandfather. But ever since I bought that cookie jar, Kaiya has told me I shouldn’t have the Oreos in that cookie jar because they aren’t homemade. “Nana, you need to make some homemade cookies to put in that cookie jar,” she recently instructed me.

WRONG!

RIGHT!

Well, birth order or not, I did as she instructed and made some homemade peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. That should keep all the first-borns in my life at bay for a bit.

Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies, adapted from korenainthekitchen.com

Ingredients
2-1/4 c. all-purpose flour
1 t. baking soda
½ t. salt
¾ c. butter, room temperature
¾ c. granulated sugar
¾ c. packed brown sugar
¾ c. peanut butter
1 egg
1 t. vanilla extract
2 c. chocolate chips

Process
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.

In a large bowl, cream together butter, granulated sugar and brown sugar. Mix in peanut butter, egg, and vanilla until combined and creamy. Add flour mixture to sugar mixture, and mix until the dough comes together. Add chocolate chips and mix until combined.

Drop by rounded tablespoons or form into 1-inch balls onto a greased baking sheet, leaving about 2 inches between each cookie. Press each cookie with the back of a fork to give it the classic peanut butter cookie look.

Bake for 11-12 minutes, or until the edges are just beginning to turn brown. Cool on the pan for a couple of minutes before placing them on a rack to cool.

13Oct2015

Automatic Response

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Recently when my sister was out here visiting, we were at a restaurant having lunch. We had been doing some shopping and quite a bit of walking, and a trip to the rest room was needed. After we ordered our food, I excused myself and headed to the ladies’ room.

When I opened the door, there was a clearly disgruntled woman – probably a bit older than I – who was frustrated because she couldn’t get paper to come out of the dispenser. She was moving her hand below and in front, but no paper emerged. She expressed her frustration to me, and I concurred, telling her that I frequently am unable to get the automatic sinks to work or the automated paper towel dispenser to do its job. We exchanged crabby looks and made cynical remarks about how automation doesn’t always make our lives easier. She left, drying her hands on her pants as she walked out.

I went into the stall and the entire time I was in there, I worried about whether or not the automated paper towel dispenser would work for me or if I was going to have to wipe my hands on my pants as well. After I was finished, I washed my hands and gritted my teeth and went over to the dispenser. I moved my hand below it. Nothing. I moved my hand in front of it. Nothing. Sigh.

It was about that time that I noticed a handle on the dispenser. Oddly enough, when you manually pressed this handle, paper emerged. Weird, huh?

Yes, my friends, we are so used to having automation in our public restrooms that it didn’t occur to this woman, and almost didn’t occur to me, that we actually had to manually express the paper towels. It’s true, I’m afraid, that there have been many occasions when I have placed my hands under a water faucet only to realize that I actually needed to turn a handle. I’m blaming this mental hiccup on drinking sloe gin fizzes as a college student.

However, I feel compelled to tell you that for some reason, I really do have a problem getting automatic water faucets to deliver water to me (even when they actually ARE automatic). I approach them confidently, place my hands where I think they should be, and nothing happens. I move my hands up and down, and nothing happens. I move to the next sink and it doesn’t work. Just then, a young woman will step up to the first sink that failed me and water will come pouring out like Niagara Falls. Young whippersnapper, I will think to myself, as I move down the line of sinks hoping for a dribble or two.

Sometimes automated bathrooms can go too far. One day I took then-3-year-old Mylee to Lil’ Monkey Business — an indoor playground for small kids. Before we left, I took her to the bathroom to wash her hands. She did so, and headed to where the paper towels should be located. No paper towels, only one of those automated things where you stick both of your hands inside, and air blows like Hurricane Katrina as you slowly pull your hands out of the dryer. Unless you’re 3 years old and the entire thing — the way it looks, the sound it makes, the gale force wind it emits– scares the bejeezus out of you. Now, who thought that was a good idea, I thought as we walked out of the bathroom, Mylee wiping her hands on her pants.

For the most part, I embrace technology and automation. In fact, if I could figure out a way to automate cleaning my house, I would do so in a heartbeat. That way the house would be, well, clean. The closest thing I’ve discovered is the Roomba, and I’m thiiiiiis close to buying one.

I will leave you with a funny story about the Roomba. My daughter-in-law Jll received a Roomba as a birthday gift. Their entire house has hardwood floors, and she will run it at night downstairs and run it upstairs during the day. The Roomba apparently knows not to go down the staircase. Don’t ask me.

They were out of town one weekend shortly after receiving the Roomba. Prior to leaving town, she had given me some zucchini that had been given to her and I volunteered to make zucchini bread while they were gone. I did so, and stopped by their house to drop it off so that they would come home to a lovely loaf of freshly baked bread for the next day’s breakfast. I walked in, set the bread on the counter, and turned to go. Just then, the Roomba came shooting out of their coat/cubby room and zipped in front of me on its merry way to the family room. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Automation can be dangerous to your health. Just ask Mylee.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

12Oct2015

The Eye of the Needle

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Every time I publish one of these blog posts in which I talk about my spiritual life, I’m uncomfortable. After all, who am I to feel like I have anything to tell anyone about being a good and faithful servant of God? Attending a Catholic school from Kindergarten through 12^th grade certainly doesn’t give me the necessary credibility. Especially since I was sent to the principal’s office on more than one occasion because my uniform skirt didn’t meet the necessary guidelines, i.e., touching the floor when kneeling at daily Mass. People – it was 1969! Oh, it did once I got to the principal’s office because the reason my skirt was short was that I had folded over the waist three or four times. It probably doesn’t surprise you that I didn’t really fool the principal when I entered her office with a skirt down to my knees. (It didn’t fool my mother either, but as good a Catholic as she was, she never really thought highly of some of the school rules. I remember when I was in grade school, a rule was issued that girls couldn’t wear sleeveless dresses to school. “Oh, yes,” I remember her saying, “because there’s nothing sexier than a 6-year-old’s underarms.”)

But I digress, something I do very well.

Despite my lack of credibility, the gospel readings keep slamming me in the face, and I need you all to assure me of my salvation. For example, in yesterday’s gospel from my old friend St. Mark, Jesus tells the rich man that in order for him to make it to heaven, he had to give away all of his worldly goods. Dang, thought the rich man. Gulp, thought I. St. Mark tells us the rich man’s “face fell” and I’m certain mine did. It does every time I hear that gospel. Heck, I don’t want to give away my big screen television. How am I supposed to watch the Broncos or Dancing With the Stars?

As I sat back to listen to Father Larry’s homily, I was prepared to hear him assure me that I didn’t have to give up my iPad after all. As I recalled, every time that particular gospel is read, the priests assure us that we don’t have to give up everything and eat only locusts and honey. To my relief, Father Larry did, in fact, assure me giving away everything was unnecessary. However, he put it in a way that actually made some sense. He pointed out that Jesus told the rich man that he should follow the commandments: You shall not kill; you shall not commit adultery; you shall not steal and so on. The rich man assured him that he did indeed follow all of God’s commandments and had since a mere youth. For the most part, so do I, or at least I try.

But, said our homilist, Jesus went on to tell the rich man – and therefore me – that it isn’t simply what we don’t do, but just as important, or perhaps even more important, what we do.

Gulp, I thought again. Because the fact of the matter is that while I think about doing a lot, I mostly don’t getting around to doing anything. I can be more generous with my time and talents. When I get mail from nonprofits asking for money, I can actually give money instead of tossing them out without even opening the envelope. I always tell myself I should carry a stack of one dollar bills and when I’m at a stoplight where someone is holding up a cardboard sign, I could actually hand him/her a couple of dollars without thinking about whether or not he or she deserves my money. After all, it isn’t up to me to judge.

“Then who can be saved,” the disciples asked Jesus, who responded, “For human beings it is impossible, but not for God. All things are possible for God.”

Even saving my pitiful butt. I’m going right now to put some dollar bills in my car.

10Oct2015

Saturday Smile: Flyin’ High

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

One day this week, I went to watch Cole for a short bit while his mommy volunteered up at school. Here is what he was wearing……

I texted his daddy to tell him how much I liked Cole’s shirt. Here is the text I got back: Judging from the look on Cole’s face, I think you’re happier about it than he is. WHATEVER! His mommy had just left 30 seconds earlier so he was just working on his attitude adjustment.

Yesterday morning, he and Papa were playing the game where Papa would toss him up in the air. The sheer joy on his face made me smile….

And finally, my last smile has nothing to do with grandkids, except for being one. My cousin Bobbie generously sent me one of our own grandmother’s aprons, with the only caveat being that she wanted to see a photo of me wearing it. When I took it out of the package, the first thing I did was put it up to my nose to smell it. I’m sure I imagined it, but I thought the fragrance was that of Grammie, and I immediately teared up. It’s a bit big, but what do you think?…..

Have a great weekend.

8Oct2015

Thursday Thoughts

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Quick Seasons
In lieu of going to the gym, Bill and I elected instead to enjoy the pretty autumn morning we were having yesterday and go for a walk. I really do like the fall weather, and the trees in our neighborhood are absolutely lovely as the leaves change colors and begin to fall. It is one of the things I would miss if we lived in Arizona year-round. My sister Bec has a deciduous tree in her backyard in Chandler, AZ, and she told me one day she noticed the leaves were falling off the tree. Well, she thought, this must be fall in Arizona. But when she looked at the tree later that day, she saw buds for new flowers. Spring and fall all in one day. Welcome to Arizona.

Bill’s second apron……

More Apron Strings
I got a lot of hits on my blog post about aprons. I’m not entirely sure why. A lot of people remember my grandmother and commented on how loved she was. Many people just loved the notion of wearing aprons. But frankly, a lot of people were just surprised/impressed that Bill was the one sewing the aprons. Go Bill! But here’s the thing. While I now own two – both sewed by Bill – I never remember to put them on. It isn’t in fact until I find myself once again wiping my hands on my pants that I remember to grab an apron and put it on. I assure you that my grandmother NEVER forgot to put on her apron.

Roughage
I was making a pot of chili the other night using my mom’s recipe. I dropped in a couple of bay leaves as my mother always did, and immediately I had a flashback to something that happened back in the days of dinosaurs when I was in junior high. My BFF was over for dinner and my mother served her chili. Now, whenever Lidia cooks with bay leaves, she always says, “Make sure you know how many you put in because you need to pull out that many so no one chokes on a bay leaf.” Pshaw. My mother figured every man for himself. So we were quietly enjoying our chili, when suddenly my friend said, “Mrs. Gloor, um, there’s a leaf in my soup.” That became a story that my friend and I have laughed about many times over the years. Now she is a very good cook and likely often puts leaves in her soup.

Training Program
I made a recent decision that I’m going to train myself to like beer. After all, I’m sure I didn’t take my first drink of gin and say, “Why, that is a simply delicious flavor. Martinis are my drink of choice.” I developed a taste for gin, and now it is quite true that I love me a good gin martini. I have never developed a taste, however, for beer, and I think an ice cold beer is just a good beverage of choice under certain conditions. With Mexican food. At a baseball game. While sitting on my Arizona patio when it is 95 degrees. So last night I got out the beer mug that Bill keeps in the freezer and poured myself a Pabst Blue Ribbon Light. Hmmm. It didn’t taste too bad, and I think with patience, I can learn to drink beer. But Jen asked a good question: “Why, when there is so much good wine to drink?”

Shopping in Gay Paree
Jen recently told me that she went to a French market that was held in Old Town Fort Collins, and had a wonderful time looking around. She bought a few things here and there. Overall, it was a grand experience. When she told me that story, I recalled that there used to be a French market in Denver that I went to one time with a friend. I checked, and lo, and behold, the market still ran once a month during the summer. In fact, last Saturday was the last one for the season, so I went. Called A Paris Street Market, it featured vendors carrying homemade items, vintage furniture and décor, clothing, jewelry and the like. Bill wanted to go, but I discouraged him enough that he decided to stay home. I was glad, because I wandered slowly through each booth, determining just what I couldn’t live without. I, in fact, came home with only one thing. I have been looking for just the right art to decorate my little coffee counter in the kitchen, and found the perfect thing. No?

Ciao.

7Oct2015

Road to Perdition

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Back in the early 2000s, Bill and I went to see the film Road to Perdition at the movie theater. Very uncharacteristically, neither one of us knew the plot of the movie, knowing only that it starred one of our favorite film actors, Tom Hanks. We had seen him in many movies of course. In fact, we had seen him a couple of years before in Castaway. Though Bill probably wouldn’t admit it, we both liked him in Sleepless in Seattle and You’ve Got Mail. (Bill was a big fan of Meg Ryan before she got so much plastic surgery that she looks more like Bozo the Clown than Meg Ryan. He always used to say she reminded him of me. I cling to that very thought. And at least most of my face isn’t tucked behind my ears.) Hanks had been the voice for Woody in Toy Story, for heavens’ sake. We seriously anticipated a lighthearted film, in fact had not a single notion that it would be anything but a sweet movie.

The film, of course, is the story of a mob enforcer and his young son who are out to avenge the murder of the rest of their family. It is horrifically violent, concluding with Tom Hanks dying in the arms of his son after successfully shooting their enemy in the face. About three-quarteres of the way through the movie, Bill leaned over to me and deadpanned, “Well, this is about the worst comedy I have ever seen in my life.” I began giggling so hard I thought they would kick me out of the theater.

So, just as Road House has become synonymous in our eyes with bad movies, Road to Perdition has become the term we use when a comedy isn’t funny.

Yesterday afternoon, Bill took a rare afternoon off from yard work. It was kind of chilly and overcast, and he mentioned he was feeling caught up with outdoor chores. I suggested he sit down with me and we could watch a Netflix movie. Much to my surprise, he agreed. After perusing all of our choices, we selected Million Dollar Baby, a 2004 boxing movie starring Clint Eastwood, Morgan Freeman, and Hilary Swank. It’s not easy to find a movie we can both agree on, but Bill likes the sport of boxing and I like Clint Eastwood.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Neither one of us was anticipating a comedy. The story line was about a grouchy boxing manager who was estranged from his daughter, and who agrees to train Swank’s character for the title fight. It was fairly graphic, and got me wondering why on earth anyone would ever CHOOSE to be a boxer.

But about halfway through the movie, I began getting a bad feeling. Things were just moving along too positively for an academy-award-winning movie. Hollywood doesn’t do cheerful.

I have mentioned before that I hate books where a character to whom you have gotten attached dies of cancer or anything else. It simply irks the living daylight out of me. It is for that reason alone that I refuse to watch Steel Magnolias or Terms of Endearment. I hated Love Story. As many times as I’ve read Little Women, after my first reading, I skip the chapter where Beth dies.

As my bad feeling continued to grow, I picked up my iPad and googled the movie. Here’s what I learned….

SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT

In the title fight, Swank’s character trips over the stool that had been placed in the wrong position in the ring and BREAKS HER NECK. She becomes a quadriplegic. After months in the hospital, she develops such severe bed sores that she has to have one of her legs amputated. Her family comes to visit her ONLY after visiting Disneyland first, and ONLY to have her sign a paper signing all of her money to them. She apparently spends the last part of the movie begging Clint Eastwood to kill her, which he eventually does. The end.

I say “apparently” because it was about that time that I told Bill I was going upstairs to work on my computer.

“Why?” he asked me.

“Do you really want me to tell you?” I responded. He assured me he did.

“Well, let me put it this way,” I said. “It makes Road to Perdition look like a comedy.

And that, my friends, was the end of that. Life’s too short to go through that kind of movie-watching misery, even if it’s an excellent and award-winning movie. Bill put on his jacket and went outside and found some yard work to do, and I wrote this crabby blog post.

I’ll take Doris Day and Rock Hudson any day of the week.

6Oct2015

Blanket Statement

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

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!

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….

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….

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.

5Oct2015

Bless the Children

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

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.

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 to 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

3Oct2015

Saturday Smile: Seventy-Six Trombones

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

And so, there’s this……

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.

2Oct2015

Friday Book Whimsy: The Headmaster’s Wife

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Once 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 .

Nana's Whimsies

Musings of a Baby Boomer….

Category Archives: Whimsies

My Way or the Highway

Automatic Response

The Eye of the Needle

Saturday Smile: Flyin’ High

Thursday Thoughts

Road to Perdition

Blanket Statement

Bless the Children

Saturday Smile: Seventy-Six Trombones

Friday Book Whimsy: The Headmaster’s Wife