Essays by George Orwell Page: 1363 FINISHED *ahhh…*

Today seems like a good day to review my progress so far. We are one-quarter of the way through the year but sadly, I’m not one-quarter of the way through my reading. I thought I was going to end up marking this milestone with a day of NO reading. Today is Jared’s birthday (26th) and after a busy morning I thought I might end up being the one to head home with the boys which usually means no time to read. But he decided to let me have a few hours alone to get as caught up as possible and here I am with a mere 98 pages on the day. So far I’ve read 18,520 pages and finished 46 books. By this time I should have read 19,837 pages in approximately 50 books. Thus, I’m 4 books or 1,317 pages behind. Not too bad considering my current pace would have me reading 184 books this year…except that I set myself a 200 book goal so I shall regard that as a failure. My current plan is to arrange several days completely off with someone (likely Quinn) watching the boys while I hide out somewhere absolutely secret and read like a medieval monk.

We got our new flip video camera in the mail today and we’re so excited. Here is a long, boring-to-anyone-unrelated video of us playing with Alex. You can kind of hear Luc crying in the background…he didn’t want to relax and go to sleep.

Peter Pan Page: 240

Essays George Orwell Page: 1265

Today was an exceptionally good day. Both boys slept until 9am (well, Luc got up at 6 but then went back to sleep until 9), then I headed down to Veritas to join Jared and Marybeth stopped by with Cole to visit for awhile, and then Pam offered to take the boys for the afternoon and she and Doug and Colby watched them until we came out for dinner. Today is our family celebration of Jared and I’s third anniversary and Jared and Pam’s birthdays both of which fall on the 31st. Quinn took over at Veritas at 5, giving us the chance to come out to Hidden Springs for dinner and dessert and she is supposedly joining us any minute for dessert. I feel relatively relaxed (two glasses of wine and I’m closeted in Doug’s study to write) and kinda rested too. What’s funny is how surprised I am that I feel so happy…

I think Peter Pan is a sad, sad book and in light of Barrie’s life is even sadder. I suppose it is enjoyable for children who cannot understand its exceptionally bleak view of maturity but I certainly don’t recommend it either as recreational reading or a book for children to dwell on. Sanitized versions of the story may be ok for children - ones that leave out the emphasis on not wanting grow up and the abandonment of the Darling parents. The overwhelming heartlessness of the story is only dramatized by any biography of J.M. Barrie.

Orwell continues to be hilariously wrong. He contradicts himself, makes wild prophecies about the future that have not come true, and is so utterly bleak as to be almost unreadable. Anyway, I’m within 100 pages of being done with his essays and glad of it.

Some photos from Luc’s baptism on Sunday. Alex’s one year before, looked almost exactly the same. Quinn and Colby are godparents to both boys, I wore the same dress, and it was the same holiday (Easter Sunday).

Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie Page: 80

Essays George Orwell Page: 1140

So tired…I had a great line today: “What’s a Saturday without a 17-hour workday?” But then Quinn decided to polish her halo and offered to close for me so I’m sitting at home, feet up, tapping out a blogpost. I didn’t get nearly as much reading or work done today as I wanted to but it wasn’t a complete loss. I picked up some merchandise for the store and did some work organizing and rearranging. I opened this morning which usually means lots of reading but with one thing and another I failed to get much accomplished. Because I was so tired I thought I’d try to get a little nap. One of my secret devices is to hide in the corner, behind the counter, and nap on the beanbag chair. It’s almost impossible to see me snoozing back there but I still am afraid of being spotted and have a mild panic attack whenever I hear someone coming up the stairs. If you ever come in and don’t see me sitting at the counter, don’t snoop, I might be snoozing.

Ulysses by James Joyce Page: 50

The Thin Man & Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett Page: 644 Finished

When I write a crappy blogpost like yesterday’s I wonder if it’s even worth sticking to my daily blog commitment. Some days I can compose a long and thoughtful-ish post and other days…nada. Oh well, here’s to the good days. I know I haven’t posted many pictures lately but them’s the breaks. We just ordered a new flip video camera and hopefully soon I’ll be posting home videos of the boys. Hopefully, that is, for the friends and family who visit here just for the pictures of my adorable little ones.

I’m done with the Dashiell Hammett books and not overjoyed with them. Detective novels, by nature, handle all manner of sordid events and it takes a wise author to handle sordid situations without soiling himself or the reader. Now these novels are not nearly as exploitative as they could be nor are they as nasty as much of what is published today but I still feel vaguely unsettled by them and the affairs, alcoholism, and murders.

Ok here’s a mental exercise. Think about something. Think about a book, movie, friend, enemy, possession, website, politician or album. Now stop and think about how you were thinking and figure out how many of the things you were thinking were in the form of catch-phrases or cliches. Now think about whether you were really thinking what you believe or whether your thoughts were being shaped by the preformed words and phrases. Courtesy of George Orwell.

Nobody showed up for the Joyce reading but I downed 30 pages by myself. If I read it once a week, every week left this year, I only have to read 27 pages at a time. Woot.

The Thin Man by Dashiel Hammet Page: 406

I’ve almost finished another Hammet novel. I like the banter in this one  better than the dialogue in The Maltese Falcon. Still I’m a little worried that this is one of the 100 greatest books of the 20th century…it is just a detective novel after all.

I don’t have much time to post tonight…Jared and I have the night off (thank you Gabe) and that means no more reading today and hopefully to bed early. I had an email interview with a gentleman from The Daily Nebraskan and I look forward to seeing his article when it comes out.

The Maltese Falcon Dashiel Hammet Page: 227

I’m really tired tonight and not looking forward to my early morning tomorrow. Our faithful employee, who works Monday through Friday mornings for us, needed to take Spring Break off to finish her volunteer hours for her Social Work degree. I miss her. So much. If you’re reading this Brandi, please know how much I miss you. Anyway, because she is taking her well deserved time off, Quinn and I are taking turns opening Veritas and getting up with the boys. Tomorrow is my turn to get up at 5:45 and head into Veritas while Quinn gets to take her chances with the boys and maybe get to sleep in until 8 or so. It’s hard enough to get through the day when it starts at 7 but 5:45 is brutal.

I found Hammet’s book mildly enjoyable and since he is supposedly one of the greatest in his genre, I think it’s safe to say that the detective novel is not for me. I enjoyed Raymond Chandler’s books but more for the cultural implications than their characteristic mystery structure. I liked the humorously over the top hard-boiled atmosphere of Chandler’s novels but Hammet is more restrained and so because I don’t care for mystery novels, less enjoyable. I’m not claiming that mysteries aren’t worth reading but I am sure that they don’t appeal to me.

Essays by George Orwell Page: 1030

Still slogging through Orwell and other than the occasional chuckle at his self-contradiction I’m still not a fan. A few points. He writes repeatedly about the need for efficiency in building homes to avoid drudgery and unnecessary waste; then he writes an entire essay about how every home should have a coal-fire despite it’s dirtiness, inefficiency, and laboriousness, because having the family gather around it in the evening is socially desirable. He comments on Edward Lear’s nonsense verses and I just read them. And he did write one great essay in 1945 called “Politics and the English Language” which was and is an entirely necessary indictment of lazy language use. He and David Foster Wallace would have bonded over it.

Reading a comment today over on Nancy Wilson’s blog made me think about the necessary tension between reading, childcare and housework. Now I’m not one of those militant homemaking, housework is a woman’s highest calling, kind of conservative Christian females. There are plenty of blogs out there advocating housekeeping as an art, sanctuary of the home, and nesting as a vocation but this isn’t one of them. Certainly a clean, well organized home with tasty home-cooked food on the table is a marvelous thing and I think an achievable thing but when it comes down to a dilemma like, fold laundry or finish reading my book we’re likely to be picking our clean clothes out of the dryer for the week. Now I’m in a bit of a unique situation because I’ve a large reading project to finish this year but it’s a position I believe more of us should be in. When you are in the years of caring for small children very often learning falls by the wayside and unless you had an unusually vigorous schooling it is a loss you cannot well afford. Of course I’m not recommending leaving rotting garbage under the sink or wearing dirty underwear but a lot of your life ought to be sacrificed to furthering your education and gourmet meals are not the most important part of a woman’s life.

Of course reading or writing doesn’t come before the needs of the babies. Today Luc was crying and laying on the floor and Alex went over to him and made cooing sounds while trying to give Luc his pacifier. As Alex is only one, his motor control wasn’t quite good enough to succeed but the compassion demonstrated - he seemed genuinely sad for Luc - certainly is good enough. I can’t wait to tell them about each other. How Alex would try to comfort Luc and how Luc would light up when Alex leaned over him. They do have their selfish moments but in their own feeble, infantile way I think they love each other already.

My sister had to take her truck in for some repairs. I’m sure every female reader will instinctively appreciate the stress this occasioned. There was some (necessary) work that the shop did without notifying her or obtaining her permission (big no-no). When she came in to pick up her truck they charged her for this work. She called me, angry and frustrated to vent about the unfairness and stress of it and naturally I got royally pissed at the big mean mechanics who bullied her. I called to let them know that they had behaved dishonorably, manipulating and extorting money from a young woman and while they were reluctant to acknowledge this they did agree to reverse the work and the charges and they offered her an apology. We will now be making this simple repair ourselves for one-tenth the price. Moral of the story? When you are in a position of superior knowledge you have a deep and abiding obligation to use that knowledge for the benefit of those who are weaker. We live in a mildly degenerate age where the obligations of honesty and chivalry (here defined as service to those who are weaker than you) are routinely disregarded. Everyone, to some extent is in a position to use others and therefore has to be on guard against selfish dishonesty. But especially mechanics, tech-experts, doctors, lawyers, are all under peculiar restraints given your special knowledge. You MUST be honest, be clear, and be charitable. It is a moral obligation.

The BFG Page: 243

Essays George Orwell Page: 766

I LOVE DAYS OFF! As previously mentioned, yesterday was our first day off since Christmas. Not just our first day off together but really our first day off. I’ve kinda had a couple days (last week when I tried to get lots of reading done, and a couple days after I had Luc in December) but I’ve at least gone to work all of them, to get a few things done, or spent part of the day working from home. But Jared has had nothing since Christmas. He worked 88 days in a row and his shortest working day was 12 hours long. Yes I married Superman. Jared and I enjoyed dinner (wine, bread, and cheese from the Co-op), our stay in the hotel and this morning’s breakfast at Goldy’s. Goldy’s is notoriously busy and even on a Monday morning we were lucky to snag the last free table before the queue started. I reveled in a non-diet breakfast of coffee and a cinnamon roll and Jared enjoyed his omelet. Then we came home to our adorable children. Alex was so excited to see us that he almost broke the window beating on it and I was in heaven feeling his sot little cheek against mine. I’m such a dork that it took concentrated effort not to miss them all night. It is so funny how you can want time away so badly and then spend that time longing to be back where you were trying to get away from. I’m glad I miss them when I’m away though and we managed to have a wonderful time. Eleven hours of sleep is a beautiful thing.

I’m officially a huge Roald Dahl fan. I’ve heard that some of his stuff is pretty dark and I believe it. I read his collected short stories in January and they had a good dose of dark stuff, but The BFG was incredible. I think it must be absolutely enchanting to a child’s sense of language and adventure and I can’t wait to try it out on the boys. The illustrations are marvelous (of course) and the sketches of the Queen look so much like the photos I’ve seen of a young Elizabeth the Second. Definitely a two thumbs up.

The BFG by Roald Dahl Page: 155

Jared and I are headed out for our anniversary night off. Quinn and Amanda are taking turns watching the boys and taking care of Veritas. Or is that taking care of the boys and watching Veritas…

I read part of The BFG and am enamored with Roald Dahl! I will post more tomorrow when I’m not impatient to get done and go be with my hubby.

Essays by George Orwell Page: 720

So far I’ve avoided talking too much about Orwell and his writing other than to point out how sad and depressing he is. The further I read into this collection of essays - which is arranged chronologically - the more that is confirmed. He reviews books, writes opinion columns, and constantly promotes Socialism. But throughout his writing there is a pervasive hopelessness. He believes that socialism is the only answer to mankind’s ills but that there is little to no hope of it ever being instituted properly. He continually contradicts himself and makes predictions which have manifestly not come to pass and he regularly misreads, misinterprets and misunderstands what he is writing about. I agree with him about Salvador Dali (perverted and disgusting but talented) and am at least intrigued by his views on Joyce but on the whole he reviewed apparently dull and hopelessly dated books and did so in such a way as to leave the review utterly incomprehensible to someone not living in his time and culture. He makes such up-to-date references that they are, to me, indecipherable. In one article he condemns the ugliness of “modern” life and in the next he exclaims against the inefficiency of living in single family houses rather than flats or pre-fab buildings. He condemns Chesterton for not appreciating “Englishness” and decries Dickens for not promoting a political solution to human wickedness. In fact, Orwell is so confused he’s actually quite hilarious and because he takes himself so seriously he’s doubly funny. I crack up repeatedly in the middle of reading some terribly earnest dissertation on the necessity of higher taxes and the righteousness of theft.

Day off tomorrow. Woot.