Diarrhetics and Titivate: A Must Read?

You, meet Good Book.

Good Book, meet you.

Now, snobs of the highest literary order (of which I believe I am one) will typically tell you there there's no true good book since the term "good" is an empty term spent by relativists. And those who watch all five of the Fast and Furious movies in a marathon sitting.

My nose in the air hasn't quite reached such heights. Give me an hour or two, and I'll work on it. Yet, I do believe in a good-old-fashioned good book. (See? I just used the dry little noun accessory twice. Twice!)

While I'll admit to believing in the implausible term (I also bought tickets for the Loch Ness and Bigfoot Belief Trains, mind you), I confess I haven't the foggiest notion as to how to define it. I mean, what makes a book, in fact, good?

If history - my mere 17 years of adulthood being all I've got to mortgage here - has shown me anything, it's that preference is everything. How else could we explain the greatest debates of our history? Consider good versus evil. Science or nature. TP: Under or Over?

Book boasting is no crayon of a different box. Of course, that won't stop me from dropping a diarrhetic in your soup if you dare claim Jane Austen is just another empty-minded Victorian who cottons to flights of romantic whimsy. That's right. I said diarrhetic.

For me, The Good Book better refer to The Bible or else be that needle-in-the-haystack find of crackerjack wit and content that titivates my brain while tickling m'funny bone. No short order of pancakes that.

And it should be a bit zany. Off the wall. Original without trying to be. For instance: let's say there was some guy. We'll call him A.J. Jacobs. And let's say Jacobs, although Ivy League (cough-cough, Brown University) educated, feels by the ragged age of 35 that he's "slipping in a slow slide of dumbness". Let's mix in that, to stave the steep of said slide, he decides to read the entire 32 volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica in a humble quest to become the world's smartest man. Oh, but we mustn't fail to add that he writes about the adventure...one alphabetized musing at a time. Now what sort of book would that make?

A freakin' hysterical one, that's what.

It just so happens that it also titivates the brain while tickling the funny bone. Must make it good, then.

Want the full course and not just some lame appetizer? Okay, have another bite.

"Glyndwr: A district in Wales. Please buy a vowel."
"dance: In a tribe of Santa Maria, old men used to stand by with bows and arrows and shoot every dancer who made a mistake. The perfect way to raise the stakes on American Idol."
 "Absalom: a biblical hero, [who] has the oddest death so far in the encyclopedia. During a battle in the forest, Absalom got his flowing hair caught in the branches of an oak tree, which allowed his enemy, Joab, to catch him and slay him. This, I figure, is exactly why the army requires crew cuts."
 "Mann, Horace: In his final speech, the educational reformer told students: 'Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.' Good wisdom. I have to remember that."

Told you it was titivating.
Go read it.
It's good.

At The Crux

If I had to wrap it into one; to sum it all up; to get to the heart of it.
To find what's at the crux...
these are the words that would rise.

"Do the next, good, right, honest thing.

Keep it simple.

I am responsible for the stitch, not the whole pattern.

Turn the outcome over to God."

~Ashley Judd, All That Is Bitter and Sweet

The Sum of All Fears

"Why, you may take the most gallant sailor, the most intrepid airman or the most audacious soldier, put them at a table together - what do you get?
The sum of all their fears."
~ Winston Churchill

Powerful: I first encountered this quotation in the 8th grade when I read Tom Clancy's The Sum of All Fears with my dad. Its gravitas lies in how easily one can substitute the military categories for just about any other conjured...and the last line still rings true.

Lately, it seems that so many I care for are hanging on by the knot at the end of their "funk" rope (thanks, FDR) and they've nothing left in their arsenal but one small yet powerful weapon:
        hope in the face of their fears.

People are just people.
Doing their best, not because of their fear.
But in spite of it.
And that's a struggle we all share.

Which is why it seems not coincidental that Winston Churchill also said,
"If you're going through hell, keep going."

If You Forced Me

If you forced me to pick just one novel and proclaim it my favorite...well, that would surely bring me pain. But, if forced, it'd be Pride and Prejudice. Every day and twice on Sunday.

And now Grace is discovering the magic literati reverently refer to as "Austen".
My generational gift to her...may it long live and thrive...
in the mind of a reader
and in the heart of a lady.

[Caption]

This One's For You

Ever pick up text - of any sort - and find it wallops you with that peculiar but oddly invigorating message of "This one's for you"? You see a billboard, thumb a magazine, spy a fb post...whatever...and it's like a douse of cold water?

Today, I had one such experience during my devotional, one that reminded me that not all in life is rational. (But, oh, if wishing made it so.) Alas, I cannot just think everything out because the intellect demands data I cannot always grip. Thus, we need faith, so that when it dawns on us what we think we tightly grip is nothing but wind between our fingers, we're more able to let it roll. And find change on the other side.

So here's my wallop.
You never know - maybe it'll be yours, too.

In one sense the road back to God is a road of moral effort, of trying harder and harder. But in another sense it is not trying that is ever going to bring us home. All this trying leads up to the vital moment at which you turn to God and say, "You must do this. I can't." Do not, I implore you, start asking yourselves, "Have I reached that moment?" Do not sit down and start watching your own mind to see if it is coming along. That puts a man quite on the wrong track. When the most important things in our life happen we quite often do no know, at the moment, what is going on. A man does not always say to himself, "Hullo! I'm growing up." It is often only when he looks back that he realizes what has happened and recognizes it as what people call "growing up". You can see it even in simple matters. A man who starts anxiously watching to see whether he is going to sleep is very likely to remain wide awake. [...] And what matters is the nature of the change in itself, not how we feel while it is happening. It is the change from being confident about our own efforts to the state in which we despair of doing anything for ourselves and leave it to God."
~ C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

Looking Around

When a puzzle vexes me, I look around. I think about it. I call this process "chewing on it." I look for answers, sure, but they tend to be much more elusive than I first imagine: like the missing car keys or envelope you simply can't remember where last you put, answers make you search around endlessly, wishing God would give a shout out of "Cold. Colder. Now warmer. Warmer still....HOT! HOT!"

But while I'm aiming for answers, I find I get a heck of a lot more...and, occasionally, that more is better than the answers. Really. What could be better than answers, you say? Comfort. Perspective. Wisdom. Experience. Shelter. Or how about bonified acceptance that, well, often life simply is what it is. And I've got to let it go.

While I'm aiming for answers, I find I stand at an array of intersections: can I or can't I? Will I or won't I? Should I or shouldn't I? And, standing there, I look around. I chew on it. Music's melodies comfort me. Wise words grant perspective. I gain experience. And I accept.

At a recent junction, I came across this poem and thought it was applicable to all kind's of life's tensions, really - all kinds of searches for answers. I found it brought comfort, perspective, wisdom, and acceptance. I like how its everyday examples couched in a profound sentiment of imagined "heaven" made me say, out loud, "Yes. That would be nice."

In short, it left me looking around. And I like what I saw.

"Notes from the Other Side"
Jane Kenyon

I divested myself of despair
and fear when I came here.

Now, there is no more catching
one's own eye in the mirror,

there are no bad books, no plastic,
no insurance premiums, and of course

no illness. Contrition
does not exist, nor gnashing

of teeth. No one howls as the first
clod of earth hits the casket.

The poor we no longer have with us.
Our calm hearts strike only the hour,

and God, as promised, proves
to be mercy clothed in light.

En arche en ho logos...

...is the last line of the poem "LOVE" written by Franz Wright, a Pulitzer-Prize winning American poet and son of James Arlington Wright - also a Pulitzer-Prize winning poet. (By the way, they're the only father and son to hold that honor in the same category).

Franz Wright is also the author of a poetry collection I'm currently reading entitled
God's Silence.

"LOVE" is tapered. Clean. Has good bones.
And hit me strongly.

Here's the poem, in its entirety, for your perusal...

"While they were considering whether to stone her -
and why not? - he knelt
and with his finger wrote
something in the dust. We are
as you know made from
dust, and the unknown
word
was, therefore, and is
and forever will be
written in our flesh
in gray folds of
memory's
flesh. En
arche en ho logos.

Go ahead and read it again.
I'll wait.

Now would it interest you to know that "en arche en ho logos" is Greek for "In the beginning was the Word?"

New Fave Find: Winifred Gallagher

The perpetually whimsical but unfailingly sharp-minded and astute Ms. Winfred is my new fave writer find. She's hasn't written more books than years I've been alive, no. But, yes, she has superbly composed a relatively small - but exceptionally well-conceived and researched - collection. And she's no novice at rhetoric: before writing books for Harper Collins, she wrote for The New York Times, Rolling Stone, and Atlantic Monthly focusing primarily on large-interest features. Now, if that means nothing to you, read on anyway, 'cuz all that's just another way of saying, "This gal's good."

Why do I think she's so good? In a book-flap tease: The topics about which she writes are the same areas I find my daily brain drifting always asking the same questions of "Why DO we do that?" and "Why DOES that matter to me, anyway?!"

Here's a list of my faves:

The Power of Place: How Our Surrounding Shape Our Thoughts, Emotions, and Actions

Just the Way You Are: How Heredity and Experience Create the Individual

It's In the Bag: What Purses Reveal - and Conceal

House Thinking: A Room-by-Room Look at How We Live

Rapt: Attention and the Focused Life

I started with Rapt simply because it was the gem I found first. In its pages, I discovered my frustration about all the "stuff" I forget has nothing to do with absent-mindedness or brain-power deficit nor could it be repaired with more attentive listening or a healthy dose of Gingko Biloba. Rather, I realized I was forgetting what simply never mattered enough to me in the first place. Now that's great to hear in matters of door-to-door solicitors or annoying remarks in the supermarket line. Not so much with pointless but nevertheless endearing anecdotes from my children or an early-morning request for ironing from my husband. Yeah. That was one of those equally punch-in-the-gut, prick-in-the-heart moments.

But I learned from reading that. I'm changing because of it.

And the purse one? Well, listen. Who knew a sociological explanation of the purse could be so enthralling? I learned mounds about my friend, Bee, for one thing. And found that my preference for messenger style satchels of yarns and earthy cottons slung over the shoulder really might say something about me...just as Bee's penchant for oversized, glossy, brightly-colored and embellished leathers say something about her.

And just when you think you know a girl...

Anyhow, that's what Ms. Winifred writes about. She starts with a question that poked at her in some way...such as "Why did you paint your wall that color?" and "How can you possibly be so smart and so dumb at the same time?"...and finishes with a pretty-darn good telling of the possibilities.

Not too bad for a mother of five, wife of one, and friend to good ideas aplenty.

Why not check her out? (Oh yeah, did I mention I found her at the library?)

Twitter Wit

Listen, I didn't dream it up: it's what they named the book. I found this little gem during a recent trip to the public library. In case I was boring you to death last time we talked, I might mention this is one of my favorite "me dates." When I need an hour or two - just a smidge of a sanity window - I run away to my closest library branch and wheedle away the time hunting the stacks for that gem of a find...such as this one.
Now, I don't tweet but, then again, I don't have to in order to know that tweeting is to Twitter what status updates are to Facebook. Let me also say that I - who only turns on my cell during school hours and has never even sent a text - have no interest whatsoever in permanently residing in this porthole of a world spent documenting my every whisper of thought.

But visiting is nice.
Visiting is fun.
And, in this case, visiting left me laughing so hard my sides actually hurt the next day.

This is an authorized collection of "some of the funniest tweets of all time." But, as its editor hurriedly points out, tweets are about far more than humor. If sarcasm is the grumpy man's wit, then Twitter is the postmodern, culture-saavy, uncensored, and sometimes all-out raw man's wit...conveyed in 140 characters or less! Some have elusive references; others are so accessible as to be boring. Lots and lots are crass (my faves, I gotta' tell 'ya), and just as many are...well...let's say more-than-crass.

But they're all worth noting because they're real: they came from real people noting real, albeit often unusual, quirks of everyday human life. It's a time capsule imprinted forever on the Internet mainframe, really.

Now that, people, is a social experiment worth glimpsing.

Here's a sampling for your reading pleasure (Warning: adult content to follow. Wink)

I stood there wondering, "Why is that Frisbee getting bigger?" Then it hit me. Notactually me.

He said, "Over my dead body!" and I guess I see now that it wasn't polite to ask if I could pencil that in." msteciuk

Even with a cup full of change, the hobo wouldn't front me $.50 to add vanilla to my latte. Hope the bastard has fun finding his cart. buttahface

PSA: "Instant coffee" isn't either. johntunger

A friend msgd me a picture, "africankids.jpg" when I closed the msg, it said: "africankids not saved. Save now?" I have God's cell phone. eersatzmoe

"You will not sucks forever." Thanks, fortune cookie. pheend

Two people are arguing just outside as to the definition of a "glancing blow." Do I really have to do everything? Here. Let me demonstrate. trelvix

Lady. Say "You're welcome a lot" in response to my "thanks a lot" one more time, and we're gonna be in the newspaper tomorrow. beep

I just got a new high score at Dishwasher Tetris! d_g_

I will follow you into the sunset, in hopes you catch on fire and I get to watch. drunkstepfather

My tits look awesome when I pick them up off the floor and put them in a bra. fourformom

I wish someone would invent a smell-yourself device. That's all. AprilSTL

The DVD of my life will include a four-hour montage of me trying to open packs of gum. Rayke

That's ok. I've been meaning to clean that table with a full glass of water for a while. ledge

London city airport. Where form meets function. AND THEY HAVE A FIGHT. stephenfry

"Happy" Is Just a Word

Happy is just  a word. Like any other adjective, article, gerund, moniker, or oxymoron, it's just an expression of clarity unless you get what it means. Really means. Lately, in conversations with my dear friend, Amy, I've noticed us touching on the finer points of aging. Although you might surmise we considered the highs and lows of sagging skin or widening wrinkles (since that's what women at large might highlight on the topic), you would be wrong. Instead, we comment on how the gray shades between easy blacks and whites seems ever-growing, reaching far beyond what we would have pictured just 10 years ago. We admit that what we deemed significant then seems microscopically small now, if it matters at all. We sweat the small stuff less, and confess that is the result in part of choice and in part of lessons learned via the force of life.

Still, we are softer. Perhaps gentler. Maybe a bit more relaxed. Definitely happier for it.

But if we're living for the big in life to make us happy, we'll not see the change age can bring, for I know this much to be true: happy is in the little as much as the big...maybe more so since the everyday little ways construct more of our lives than the juicy biggies like weddings, jobs, births, and deaths. Each day brings some reason to be happy though, granted, some days are harder than others.

A while back, we inherited a little book from friends called 14,000 things to be happy about. This one's a gem because it's nothing but a long list of reasons to be happy. Here's a sampling of my favorites from the book:

• straightening the pantry
• air so crisp and clear it draws you outside
• fish fry and beer on tap
• not minding the silences
• staying until the candle burns out
• swapping recipes over the backyard fence
• being forgiven
• writing a final sentence
• dinners that include a green salad and hot, buttered French bread
• shopping at garage sales
• living with the knowledge you've done your best
• praying for a sick child
• back doors: the ones best friends enter through
• the be-all end-all
• flopping in a hammock for a snooze before dinner

And here's some of my own:

• squeezing around the right guy on a motorcycle
• closing your eyes on the ferris wheel
• the silence of the house when you're home alone
• a porch swing, iced tea, and crickets chirping during the Iowa sunset
• walking the campus of your alma mater
• a margarita poolside on an ocean liner in the middle of the Pacific

Think of some of your own....maybe even write them down. Make a list of 14,000 of your own.

You may find they make you happy. 

What CAN Be Found in Lost?

To me, the answer to that question lately is "Not much." Yyyyeeeessss, it's Season 6, people. The Final Season. The season that promises, "All your questions will be answered." Big teases. I've got more questions than ever and my answers to others are in short supply; in other words, ain't nothin' different in 6 than in 1 through 5! But loyalty is my strong suit...yes, even to a fave tv show...and I'm determined to stick it out until the very end believing that the kicker will be worth it - rather akin to pregnancy and labor. Snicker.

But, to that end, I aspire to stay informed as ever, struck as ever by the whammy one-liners these writers throw at us when we least expect it. In the episode "Lighthouse" a couple of weeks ago, one in particular stood out - enough so that it's worth digressing for a moment to inspect. While at the island lighthouse (you know, that giant structure no one noticed for all these weeks and - whammo - there it is as big and burgeoning as...oh, say...a giant three-toed statue) Jacob appears to a befuddled Hurley. In the distance, we see Jack sitting atop a rock outcrop staring at the ocean, entranced in thoughts of who-knows-what. Hurley recounts to Jacob Jack's explosive response to discovering Jacob's been watching him since childhood. Jacob tells our beloved wide one, "Jack is here because he has to do something. He can't be told what that is - he has to find it himself. Sometimes you can just hop in the back of someone's cab [Hurley's story] and tell 'em what they're supposed to do. Other times, you have to let 'em look out at the ocean for a while." Boy, if that isn't a life mantra for me. Reminds me of a line in a Rich Mullins song: "I'd rather fight You for something I don't really want than take what You give that I need." And it just goes to show that what we want isn't always what we need and what we need is almost never what we understand. Yep, another life lesson from Lost.

Still, as this season progresses, I am continually (as always) shocked and appalled at the skill these writers possess to orchestrate such a synergy between time and place that creates the weaving of Truth we call Lost. Check this link to a compilation short that particularly accentuates how they've interspersed not just topics, motifs, and character arcs but multiple seasons, as well - even as far back as episode 1, mind you.

Yes, season 6 is tricky since it appeals to my junky side - the addiction to seeking elusive answers to questions I barely even understand. Isn't that just like life...pursuing answers you fear you'll never get until you enter a time or place where you couldn't care less about them anyway? But unlike the "real world," the fantasy island of Lost will disclose its hidden treasures, will unearth its buried secrets so our need to know will exist no more...or so the bigwigs promise.

I suppose only time will tell - whether it's the alpha-verse or beta-verse is anybody's guess - and they've got 9 episodes to do it.Chop-chop, boys. Chop-chop.

A pretty good read, by the way.

Even if it only covers the first few seasons.

Perfect if you've only just found Lost. 

Gasp. 

Better late than never, I s'pose.

Crazy Love

Here's the book I'm reading and contemplating in the month of February: Crazy Love by Francis Chan. I heard about it a la Amy Cunningham - yet another reason why I call her one of my most precious gems. She's reading it, too, and I look forward to having great conversations about it with her.

If you're looking for a new book, I'd love to have great conversations with you, too. February is the month of love, of course, so I figured what better way to focus on love than centering on the "crazy love" I feel for God? Life moves fast, and I don't want to miss it. I want to see those who matter most in the optimal light of both the real and ideal because I know when others see me both as I can be and as I brutally am, I'm the better for it. Now, God doesn't need to be better. But I sure do. I want to. 

This month, I'm also stepping out to love especially closely the people I call my "core." Whether it's babysitting, double dating, meal-making, card-sending, or phone-calling, I'm intentionally pursuing them lest their vivid knowledge of how much I love and value them dims. This includes my kids, my closest girlfriends (you know who you are), our closest couple friends, and family. The calendar may be full, but their love banks will be, too.

I want the love in my life to be crazy. I want a living epitaph that reads, "That girl knows how to love." No, I don't want to boast or brag - but I do want to love. I want to love with patience and kindness, giving beyond myself without a record of wrongs. I want to live crazy love.

How do you want to love?

Yeah, he's that good.

I've discovered another exceptional writer. While not enirely new to the scene, he is widely unknown to popular audiences. Nevertheless, I came upon him and find him brilliantly gifted: he's a linguistic guru in the genre of historic fiction, particularly in the novella subclass. This means that, while his books are relatively brief in lenth (think circa 180 pages), they are all based on historic events. But wait - there's more!

He's also strongly centered on the vignettes of multiple characters: thus, you experience the given focal event of the novel through the multiples eyes of its players.

His name is Adam Braver.

I just finished November 22, 1963 which is, of course, about the assassination of John F. Kennedy (a subject, by the way, which holds my extensive fascination). And I just started Mr. Lincoln's Wars. He's also written Crows Over the Wheatfields (which I'm heading to as quickly as I can) and Divine Sarah, if you're searching about.

He is, in my humble but expert opinion, one of the genius's of the literary century.

Yeah, he's that good.

Taking It Personally

We've heard that expression, "Don't take it personal, " right? Well, first of all, I'd be remiss to the English language if I didn't mention that this is poor grammar: Americans turn adverbs into nouns all the time (naughty, naughty), and this is an example. So, you tell me not to take it personallyand, ironically, that's exactly how you often mean it. But I came across this just last night in one of the books I'm reading and found that I truly did take it personally. And that, for once, is a good thing... Consider this:

"In an electronic, need-for-speed, overnight-delivery age, the more personal the invitation the better. A visit is more personal than a call; a call is more personal than a letter; a letter is more personal than e-mail -- a letter with six people's names on it is less personal than one addressed to one person, and an email is about as impersonal as it gets. We are so flooded with e-mails and the medium is so senseless that I have come to believe that in the rank order of inviting, e-mails don't count. But all are better than lying in bed at night waiting for [God] to provide."

(Ok, I added God because the author, Peter Block, wrote "the universe" and, to that, I say "Pishaw.")

But this resonated with me: for instance, I know I don't like it when I get an email that tells me its been sent "to our most valued friends" ... and there's like 200 names on the list. Huh? I also know that I love opening my mail slot and seeing a card with my name on it, written in a dear friend's hand...and it's for me and me alone. Time isn't just money, you know. It's also love. And Evite is fabulous and perfect for some occasions (I've got one coming up, in fact), but a phone call to invite a friend to lunch is more my speed than a "Hey, let's get together sometime" that is never followed by a plan.

God's Word teaches: "A new commandment I give to you that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you may also love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples if you have love for one another" (John 13:34-35). I want to matter. I especially want to matter to the people who love me. And, even more than that, I want to make the people I care about know they matter. All the time. Every day. Even if I can't interact with them daily. They should know it, rarely if ever doubt it. I certainly don't want them to lay in the dark asking God if anyone cares about them at all!

I've learned it's rarely in the big that I'll make my biggest mark; rather, it's in the everyday touches of time over convenience, of hard over easy, of loving over being loved that I've made it truly personal.