About a boy

by mollykl

Son J got in trouble today. For playing in the dirt. PLAYING IN THE DIRT. Don’t get me wrong, I know he’s not supposed to at school, and I support the teachers and staff in their decisions, but at the same time HE WAS PLAYING IN THE FUCKING DIRT.  On my way up to get him I ran in to one of the staff who was trying to comfort him, because son J was understandably upset. The staff member wasn’t too happy either. He said, “It’s dirt. Boys play in dirt. It’s what we do.”

Yes it is. Boys aren’t girls. They are more tactile – they play in dirt, they explore differently and they relate differently. They don’t behave for the sake of good behavior. Good behavior is an abstract concept. Little boys don’t do abstract concepts.

I like neat. I like good behavior. I like “do as I say and don’t question”. Boys don’t do that. My boy doesn’t. The upside of that?

I’ve got a boy who questions everything and who will call you on your bullshit.

If he thinks he is right and you are wrong, well then you are going to hear about it.

If his version of reality is different from yours you’re going to hear about that too.

He holds tightly to his beliefs no matter how odd they are.

He will not do something just to make someone else happy if he is uncomfortable. (Case in point, someone was setting up a photograph at the school. Woman I’d never met before and she asked if Jack could be in the picture, which was staged INSIDE the recycling dumpster. I told her she’s have to ask Jack and he politely said, “No thank you.” I did not cajole and say, “Oh come on Jack, just be nice and do it.” Instead, I got in the car as she scowled and said, ‘Way to go kid, good job not doing something you didn’t want to.” Wish I’d learned that lesson years ago.)

He throws himself into everything he loves.

He is the most frustrating person I have ever met in my entire life, and that’s saying something.

I had this idea of what my kid would be like, or rather, what I expected my kid to be like.  That image and reality have yet to match up. I didn’t count on my kid actually being his own person. That’s not because he’s a boy, it’s just because he is who he is.

One of my coworkers said today, “I wish I’d had a boy frist (her daughter is about 7 months old). I think boys are probably easier. But then I think children aren’t easy, no matter what.” I laughed to myself and realized she was right. If it    was easy it probably wouldn’t be as worth it.

Curiouser and curiouser

by mollykl

I received the most perplexing compliment last week. In the break room I looked at my friend R and asked, as he looked back at me, “What are you thinking?” (A question a woman should NEVER ask a man, even one she isn’t sleeping with).

He paused for a moment and then said, “I want to say something, but I’m afraid you’ll hit me.”

It should be noted that I have a wicked right hook.

I told him to go ahead and he said, with a deep breath, “I like that you have your own style that you’re ok with that.”

I thought he was alluding to the fact that I had shown up to work un-showered and wearing the previous day’s makeup. I yelled, “Hey look! I had a bad night and I couldn’t take a shower! At least I’m still wearing yesterday’s makeup and put on perfume!” (Because, you know, Chanel makes everything better)

He put his hands up to defend himself and said, “No, it’s about your post on Facebook about the 20 coolest bookstores. You have your own style and you don’t care if it’s not cool.”

Chastened I mumbled thanks.

Later I wondered….what do you mean “it’s not cool”? Wait…I’m not cool? Sure I have the self-esteem of a turtle, but that’s just an outward expression. Internally I think I’m one of the coolest people I know. I mean, really people, I have CALLING CARDS for fuck’s sake. I READ. Sure, I’m not the snazziest dresser, but I’ve been doing much better lately – did you see me at M & J’s wedding?  I looked frickin’ amazing!

I mean, I know I’m not cool by most of my co-worker’s standards, but most of my co-workers have an average age of 23, so oh well. I can hold my liquor, I have a bar where I’m a regular and the bartender knows I like Herradura Silver neat, I can read a French cookbook like no one’s business, I know the tactile difference between thermography printing and engraving, and I know the significance of a ball at Netherfield.

That’s not cool?

Drinking and reading…reading and drinking

by mollykl

Any idea worth its salt is worth stealing.

Well, now that that’s out of the way. Heroes and Heartbreakers did a post on pairing drinks with novels or with particular authors, much in the way wine is paired with food. Larissa Ione asked what would pair nicely with her books and that got me thinking, not just about her books, but about everything else on my shelves….and in my liquor cabinet. So here are a few ideas:

Tasha Alexander – Well, Port obviously.

Deanna Raybourn – Something with Absinthe, in honor of Brisbane. I’d actually go with a Sazerac, since we know Julia’s fond of Whiskey.

Jane Austen – I’m going to go with a nice French white wine, nothing sweet. Dry and sharp, much like Elizabeth’s wit.

Larissa Ione – Grey Goose Cherry Noir on the rocks. I loathe flavored vodkas, but I love this, and it seems a perfect match to her characters.

J.R. Ward – Sure you could be obvious and go with Grey Goose or Lagavulin, but I say be more obscure and go with Jack Daniels (John’s favorite) or Herradura (Qhuinn’s favorite).

Kerry Greenwood – A Sidecar would be perfect and make you feel almost as elegant as Phrynne. Even if you are slouched on the couch in jeans and Vans.

Suzanne Arruda – A Gin and Tonic of course. Get really good tonic water, though. I like the Fever Tree.

Arturo Perez-Reverte – Marques de Caceres Rioja, and possibly a cigarette. I don’t know what it is about his books that makes me think I should be drinking red wine and smoking.

Antony Beevor – Ketel One on the rocks. Many, many of them. Believe me, you’ll need the numbing effect.

Elizabeth Peters – Well Amelia usually drinks whiskey, if I remember correctly. I don’t remember what Ramses’ drink of choice was, but I’m going to have to go with a good American Bourbon. Maybe Baker’s.

Stephanie Tyler – I’m not entirely sure why, but I think of Manhattans (but not served in martini glasses – highballs instead). Probably because when I do make Manhattans I make them reeaaalllyy strong.

Gail Carriger – Laphroaig, hands down. Something peaty and smoky and burn-like-hell. Clearly I’m a Conall fan and not an Akeldama fan.

Ernest Hemingway - Cuba Libre.

Patrick O’Brian – Nothing French, that’s for sure. Perhaps a nice Irish Whiskey in honor of Stephen. (Husband J says, “Port. Something vintage. Good stuff.”)

Zoe Archer – French 75. Gin and champagne. Can’t you just see Bennet and Catallus in a bar in Paris getting shit-faced drunk on those?

Meljean Brook – An Old-Fashioned. The sugar cube would be a bit of bravado.

Lilith Saintcrow - The Ophelia – Gin, Rosemary simple syrup and lemon. Crisp and unusual but not precious. Perfect for reading steampunk.

Ian Fleming – No, not a vodka martini, shaken not stirred. A Vesper. Harder to make correctly and a hell of a bite.

Shakespeare on parenting, part 2

by mollykl

“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is
To have a thankless child!”

King Lear Act 1, scene 4, 281-289

This quote is an example of what NOT to be as a parent. Lear was an asshole. He thinks his kids “owe” him. If you’re a parent who thinks this sentence has any validity you should probably seek counselling. Better yet, remember it when you wonder why your kid has a sense of entitlement, because guess where he/she got it from? That’s right: you.

Yes children should be thankful – they should be thankful to be alive, to be have food and shelter and love. But they shouldn’t be thankful to you. It’s your job. You decided to have kids, so man the fuck up and be a parent. If you thought it was going to come with a gold medal you must have read a different owners manual.

Shakespeare on parenting, well, sort of

by mollykl

“If little faults, proceeding on distemper,
Shall not be winked at, how shall we stretch our eye
When capital crimes, chewed, swallowed, and digested,
Appear before us?”

King Henry, in Henry V, act 2, sc. 2, l. 54-7.

Or, basically, pick your battles.

Because I don’t buy books as decorative items

by mollykl

Usually about this time after Christmas I start thinking about my New Year’s resolutions. This year, however, I’ve decided that I’m damn near perfect, that all of my supposed “faults” are my best attributes and that anyone who doesn’t think so can kiss my ass. So instead of a list of resolutions I’m writing up a list of the books I want to re-read. Yes, re-read. I’m not going to bother with a list of the books I want to read, because I never know what they may be – I tend to find books and authors randomly, then go through their entire catalog like wildfire. Ah, but re-reading…that tells you something is worth the effort.

1. Pride & Prejudice

2. The Secret Garden

3. My Garden Companion

4. In Defense of Food

5. Sailing the Wine-Dark Sea

6. Thunderball

7. It’s a boy!

8. The Perfectly Imperfect Home

9. Strong Poison

10. The Leopard’s Prey

What’s in a name: Plan B

by mollykl

Do you have that place where, when you walk in you feel immediately at ease? For husband J and I it’s Plan B. We go there when we want a nice meal on the town, we go there when it’s been a horrible day, we go there when we just want to relax and have some good food. We’ll sit and talk or we’ll sit and pointedly not talk, because for us it’s the restaurant where we can just relax and be at ease.

Son J has heard the phrase, “Let’s go to Plan B” so often that he’s probably never going to understand the other context.

So one night we were there and I was staring mindlessly through the lettering on the window and when owner Lucas came to our table with my (second) cocktail I just had to ask, “How DID you get the name Plan B?”

Turns out that Lucas was hired to turn around a restaurant here in Sacramento. Of course after he’d moved his family the deal went south. So, ta-da! Plan B was born. The original Plan B was in the Greenhaven/Pocket neighborhood. Oddly enough, for quite a while I carried around a card from them in my work planner. I’d found it and thought, “Hey French food! I should try that place!” I never did. In the meantime they moved out to the Arden area.

I don’t remember how exactly we came upon it but let me just say that when we were house-hunting one of the coolest things about our current house was that it was so close to Plan B. I’m not saying that it was the ONLY reason we bought the house….but they do make a damn fine cocktail.

Get the Plan B cocktail (actually get a few of them) Get the Mussels Epice. Get the frisee salad. Anything with mushrooms, get it. Anything with fries, get it (the fries are to DIE for). I’m boring and I almost always get the same thing, but whenever I try something new I’m never disappointed.

If you know me then you know that I am quite socially awkward. I tend to have mild panic attacks when out in public, and since I work with the public that can make for long days. Finding a place where I can just relax and breathe is priceless.    I also happen to get to eat really well in the process.

Zen and the Art of Home Maintenance

by mollykl

Fact: I was such a slob as a kid that my sister and I got our own bedrooms because my parents felt it was unfair for her to have to share a room with me. That all changed when my dad died. You know how people joke “Oh, I’m so OCD”? Well, with me it wasn’t a joke, and it wasn’t some  ”I like things neat” teenager phase. I came home everyday and cleaned the house. I vacuumed the edges of the carpet, up against the baseboards, with an attachment for God’s sake. EVERY DAY. Used pledge on the furniture. EVERY PIECE OF FURNITURE. That house was never so clean. As my mom said, years later, “I knew you probably needed some help…but the house was getting so clean.”

Turns out I didn’t need help or someone to talk to – I just needed something to channel my energy into. To this day when I get stressed out, what do I do? I clean. I try to meditate, but my mind won’t shut up. Ahh…but if I’m cleaning….

I can completely lose myself in a task for ten-fifteen-twenty minutes at a time. I like order. I have a messy life and very messy emotions. I’m volatile and expressive and cleaning the house is the one time I get to make everything orderly. And let’s face it: I have a six year old. My life is never going to resemble a brochure from some spa in Bali. But my towels might.

I read an article in Whole Living magazine once about taking on cleaning as a meditative experience. You know, “before enlightenment chop wood carry water, after enlightenment…chop wood carry water…”. I believe it. Husband J often will say, as he’s leaving for work on Thursday (my day off) morning, “Don’t clean! Relax!” And then he’ll come home 9 hours later to a clean house and sigh.  What he doesn’t get is that IS how I relax. I love to look at a clean house, where everything is in it’s place. I know it won’t stay there…that’s not the point. The point is that there is one thing in the universe that I can control for a moment. I’ll happily take that moment knowing it’s fleeting.

To access my Cleaning board of Pinterest click here. Oh yeah, I have an entire board dedicated to cleaning. Because that’s how I roll. (Memo to self: that’s really not a phrase I should be using.)

 

Read.

by mollykl

These are my books.

Well, these are some of my books. There are more upstairs, and still more (424, wait, no 425, I just bought a book ten minutes ago, to be exact) on my Kindle.

Let me start off by saying I used to be like you. I used to be a snob about books. They had to be paper. There’s nothing like a paper book, I would exclaim! It’s about the sensory experience of reading a book: handling the paper, the heft of the book! Now I’m just embarrassed by everything I said. I’ve definitely changed my mind since my post “The death of print (just kidding!)”

So what changed? Realizing I could take most of my library with me. Seeing how easy it is to use an e-reader. Yes, it would be nice to have 424, wait make that 425,  more books around the house, if only to accentuate to the world at large that I read, but that’s a lot of space. A lot of paper. A lot more to be dusted.

More importantly I think what changed is how I value a book. Husband J once said that we assign a different value to books than we do to music, because that’s who we (he and I) are. I still treasure my tangible books. I have my first editions and my editions that are of value to no one but myself. I still read my copy “The Secret Garden” that is falling apart from mildew damage that I bought at a bookstall in London for 4 pounds. My copy of “The Sun Also Rises” that traveled with me through Europe will probably make it to college with son J.

Yes, the physical experience of reading a book, the feel and scent of the paper, the weight, is important, but it’s not the only thing.

Because remember, there are words there too.

“Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland.”

by mollykl

But this is California. Central California, no less, which hasn’t seen snow since 1986 (or so J tells me.) But when I lived in Spokane we saw snow. First big, real snow of the season, I’d find a comfy place to hide out, usually in the english department building, curl up nice and warm, re-read James Joyce’s “The Dead” and watch the snow fall.

Grab a port, or a scotch, and a comfy chair and a copy of “The Dead”, reflect on your mortality and the concept of grace and enjoy the snow falling softly and some of the finest words ever written in the English language.

“Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly on the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crocked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last, upon all the living and the dead.”

James Joyce