69. Get my boyfriend to karaoke

Well, it wasn't great, we didn't even win the competition that evening (we were cheated!), but I got my boyfriend to karaoke in front of other people, and he was completely sober.

A little context. 

I sing all the time. I teach singing lessons. I'm good at singing. Like really good. So karaoke is no problem for me. It doesn't scare me. I'm not shy about it. But most people, Eric included, are terrified to get up in front of others and sing. It's awkward, it's frightening, so it rarely, if ever happens. We were at The Tyler Place, Vermont, a family resort, similar to the resort in "Dirty Dancing." It's everything you can imagine and more. It's amazing. One of the adult activities during the week is Karaoke Night. And as you would expect, it takes place around the bar, and alcohol plays a pretty big role that evening. Eric had just gotten sober, and hadn't had a drink in a few months. Yet he dug deep inside of him, battled his social anxiety, his insecurities, and still participated in the evening. He sang some pretty radical metal songs, and had fun. I could not have been more inspired by his courage.

75. Interview a Holocaust Survivor

What was I hoping to gain by interviewing a Holocaust survivor? I certainly find their courage admirable, their unwavering faith inspirational, and their grace and integrity, in spite of the horrors they experienced, miraculous. But was I hoping that by being next to one I would absorb some of these qualities myself? Did I think that by dredging up their painful memories of torture, humiliation and death, I would feel motivated to step out of my own misery and accomplish the life I envision for myself, yet am often too scared to go after? I would never want to exploit a people I have such an innate reverence for. And I am embarrassed to address my trivial hardships in the same sentence as theirs. Yet I draw inspiration from their determination to never give up, to SURVIVE. I think of them as superheroes, only these superheroes are mortal, and dying at a very rapid rate, which hastened my desire to meet and interview one.


I should point out that I have a bit of a personal connection to the Jewish survivors of the Holocaust because my grandfather was a Jew. I've always found the culture and religion fascinating, and studied both at a young age, though never formally. When I attended BYU I was quick to point out to others my Jewish heritage, and (pardon the term) religiously wore a star of David necklace. I've celebrated the Jewish Holidays since I was young, and when it came time to send my son to preschool, the Jewish Community Center preschool was a no brainer. However I am well aware that while a large percentage of those murdered in the Holocaust were Jewish, other "inferior" groups were targeted by the Nazi's as well, including: non-Jewish Poles, gypsies, Soviet POW's, the disabled, and homosexuals. Perhaps one day I will have the opportunity to interview one of these survivors as well.


I received Eugene Schlesinger's phone number from a mutual friend and Rabbi. Even though the Rabbi labeled Eugene as the most wonderful and kind person he knew, I hesitated calling him out of fear. I was afraid he would find me a nuisance, a waste of time. After all, what was the purpose of this interview? Morbid curiosity? An interesting blog post? It took a month to finally muster up the courage to call, and beg for just a few minutes of his time. When I did, I found the Rabbi's label of Eugene to be a gross understatement, if that's possible. Mr. Schlesinger, a 90 year old Czechoslovakian Jew and Holocaust survivor was more than just kind and wonderful. He was reassuring, generous and humble. I could feel his goodness through the phone. He put me at ease at once. He referred to me as "ma'am," and, "my dear lady." And he actually said it would be an honor to have me in his home. Wait a minute, did I hear him right? His accent was think, but I'm pretty sure he said that HE would be honored. The smile stayed on my face for days. It left only after I struggled for several hours, the night before the interview, to find the perfect questions to ask him. What could I possibly ask a Holocaust survivor that he hasn't already been asked a million times? He himself pointed out that he has been sharing his story for 65 years. The last thing I wanted to do was waste his time with redundant questions he's had to answer over and over. I jotted down 32 very generic questions, ranging from "Where were you born?" to "What did you eat in the camps?" to "What would you have done if you were a non-Jew in Germany during the war?" I was excited to hear the answers to my questions. Unfortunately, I asked none of them. Rather, Eugene (he insisted I call him this) began HIS interview by asking me a question.


"Are you religious?" A simple, "no" would have been accurate, even respectful. Instead I spun into a stuttering two minute explanation of my religious genealogy which sounded more like an apology with seven very detailed reasons why even though I don't attend church, I'm still a good person..........right? Something about exposing my son to every religion and a spiritual journey, bla bla bla. I was dizzy. Finally I caught myself, thank god(or whoever) and managed to articulate a fairly coherent statement. "I have been wondering about God, and who he/she is, and what he/she is or even IF he/she exists. That is part of the reason I want to interview you." Phew, that sounded reasonable, right? Eugene bowed his head and literally cried for about a minute. Crap! What did I say to offend this beautiful man? I considered slipping out the window unnoticed. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have remembered my name. Just when the silence seemed like it would go on forever, he began speaking again. "You must teach your son about faith."


He transitioned seamlessly into the story of the night the Nazi's took him away. He was 23 years old, a student of the law, and a loving son. It was beautiful how he spoke of his mother, and would often cry throughout the interview when he did. Before he was taken, she told him to wear his tallit-Jewish prayer shawl- and wrap his tefillin-small leather boxes painted black, containing verses from the Torah wrapped around the arm with leather straps- every morning to stay alive. For four years and through many camps, he obeyed his mother, and prayed every morning. He prayed that he would see his mother again, and it was the hope of seeing her that got him through the darkest periods of the war. He watched friends commit suicide, get beaten to death by the Nazis, gassed and starved, yet he never lost his faith. He himself was tortured and starved, but his spirit remained strong. He credits his mother and his love for her with this. Toward the end of the war, Eugene decided that the best chance he had at survival was to escape. As he did he came upon several dead German soldiers. He took a uniform from one of the soldiers and dressed himself in it, thinking that if he disguised himself as a Nazi, he could escape undetected. Shortly after this, he saw a line of German soldiers with their hands in the air, guns pointed at their heads. They were taken prisoner by Russian soldiers, who unbeknown to Eugene had began liberating concentration camps. One of these Russian soldiers noticed Eugene dressed as a Nazi, and while holding a gun to his head, began searching him for a weapon. He found instead Eugene's tallit and tefillin and realized at once what Eugene was. The Russian soldier asked if he was a Jew, to which Eugene replied,"yes." The Russian soldier pointed to the forest and said, "run." It was just a few seconds later, as Eugene was running that he heard gunfire. He instinctively fell to the ground. When he turned around, he found all the German prisoners had been gunned down by the Russians. He immediately pulled out his tallit and tefillin and said a prayer. These sacred items, no doubt given to him by his mother and father when he became a Bar Mitzvah, and kept by Eugene through four years of unspeakable horror per his mother's instruction, saved his life. Not just from the Russian soldier who used them to identify Eugene as a Jew, and therefore a victim of the Nazis, but from the darkness that could have easily swallowed Eugene as it did many of his friends. They were symbols of hope and faith and God. They were symbols of love.


Eugene's journey was far from over. He had survived the worst of the Holocaust, but he was alone, wandering in a forest somewhere in Eastern Europe hundreds of miles from home. He was weak, starving, and unsure who to trust. For seven months he walked east- he said he knew his home was east - the whole time holding on to hope that he would find his family there with arms outstretched to welcome him back. He was beyond joyous when he finally arrived back to his hometown. He had held his mother's face in his mind the entire 4 years he was gone. He was now eager to hold her in his arms, to thank her for getting him through one of the most horrendous acts of genocide in history. No one was home. No one had come home. Every member of Eugene's family had been murdered. Eugene was again and for the first time alone. It was Friday night, Sabbath. He lit a single candle. It was then that he said he lost his faith.


After the war, Eugene turned his back on Judaism and God. Instead of praying, he concentrated on his career. He played professional soccer for the European All Star team. For two years he lived what would be most people's dream life. He was successful, famous and respected. Fans cheered his name, teammates lifted him up on their shoulders. He said, "I had it all, but I couldn't find myself. I would look for my relatives, my mom, my cousins in every corner. They weren't there." Eugene moved to America in 1948. He started Center Meat Company in 1952, which he built into the largest independently owned retail meat company in the LA/OC area. He married another Holocaust survivor, and had two daughters. It was after the birth of his first daughter that he said he found his faith again.


"You must teach your son about faith." These seven words have had me researching Faith for over two years. What seems to be such a simple concept is deceivingly complex. I've started to question whether I have faith in any part of my life at all. I've had many discussions with people of varying backgrounds and religions on the subject, and I've read briefly about the role faith plays in various religions including Judaism, Buddhism, Mormonism, and Hinduism. But what does having faith mean to me? And how can I impart this wisdom to my son without forcing a belief system on him that is inauthentic? Can faith exist outside of religion? Are there different kinds of faith? Do we require different kinds of faith at different times in our life?


Let's assume that I cannot wrap my mind around a God in the Judeo/Christian sense, an omniscient higher power, or any sort of "all knowing" energy or entity. What use do I have for faith if my "faith" seems to rest in nothing more real than leprechauns and unicorns? Perhaps having faith in faith itself is all that is needed. If I'm unable to believe in a supreme being of the Christian sense, I can at least recognize that there is something out there in the universe greater than myself. So if, for whatever reason, I'm struggling to comprehend and embrace a traditional, spiritual higher power, I can, at the very least, have faith that I'm not entirely in control of the path I'm following, but that path still has purpose, and for the time being that has to be good enough. I can have faith that at some point down the road, my spirituality may take deeper root, and I'll find myself opening up to an omniscient entity of some sort. If the purpose of faith is to provide an emotional and spiritual tether --- a shall of security in which to wrap myself during times of despair -- then maybe I can manage just fine knowing that the "object" to which I'm tethered may change over time, from one day to the next, and that's okay, so long as I have faith in the tether, and relinquish my will to that faith.


When Eugene said he lost his faith that Sabbath night after the war, I wonder if he didn't recognize that while perhaps his fidelity to his religious obligations may have faltered for a time, his faith was not entirely "lost." Perhaps faith in a better life for himself took its place. While the belief of seeing his mother again got him through the darkness of the camps, his hope of creating a family of his own got him through the darkness after the war. His trust in a better, happier life became the motor that propelled him to his goal of peace and happiness. It is what gave him the courage to reinvent his life, and ultimately led him to "find his faith" in Judaism once more. During the war his tallit and tefillin tethered him to his past, and what he hoped would be his future, a happy life back in Czechoslovakia with his mother and family. They pulled him through the despair that should have killed him. When his hope was unrealized after returning home, and he "turned his back on religion," faith transformed into a hope for something better after the devastation of losing everything. And this is what guided him to the successful and happy life he has today. Faith is so much more than the hardened dogmatic term that often reigns down on us from the pulpits of well meaning churches. Faith is fluid, it goes with the flow of life. It can be strong at times. It can seem to completely evade us at others. But faith is never "lost".

100. Talk to a Medium

After years of therapy, reading self help books, attending support groups, and meditating, I figured what could it hurt to seek the advice of a medium. Maybe something would strike a chord for me, be of some use. Like any sane person, I assume that most of what psychics have to say is coo coo ka choo, or at the very least, a general statement that can apply to anyone-- "You will be challenged in life. Stay focused." Still, I was curious to see if someone who has never met me, who knows absolutely zero about my life, could tell me about my past, present and future. I figured I could test her. If she got some things right about my past, I might trust what she has to say about my future. But what if she sees things I don't want to face-- my boyfriend and I breaking up, a long distance move, more kids? What if she sees a grim future-- another divorce, bleak career, less kids. Was I willing to run the risk of walking out of the session feeling worse than I did when I walked in? Even if it IS all just a bunch of hocus pocus, I can't unhear it, once it is said. My body would, in true psycho-somatic fashion act upon what it heard in the session and all predictions would come true. I used to avoid reading my horoscope every morning because if it said it was going to be a bad day, I usually acted like it was. Ideally though, I would hear good news that might help me feel focused and grounded, kick me in the butt to do something really amazing like cure cancer. In short, I wanted someone to tell me what I was going to do anyway, so I could just do it and stop second guessing myself. Needless to say, I was cynical and anxious going into my session. 

The psychic I used was recommended to me by a trusted friend. This friend couldn't say enough good things about her, which really put me at ease. However, my friend also mentioned that while her readings were amazing, she herself isn't good with time in the linear sense in which most of us operate. In other words she was a flake. I literally tried to get in contact with her for over two years. We exchanged emails, but I was never able to set an appointment. Finally in April 2012, I was able to get her to commit to a time and place. I was thrilled. Sadly, she canceled that appointment. Another was set in early May 2012. I anticipated another cancellation, but to my delight it never came. And even though she was two hours late for the reading(seriously how does she function?), it was a mind blowing experience.

I imagined my reading would take place in a dark room filled with exotic carpets, religious symbols and idols hanging from the walls, the smell of incence as thick as the psychic's fake accent. I pictured a mysterious old woman with deep set wrinkles traversing her face at absurd angles, dressed in, I'm embarassed to say, gypsy clothes, with chunky jewelry that clanked together as she made grandiose gestures while painting the picture that would/will become my future. Clearly my only reference point for this sort of experience has come from the cliche Hollywood depiction of pyschics. Thank you Miss Cleo. In reality, my psychic was a cute, young, upbeat blonde, who ushered me into a small back room of a hair studio, sans crystal ball to my disappointment. I had barely sat down when she closed her eyes and began telling me what she was seeing, speaking quickly as if the images in her mind were racing past her at a rapid rate. "You are very strong, your totem is a tiger, oh, but you get nervous easily." She said the last part in a tone that sounded almost disappointed as if it canceled out the first two things she said. She opened her eyes, and looked directly at me for a few moments, before continuing on about my self doubt. She delivered some the reading with her eyes closed, some looking off into the distance, and some looking directly into my eyes. She stopped occasionally to ask me to say the names of certain people in my life three times, while she concentrated on the names and what information they were bringing to her consciousness.

I must point out, that I told her absolutely nothing about myself, my situation, who I am and what I do. I even removed all my makeup, jewelry and wore jeans and a plain white tshirt so she couldn't gather information from my appearance alone. I told you I was a cynic. I just walked into her reading room, sat down, and listened to her talk for over an hour straight. Here are some interesting connections she made. Since I, and most people I know operate in linear time, I'll relay her observations in chronological order, starting with my past lives, that's right, my PAST lives.

I saved children from death in Germany, presumably from the Nazi's, though she did not clarify. But that would explain my affinity for all things Jewish. I was a dancer, singer, and an actress-ha big surprise. And I taught orphans to sing. Ironically, I now teach very wealthy OC kids to sing. Though I was contemplating reaching out to a shelter to teach homeless children.

She saw a lot of pain and sadness in my formative years (of this life). She saw that my mother was very belittling to me and to the whole family which caused me a lot of shame. I have carried the addictive habit of telling myself "I can't" as I've grown. I question my talents and contributions constantly, and often self sabotage my efforts to be successful because deep down I don't feel I deserve it. This shame disconnects me from myself, and until I address it, I cannot be happy or successful. This could not be more true, and while it was hard to hear, it was in no way a surprise. I have been working on these feelings for years.

She saw two spirit guides with me in the room. She said one was a man, very sweet unassuming and quiet-that would be my dad. She knew that he was sick and nauseous at the end of his life, which, sadly, he was. He died of cancer four years ago. She knew he worked on a railroad, a job he had when he was a teen. She said he used to watch me sleep and listen to me grind my teeth, an unconscious habit I had as a nervous kid. He now watches over and protects me, especially as I drive (gotta stop texting). The other guide was a woman, holding a horse. My aunt was a thoroughbred horse trainer. She passed away when she was 50 and I was only 17. The psychic knew she had a lot of energy, was assertive and very vocal. She knew she was my aunt on my mom's side and that she was very supportive of my career. Again, everything true.

She saw that I am very strong, and mentioned that my totem is a tiger. So that's pretty cool. I have more intelligence than most (her words not mine) and I'm a hard worker. Sadly I compare myself to others, and get nervous easily, both traits that hold me back. I'm sensitive to foods-very true. I'm a vegan now, but that's a whole 'nother post. She saw (certainly not from my shabby appearance) that I am very beautiful and special, but never tell myself these things. However, very soon I will be free to show my inner and outer beauty. So I have that to look forward to. She knew I had three brothers, and that I simply outgrew my relationship with my son's dad. She said we are like siblings which is how I often describe our relationship. She recognized my boundary issues. As a co dependent, I am plagued with the need to please others before myself. She continually warned me about this.

So far go good. She seemed to be passing my test. She knows things that are very specific to me. Here is what she had to say about my future. I like to hope that all of it is true. And at the risk of sounding even more egocentric, keep in mind that these are someone else's words, about a future that hasn't happened yet, at least according to those of us who don't subscribe to Einstein's theory of  the space/time continuum.

She sees that I will find a lot of success in the film/tv industry. I will be in a band, compose and record music, and have my own production company. I have the ability to change my look drastically and she sees both very dramatic and comedic roles in my future. I'm bursting with talent (hey, not my words). She sees me in Italy with a very handsome actor (thank you!!)  I will also move to New York for a time presumably for a show. Eventually I will move closer to LA, to a large ranch like property with a lot of animals including a horse. I will have two more kids with my boyfriend, one of them will be adopted. I will spend much of my retirement years giving back, helping children with the various non profits that I run. Awesome.

Not only did she accurately describe some very intimate details about my past, and traits about my character she could not have deciphered from my appearance alone, she pretty much nailed my dream life, and I hope it all comes true. I know it is contingent upon how much hard work and positive energy I put into my life. More importantly, it is dependent upon me feeling worthy of deserving the dream life she described, the same one I imagine for myself.

I've always approached learning about my life, existence and relationships from an artistic, spiritual and psychological point of view. However, lately I've been wondering about the role physics plays in my life, existence and relationships. I realize that nearly anyone who has had even an elementary introduction to physics can appreciate the role science plays in the universe. And to deny the role of physics in my life is like denying the role heat plays in cooking. But can science explain this reading? Is there some theory or mathematical equation that would empirically prove that yes in fact at some point in my future, I will be in Italy with a gorgeous Italian actor. Enter Einstein's theory of the space time-continuum. I'll spare you the exact definition which hurts my brain to read it. Basically, if you stop thinking of time in the Newtonian way, as an arrow, and you start thinking of time the way that Einstein thought of it --as a function of space -- the future already exists. A good comparison is this: even though a road directly in front of us appears to be flat and finite does not mean that the rest of the world does not exist and that the earth is not round. Our brain only allows us to experience time as a series of recurrent moments, but that doesn't mean that other moments have not happened, or do not exist without us seeing them.

So why am I challenging your attention span with this academically shaky interpretation of Einstein's theory? My hope is that in the same way an astronaut witnesses first hand that the earth is round, this medium has a perspective of time that is equally accurate. Maybe one day I'll be able to witness first hand the proof of both. For now, the fact that I couldn't follow simple English tense rules while describing my experience is proof enough that time doesn't play by the rules as we know them.

73. Volunteer at a homeless shelter

Like most parents, I strive to teach my son to appreciate what he has, and to want to help those who have less. I realize just how short I'm falling of this goal around the holidays when the words, "I WANT..........." are uttered approximately every five seconds. Around that magical time of year, countless toy catalogs are sent to our home, and before I can put them in the recycle bin, they are carefully scanned by my son, and dozens of coveted items are boldly circled with a black sharpie, indicating what he wants. Hypnotizing commercials convince my son that he NEEDS to have yet another video game, lego set, colorful plastic weapon, superhero, etc, etc. And I can hardly blame him. I'm sucked into the greed vortex as well. I often think to myself, "I need that shirt, those pants, that makeup, that vacation, etc, etc." How can I expect my son to be grateful for what he already has, when I too am looking for the next item to purchase to gain approval from others and validate my existence. And to be quite honest, I love buying him things--within reason. I think every parent's dream is to provide more financially for their children than they had themselves. After all, if we aren't moving forward, aren't we moving backwards? Shouldn't I want him to have more? To do more? To be more? And then to do the same for his kids, my grandchildren. Modern society is built on this principle. Yet, come January every year without fail, I feel gluttonous, and not just from the extra 1,000 calories of food I managed to squeeze in every day in December. I feel like all the excess is simply not necessary.What's more, the excess fails every time to deliver on the expected validation and approval I am so sure I will get if I can just have that really expensive coffee maker sitting on my counter, instead of the older model.

Let me be clear. My son is not spoiled in any way. He's a very typical 7 year old who likes to have fun. If anything he is atypically compassionate for his age and gender. But I do feel it is my duty in life to teach him not only to be successful in school, and eventually in his career, but to be grateful and serve others. Teaching Calvin about addition and subtraction, dinosaurs and geography has been pretty straightforward and unchallenging. He is very receptive to my lessons, and has been since birth. But how do I teach character? Where are the lesson plans for teaching a 7 year old compassion, integrity, gratitude, generosity? I decided to come up with my own. Each month we would focus on a different character trait and learn its attributes, why it's important to have the trait, which famous person exhibited that trait, and how we can develop it. Ideally, the lesson will take us outside, out of our comfort zone, through service and action. How else could he possible learn? Certainly not from me talking at him. Our first lesson would be, "Generosity."

I signed up to make and hand out Easter baskets for children in need through The Long Beach Rescue Mission. In the days leading up to Easter, we filled 4 baskets with toys, games, books, school supplies and candy, and took them with us to the shelter. For over an hour, Calvin, Eric and I were able to hand out ours and hundreds of other baskets to children living in the community below the poverty level. The experience was different than I expected. I was surprised at the attitude from some of the children and parents. Some were comparing their baskets to other's who may or may not have had more items in them. Others were asking for another basket, after rejecting the first basket. Many grabbed their baskets without a "thank you", or even a smile. I wondered if this experience would convert Calvin to a life of service, or turn him off completely. But he seemed to be having a good time. He took his job very seriously, and seemed to feel a sense of importance and duty handing out each basket. He was not concerned about receiving their gratitude. It reminded me that service is not about me. It's not about me feeling good when I receive an appreciative smile, or a humble, "thank you." It is about helping others without asking for ANYTHING in return. Of course, so many families were thankful, and incredibly happy to have baskets to take home, and seeing happy kids on Easter was a meaningful and worthwhile way to spend our morning.

http://lbrm.org

Eric and Calvin sorting Easter baskets before handing them out

55. Cook a souffle from scratch

I love to cook. Unfortunately I'm just not good at it. I've narrowed the reasons down to three factors.

1. My son's father is a trained, professional chef, so when we were married, he did all the cooking, I did all the eating. A habit a woman could really get used to.

2. When we divorced, I decided I better lose that weight I so happily gained eating all that delicious food, so I cut out all the good stuff-butter, sugar, bacon, cream, etc.

3. Who has time to cook?? Let's be honest. I get impatient waiting for water to boil, just so I can throw a pre made jar of pasta sauce on some noodles. And following a recipe is not my strong suit. I often substitute ingredients that really have no business being in the recipe at all.


But the ritual of cooking is therapeutic, comforting, and rewarding on so many levels. When I have time, and I'm not on some uber restrictive diet, and all the stars are aligned, I can cook, and I really enjoy myself.


When my ex was going through cooking school, he said one of the most difficult dishes to prepare was a souffle, so naturally I put it out of my mind. I can't follow a simple recipe, let alone a high maintenance one that has me separating eggs, beating the whites at 180 beats per minute till stiff peaks form, grating and folding in exotic cheeses, and baking at just the right temperature for exactly the right amount of time. However, I recently watched "Julie and Julia", a darling movie about a young woman who cooks her way through Julia Child's cookbook, and records her daily progress (and flops) on a blog. I was inspired. If she could do it, so could I. Souffle is both fun to eat and say. I like to throw my voice and hand up in the air at the end of the word ala ole. SOUFFLE!!


My souffle nearly doubled in size when it came out of the oven, the first sign of a successful souffle, and it was absolutely delicious, the second sign. Mission accomplished. I proved to myself that I CAN cook fussy French dishes, and as an added bonus, dinner was served for that evening. Voila!

Julia Child's cheese souffle recipe

Bon Appetit!

42. Clean up trash on a beach

What do I really need to say about this. We love Seal Beach and will work hard to keep it beautiful for everyone to enjoy.

13. Read a book a month

After my divorce I spent a lot of my free time reading self help books. I was exhausted. I needed inspiration for some great reads that had me enjoying a book simply for the pleasure of reading, not to learn how to discipline my son or be a better ex. I wanted escape. I longed to be the woman in the cliche picture I had in my mind wrapped in a blanket, sitting by the fire enjoying the hell out of a book. I had started to think that that picture would never be a reality for me. I had so much chaos in my life as a single mom, not having a steady income, not having a home of my own, that the thought of being relaxed and enjoying something for ME in the warm serenity of my home seemed indulgent, a far flung dream. This is why I put it on my bucket list.

At the end of 2010, I took a big step in my relationship with my boyfriend of one year and moved in with him into a darling home in a wonderful neighborhood.  While reading a book a month should have been the easiest item on the list to ignore, I decided to start a book club on my block to force me to be accountable for it.  A story is always better when shared with friends, even if I felt guilted into reading it. And perhaps more importantly, it provided an opportunity to reach out to my neighbors whom I knew were amazing people, but I wasn't close enough with to invite to join a book club. And once I did, could I be responsible enough to keep it going? And then there was the question of how do I ask these total strangers? In the end I decided to go door to door and introduce myself to every neighbor on my block. I left each neighbor with a written invitation to the book club and simple instructions for how the club will work-- Each month a different member would host the meeting at their house. Who ever was hosting was to pick the book to be read at the meeting the month before. They also would provide the questions for discussion, and snacks and drinks. I was surprised and elated that at our first meeting, held at my house in January 2011, we had ten women. The book we read and discussed was The Help which was very well recieved by our club. I served Minnie's famous, "terrible awful" chocolate pie, and mint juleps.

It's been a year since I started the book club, and we have read some amazing books. I am thrilled at how fun each meeting is, how everyone participates, offers insight into the stories that I did not see. I've read books I never would have read, but truly enjoyed and I've forged friendships that now extend beyond our meetings. And because the club is made up of neighbors, it has helped to create a sense of community I was longing for. I don't feel guilty when I carve out time to read for myself. In fact the simple act of doing something that I enjoy gives me the boost I need to get through the rest of my day. As I look back at the"far flung" dream I had in my head of the woman reading by the fire, I realize how isolated and limited that imagery was. I may be the woman reading by my fire, but I'm also surrounded by my home(messy though it is) filled with my son and his friends running in and out(tiny fingerprints all over my walls), dinner in the oven(microwave), and neighbors stopping by to say hello(and return weapons left on their lawn). While reading a book a month may seem like an insignificant goal on my list, it keeps me happy, calm, and connected. To quote Mark Twain, "Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience. This is the ideal life."


Here are some of my favorites:
The Things They Carried -- Tim O'Brien
The Glass Castle -- Jeannette Walls
Unbroken -- Laura Hillenbrand
Life of Pi -- Yann Martel
The Lord of the Rings trilogy --  J. R. R. Tolkien
The Unbearable Lightness of Being -- Milan Kundera
Sarah's Key --  Tatiana de Rosnay
Night -- Elie Wiesel
The Kite Runner  --  Khaled Hosseini
Atonement  -- Ian McEwan