Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (book review)

Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Vintage photography. Dimensional time travel. Hints of horror with strong fantasy themes.

Yes, I love all of these things and that is what drew me so much to this book. It was a great time carefully studying the old photos and I was thrilled to see that they were authentically gathered versus a studio mock-up.

The key theme is the classic X-Men situation where some among us have supernatural (peculiar) skills, which becomes a challenge for those who have them with their own set of monsters and problems. If you want to be teased on how real or not real the Grandfather's stories are, I encourage you to watch Big Fish first, and then watch you argue with yourself throughout the early part of the book :)

I was drawn to this book as a recommendation after reading "Coraline" by Neil Gaiman. I much preferred Gaiman's "Grimms" approach, but seriously, Gaiman is like a god of writing; it's almost unfair to compare. His "young adult" can keep the attention of any age, where this book is truly more honed in for the young adult. Still, it doesn't keep me from buying the next book as it is an enjoyable read ... and I want more vintage photos with stories added!


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Furiously Happy (book review)

Furiously Happy: A Funny Book About Horrible Things by Jenny Lawson

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Enlightening. Connecting. Hilarious. It's difficult to mix these three incredibly powerful effects, but Jenny Lawson has done it in spades. My eyes have been opened in a human way of storytelling on the hero's journey of not just surviving depression and anxiety disorder ... but giving it the middle finger, and the on-going journey and intentionality it takes to keep doing that.

I learned through her that everybody is different and have different paths, but all of us can embrace life and all that we are. Her Spoon Theory blew me away and so many puzzle pieces fell into place. I suddenly felt tearful and regretful with my assumption with friends who suffer from depression, and am grateful to Jenny for her bravery in sharing such vulnerable stories.

Thank you.

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Coraline (book review)

Coraline by Neil Gaiman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

When my friend recommended this book, he said, "you will be scared shitless and your daughter will adore it."

Given that my 9-year-old is easily nervous and I adore horror, I had my doubts on this prophesy. While not scared shitless, he was quite right in that my daughter and I had utterly different reactions.

As a great lover of all things creepy fairy tale, I smiled and said "oh dear" at the same time as events unfolded and one could see the trajectory of the story, while at the same time holding my attention in great joy too.

My daughter, though, was mesmerised. Unfazed by what I felt were impediments, there was a sense of "oh course Coraline will get this done" leaving the only question to be how, and joining Coraline in the quest. On the car ride, my daughter wanted a "mid-book break"; however, she was hooked long before then, becoming an enraged dragon if there was any interruption.

Neil Gaiman once again paints a beautiful scene full of imagery that reminded me of similar effects found in the new Alice movies, especially around the cat and, well, other things that I won't spoil.

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Creative Space

Creative space ... it's that important physical space where you have the freedom to innovate, blast through a backlog, and simply change your context.

The ambience is all important of course, but it's the presence of tea that makes or breaks the effectiveness of my thinking processes, whether it's a black tea heavy with bergamot and flowers, Assam black with local honey and almond milk reminiscent of Prague, or gigantic pots of Morrocan mint tea.

If I lived in Boulder, I'd seek that creative space in Asheville, going to Dobra for long afternoons of tea and hitting up my favourite breakfast at Cafe 64. But I live in Asheville, so I find that creative space in Boulder, where I spend long afternoons at Boxcar and hit up my favourite breakfast at Walnut Cafe.

Lord Bergamot at Boxcar (Boulder)

Lady Earl Grey at Ka Chu (Boulder)

The two cities are alike for me in many ways ... the excellent wine sources; the bookshoppes; the vintage shoppes; the hiking; the beautiful drives. However, I live in one, so I must visit the other often, creating a new level of appreciation for both contexts.

Boxcar, the source for wine, charcuterie, prepared picnic baskets, and pots of Lord Bergamot

When it's a busy time in the main coffee shoppes like Snooze, Laughing Goat, and Boxcar, I haunt Ka Chu

Most of all, though, it's being with people who are doing the same thing I am ... sharing energy, dreaming, and acting on those dreams. That is what I love about working in these environments.

The Tale of the Body Thief (book review)

The Tale of the Body Thief by Anne Rice
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This book really helps you get to know the real Lestat. Louis whined in "The Interview", Lestat reacted in "The Vampire Lestat", and all of us got a much bigger picture of the vampire world with Lestat continual impudence in "Queen of the Damned". However, "The Tale of the Body Thief" is a reflection for Lestat as he faces the emptiness of loneliness.

As one could expect out of "the brat prince", he handles the fears poorly with manic behaviour, bringing out new levels of naivety and unwise decisions just to find new boundaries. The book becomes more engaging as the reader inevitably shakes the head going "seriously Lestat, you didn't see that coming?" But then, Lestat wouldn't.

At some point, you realise that the predictability isn't irritating because it is simply that you are getting to understand Lestat, providing thoughts like "of course you are going to do that" with lovely literary descriptions of exactly how he did that.

You don't need to read the Vampire Chronicles to enjoy this book; but reading them will certainly add a richness to your experience with Lestat's personal journey in "The Tale of the Body Thief".

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Violence: A Product of Fear

Car bomb kills 16.
Genocidal ruler sentenced to life.
16 year old raped by 30 men.
Missile hits Doctors Beyond Borders hospital.
Germany takes in nearly half million migrants.

How are these today’s headlines? We expect the natural disasters to a certain extent. But willful violence on this proportion is incredibly difficult to quantify, so being thousands of miles away, it’s equally quite “tuckable” to deeper recesses of the brain; if nothing else, due to a natural dissonance between what we hear and what we can emotionally comprehend.

Violence is something I’ve understood from childhood having lived in a part of a city where the wrong word and seeing the wrong thing can cause things to go very poorly. Somehow, the visceral hate for hate’s sake that we as a world have been witnessing has been far more potent for me. In reading Pinker’s The Better Angels of our Nature, I’ve come to realize that much of the perception of increased violence is due to our pervasive citizen journalism, social media, and moment-to-moment news, which is a phenomenal development for our continual self-awareness as civilization.

It’s been six months since my (then) 8 year old daughter and I witnessed the terrorist attacks in Paris, and in that siren filled night, that dissonance that I mentioned started closing.

However, time away from such feelings blunts the urgency and provides a security blanket. I discovered how false that mental security blanket was when one of the acts of a show I was attending took a turn that I would have viewed through more naïve eyes previously.

Exploding onto the platform was two henchmen backed by James Bond music. The M16s were obviously fake, yet my blood instantly went cold as I tried to breathe. Then James Bond himself came out flashing a Glock in time with the music, dancing about as if there was great fun. All I could see in my head were bullet holes and glass. The henchmen bend down to “check out the crowd” aiming their weapons at us. Everybody cheers for reasons I can’t comprehend because am I can only see the Kalashnikovs brandished by the French soldiers … everywhere.

Then, the pièce de résistance … a cardboard cutout of Donald Trump hits the stage and James Bond takes aim.

Perhaps I could have made more sense of it if the guy sitting next me wasn’t screaming at the top of his lungs ….

SHOOT THE FUCKER!!!!!!!!

… over and over and over and over again.

Flashes of two second scenes crashed into me of what it might have been like at riots or violent political rallies. Then oddly, out of no-where, I felt that thudding music from The Lord of the Rings when Théoden said so calmly as the hopelessly overwhelming army of uruk-hai came to destroy everything:

“…and so it begins.”

Only this violence isn’t from creatures made from evil. It’s simply our neighbors. It’s us when we lose objectively and let our fear control us.

Literary and Historically Inspired Weekend

Indulging my literary and historical romantic senses ...

• sound of vintage music
• sight of old London streets
• touch the steampunk wardrobe
• taste for gin and tonic
• smell of Belgian linen

In such a spirit from my happy Victorian age steampunk ramblings from Moriarty: A Novel (book review), I enjoyed my offscreen and non-book time in a weekend in my own style of steampunk wardrobe....

a-line skirt from two men's trousers and vintage silks

...with the vintage tunes of Elephants on Parade and Blue Skies from last night's Crow & Quill running through my head.....

With the closing of this weekend with my favourite goth-style outfit, I watch the supernatural and monster literary figures of Dorian Gray and Frankenstein shown in the Penny Dreadful (Eva Green) series, preparing me well for a week of enjoying one of my best book purchases in a very long time ... walking through London's low life with Bleak House (Dickens) and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (Stevenson), London's high life with Lucia in London (Benson) and Vanity Fair (Thackeray), London's apocalypse with The War of the Worlds (Wells) and The Poison Belt (Doyle), and of course London's changing nature with Dombrey and Son (Dickens) and Captain Nicholas (Walpole).

Moriarty: A Novel (book review)

Moriarty: A Novel by Anthony Horowitz
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Setting is crucial when it comes to enjoying this book. When I found myself simply reading it for reading sake, it was a wee bit predictable for Sherlock freak (me), and some disappointment for an author responsible for Midsomer Murders and Foyle's War.

However, halfway through the book I watched both of Guy Ritchie's Sherlock movies with Robert Downey Jr and Jude Law .... and the book took on an interesting transformation... even unto the points where the predictability was inauthentic, thus providing valuable insights for what was about to unfold. If you find something to be cheap ... not worthy of Sherlock style ... then you are right to question ... and you will be rewarded.

Very much rewarded.

This book is a mood setter for the gritty Victorian era as I pour a gin and tonic and settle in for a lovely afternoon of Penny Dreadfuls.

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The Plan

As discussed in my post earlier this week in Carnivore Meets Rabbit Patch, I felt that there was some carnivorous compensation being attempted any time it was Eric's turn to select meal plans. Also as discussed, I was determined to create the ultimate meal that fulfilled the important senses of sight, smell, and taste ... and did not involve meat.

This took literally three days.

My plan was to go simple yet beautiful. That, of course, requires cheese and bread, so the vegan approach was set aside for more moderate views. But not just any cheese. MY OWN CHEESE! Yes, you heard me. And yes, I fully grasp the level of over-compensation that I employed in order to combat Eric's meat compensation that would have never occurred if I would have simply tossed him a piece of bacon in the first place.

Moving on.

The cheese plan would indeed take 3 days. I wanted to make my own buttermilk and sour cream for the chilled buttermilk and cucumber soup that I had selected, but even I understand limits.

Back to my farmer's cheese. It's actually very simple ... just take milk and heavy cream, mix them up, and set in a temperate area of the pantry for 72 hours.

72 hours later .... can we say GROSS?

In the oven for 30 minutes ... I'm deeply shocked that it smells delicious despite the looks.

If you want it warm on bread, drain for 30 minutes; otherwise, up to a couple hours. Tart, but actually quite good!

So for $1.50 and way too much awareness of what cheese actually IS, I have a beautiful ball of farmer's cheese for up to a week....

There. The first course was prepared. Onward to simple, yet gorgeous soup.

Mandolin, check.
Very sharp and high quality knives of various sizes, check.
Sweet white onion, fennel, cucumber; all cut on the bias into half moons, check.
Fenugreek sprouts, fresh garden dill, and tiny clover flowers from the garden, check.

Everything collected, everything prepped. Absolutely NO cooking, but lots of marinating and cautious set-up for .... VOILA!!!!!!

A meal of true beauty. Deep pride as I served my chilled buttermilk and cucumber soup with a sideboard of heavy crusty bread with my very own farmer's cheese drizzled with local honey. 

I was indeed lauded with praise, as we finished a bottle of wine, preparing for a late movie down the street at ABC Brewing.

Would you believe that he ordered wings? I would be mad, except he gave me a bite.

Carnivore meets Rabbit Patch

Don't get me wrong, bacon will roll me out of bed any day of the week, AND I'm finding myself happier in the veg/vegan camp these days.

Perhaps it was the beautiful growing greens in what I affectionally call my Rabbit Patch. Perhaps it was my desire to eat more healthily that resulted in a lot more veg. Perhaps it was my focus to practice more sustainability with my garden.

Whatever the trigger, the result is that meat feels pretty heavy. I mean really really heavy. Carbs already made me feel bloated, and my lactose intolerance has been far more temperamental of late. My point is that I don't have an allergy or position regarding, meat, gluten, fish or veg. In fact, in the right circumstances, all can be quite good. I don't even have a fake position (except the dairy issue), to echo a friend from Seattle :) 

Listening to my body though, has de-motivated me from partaking of that pancake, ribeye, or a pint. 

I had not fully realised what a different journey Eric and I were on until we decided to really enjoy our kitchen this week. We love to cook together, so we each selected a cookbook to explore. Of course I selected one of my favourites: Afro-Vegan .... as images of tofu, green mustards, collards, and cashew milk flitted across my brain. 

Then I saw Eric pull down The Iraqi .... hrm... I love lamb, but didn't recall much else really. Sure enough. Kebab milouky can be interpreted as baked kebab and bread. Absurdly delicious, and frankly, the Iraqi version of pot pie. One green pepper and some parsley, and yeah, heavy. But no worries, the breakfast mekhlama? A nice "light" ground meat scramble with eggs ... this time served Baghdad style to include hot bread (toast) on the bottom. *wheel me away Scottie*

It's quite possible that there was some compensation, sub conscience at the very least from my previous evening's tofu curry with mustard greens (spiced nicely with spicy mustard green harissa) and my savory grits with slow-cooked collard greens ... all vegan. 

But do you know what really burns my ass? 

Vegan eating: 

4,323 components

231 steps

MILLIONS of prep hours

The meat dish?

Yeah, I need to pop to the grocer and grab three things; dinner will be on in about an hour.

Adding insult to injury, tonight's cajun selection by Eric from our New Orlean's cookbook required two items:

• a shallot
• pork tenderloin

Granted, we did have everything else for what promises to be a wonderful meal paired with our garden fresh spinach, but SERIOUSLY!!!! 

It's on now. Dairy issues or not, tomorrow will be a complete mind loss with Bar Tartine, including my own homemade Farmer's cheese. If it's going to take me a billion hours to make something, I'm going all out.

Keep tuned ... and if you feel a disturbance in the force tomorrow, as in all day tomorrow; just ignore it.

Traveling Habits

There are habits that transcend travel.

However, travel helps you find unique dimensions to those habits.

My habits? Tea. Mixologists. Books. Performing arts.

The last is hit or miss depending on where I'm travel. For example, God-Knows-Where Nebraska does not induce me to seek out an opera, but performing arts are always on the list in the appropriate cities. Sometimes this requires a shift in thinking, such as a local guitarist in the dive bar.

The mixologist quality for a good cocktail may not be jaw-dropping, but even God-Knows-Where Nebraska has at least a decent local option, and if not, always have a good bottle of wine along with you for emergencies.

Tea and books though? Yes. Doable almost anywhere :) They may come in quite different shapes, sizes, and types, but the base goal of infusion delicious natural things in water and reading something is always there in some capacity.

It's always a smile when all four habits are fulfilled easily with high value experiences though ... DC being no exception.

Tea
Le Pain Quotidien - Bakery & Communal Table

OK fine. It's a chain for large USA cities. Whatever. I can sit there at a long communal, rough-hewn wooden table with fresh flowers and a cuppa. It's .... wonderful. People are bustling around me. Having meetings. Connecting with people they haven't seen in a long time. Conducting business. And I sit there immensely pleased, somehow transported to a field of lavender with my Earl Grey.

Mixologists
Fiola Restaurant

There is no shortage of mixologists in DC, but the place to bring all local mixologists to their knees is Fiola's. Don't get me wrong; their food is excellent. Exquisite even. But for those infusions mixed to perfection, sit at the bar.

Books
Kramerbooks & Afterwords

Straightforward, no nonsense bookstore who does not lower themselves to the fripperies of funky erasers and picture books. Quality reading is all you will get here. Unusual books; classic books; standardbearer books. Once you find your treasure, go to the cafe in the back and, of course, have a cuppa.

Performing Arts
The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts

Granted, there's only a gigantic number of performing arts options, but for opera-loving fiends such as myself, those options are more limited, so in cities that actually have good opera, those performing arts centers are the foci. While I'm trying to not fall prey to the temptation of the entire operatic series of The Ring (yes, I would certainly spend the week to simply drink in the live version), I did manage to snag tickets to Yo Yo Ma's Beethoven extravaganza with his most excellent sidekick, Manny Ax. To make matters better, I rather over-anticipated and showed up the evening before .... and experienced the following.

Scene: Kennedy performing arts center

"I'm sorry, but your even is tomorrow, not tonight"

"Well, we are here; what's going on tonight?"

*lists the events*

"The Bavarian symphony sounds great; can we get in or is it booked?"

"Well, there are two extra tx right here ... You can just take them if you like..."

So I sat there....10 rows from the cello section ready to watch and listen to the symphony from Munich.

...10 minutes to spare and completely free.

Life was definitely good to me this week.

So there we are. I know what centers me; no matter where I'm at. It's just about finding how the locale celebrates those same happy experiences and joining the fun :)

The Vampire Chronicles (book review)

The Vampire Chronicles: Interview with the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, The Queen of the Damned by Anne Rice
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
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M Train (book review)

M Train by Patti Smith
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
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The Inevitability of Hiking Boots. *sob*

There is true love, then there is a mother's love. While I've never viewed myself as extremely maternal and would be mortified to be classified as a "normal mom", I have found that love for our kids is often evidenced through our insatiable desire that we support their INSANE plans.

Ellie's most trying insanity is her quest for all the Junior Ranger badges from national parks that she can achieve. There are many things to obsess over that I would have happily supported. Perhaps seeing every symphonic orchestra in the world. Or every capitol city in the USA. Oh, I know! Every chocolate shoppe in Europe.....*swoon*. Hell, I'd even take World Heritage Sites.

But no no no no no no. we want to collect shitty plastic badges from national parks. Don't get me wrong; many are beautiful and I have learned a lot of history. It has been incredible watching Ellie become so educated outside of the system and putting the puzzle pieces together on US history, pre-US history, ancient Indian history, and geology. She has timelines running for all four subject matters and does all the activities in the booklets, pulling up the websites for more information as she prepares for each visit. She grabs my researcher's heart every time she does this, thrilling me. 

Sitting pretty at 32 badges and trips planned to get several more this year, I sometimes feel like there can be a light at the end of the tunnel. But disaster follows me.

When I pull into Merritt something or the other in Florida, they say, "oh no, this isn't Canaveral National Seashore; we are a refuge."

What I heard: "You are in the wrong place and it's time to bug out so you can get the stupid badge in the right place asap."

But Ellie goes, "oh, what is a refuge?" 

Terror strikes my heart. 

The ranger eagerly informs Ellie that while they do have a badge, it's not quite the same but that they DO have a book and many trails that they could torture her mother with for alligator spotting. I snatch the book and mumble about an exciting visit NEXT time and we can do the book later....the beaming ranger looks on, knowing she has won. Both completely ignore me as this nightmare continues with bonding over a map of all the animal refuges in the United States.

I stand there helplessly, recognising the nightmare will never end. I will have an incredible well balanced, informed daughter, caring about the Earth and everybody on it ... in hiking boots...forever.

It DOES Make a Difference

Have you ever thought about complimenting somebody, but decided against it? I have, so many times. I watch my dad compliment everybody and see the results; shoulders straighten, the smiles linger, and the light come into the eye. So why should we keep these positive feelings secret?

Just how much difference it makes really struck me tonight.

I'm in my zone. Bach and spirituals on the cello. Mozart and Schumann on the piano. While I have struggled against the psychology of being ridiculed, judged, and held to impossible standards in music for much of my youth by petty people, the picture you see is my safety zone.

The doorbell buzzes. I instantly freeze as the first thought was that the music filtered through the windows and offended somebody.

"I'm so sorry to bother you ... I'm your neighbor and was just walking by. I just felt compelled to stop and tell you how completely awesome it is to walk through the neighborhood and hear piano playing. It is a gift to us; thank you."

I really don't remember what I said because I was trying to not cry.

It DOES make a difference. Don't ever hesitate to take those few moments and transform somebody's night. Perhaps much more than that.

The AVL Vote

Example ballot cards everywhere. Stacks more on the table next to the voting room door. People pick them up, look confused, and put them down.

Over and over and over again.

I pick one up, and see the problem. ALL of these example ballots are Republican. Shuffling down the long hallway of 100+ people, for what has been the biggest turnout in my experience, the aforementioned table is reached.

In the middle, carefully taped on all sides, lay the lone remaining Democratic ballot example.

People exclaim "oh here it is!" .... over and over and over again.

If I had any doubts that AVL was democratic to the core, it was soundly erased today.

But which Democrat?

Well, I don't know what North Carolina will do, but I can be pretty certain that our county is Bernie's. Outloud exclamations like "can't we just push a Bernie button and move on???" in the middle of the line are not unusual, and always greeted with a murmur of agreement.

Frankly, Bernie scared me. I consider myself fiscally conservative; however, if Bernie's financial planning is a bad dream, then the Republican ticket is a current nightmare. That was enough to drive me to the Democratic party (previously non-voter), but I still had qualms about a pure socialist in the High Office.

Then I read this article.

10 Reasons Why Conservatives Should Start Supporting Bernie Sanders Immediately

Oh, how it resonated. I was fearful about throwing my vote to somebody purely on the desire, craving even, for somebody with principles, but this afternoon, I had no qualms.

While I remain depressed about the super delegate bullshit, I'm happy to sit in line for an hour to at least provide influence towards a popular vote ... 1 vote at a time.

My Italian Day

There are days where I miss Rome so much it almost hurts. The old streets. The fresh food to be made each night and sourced from the nearest market. The shoes. Ah, the shoes. The sense that life should be celebrated every day. Also, did I mention the wine?

After days like yesterday where we were tromping around the backwoods of South Carolina the previous day for Jr Ranger insanity (more on this later), I have to fight the urge to drive straight to the airport, purchase tickets at the counter (can you do that any more?), and simply get on the plane. No packing necessary because I can simply get a new wardrobe there. My phone is with me. My passport is with me for just these emergencies. However, next week is a crucial week for cresting the ridge of being fully caught up and even, just maybe able to achieve a mode of proactivity. I'd hate to lose such momentum, so Rome was tearfully abandoned (for the moment) and replaced with "an Italian day".

Select a waistcoat and shoes that would have been perfect in any European city.

Open a bottle of prosecco on the front porch and pretend that the street in front of you is several centuries old. Eat salad for brunch with it.

Read an anthology about butterflies printed in 1945.

Ramble to tea house downtown and write a professional blog post, enjoying "memories of Prague" tea service that involves black Assam, honey, and almond milk.

Enjoy a limoncello cocktail with a panini while killing a whole lot of monsters online (ok this may not be terribly Italian).

Transition to a perfect evening around 8p with Barber of Seville blasting the house, a Tuscan Rosso poured, and risotto started.

Not stupid risotto. Proper risotto.

Not the horrendous way that I once read in an American cookbook that said "pour in arborio rice, a crap tonne of liquid, and hope for the best ... should be done in 15 minutes" .....

No no.

A beautiful blending of flavours with butter and onions, followed by wine and arborio rice until the rice is sufficiently loved and shiny .... THEN, and ONLY then, can stock be added with whatever pairing of veg that you wish. And for god's sake, don't complicate it. Two things. You only need two complimentary veg added to the base. My preference is leeks and shrooms.

After that? Simply add bits of stock (cup at a time perhaps) to allow the veg and rice to eat up the existing stock, watching the arborio expand over 30-40 minutes. Then chuck in some butter and mix in some FRESHLY shaved parmesan, and ....

ambrosia.

Thus, my Italian day.