Books that changed me

The book I'm reading right now (Walking a Literary Labyrinth by Nancy M. Malone) asks the question, "Do you have a list of books that have changed your life?" Her theory is that each book we read takes us to a new place, and it changes us irretrievably. I think she's right. If I had to make a list to answer that question, it might look something like this:

The Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley

The best telling of the Arthurian legend I've ever read. One of the biggest shapers of my early spirituality. It still speaks to me about divine feminine energy and the sacredness of the earth. If pressed, I'd probably still claim it as my favorite novel.

Journal of a Solitude - May Sarton

My first trip into May Sarton's world of poetry and quiet. A love song to the work of one's soul and to New England. I am not her kind of poet, precisely, but she somehow still is my kind of inspiration.

The Long Loneliness - Dorothy Day

I first "met" Dorothy Day through Liz Carr, the Catholic chaplain at Smith. She inspires me incredibly, with her honest quest for meaningful spirituality, her care for others, her writing, her integrity. And the last two pages of the book are the purest poetry I know.

Anything by Louisa May Alcott and L.M. Montgomery

I'm particularly (still) in love with Jo's Boys/Little Men and Eight Cousins/Rose in Bloom. I liked their most famous works, of course, but the slightly lesser known books were my constant companions as a child. I reread Rose in Bloom a month or so ago, and it made me realize just how much of my early sensibility was shaped by their writings. Perhaps that's why I liked Jane Austen so much when I met her (finally!) at the end of last year.

The Exiles Series - Melanie Rawn

The best fantasy books I've ever read. I've been waiting, none-too-patiently, for the final book to come out for about ten years now. And I'll wait as long as it takes. They're that good. I can reread the first two once a year, at least, and still find new and fabulous things within them.

There are a million other books I love as well, but these are the best of the lot. I imagine I read books by men, too, but just not as often. I think this year I've completed sixteen books, and only two of them are by men. They just don't tend to speak to me as well, and they don't write books about the things I need to read. At least right now. So I'll stick with these, my favorites. And keep reading. I just never know when I might find more.

Transitory Amusements

Here I am, blogging again, and it's only taken me a week (or so). I'm sitting in Bongo Java Roasting Company, working on various computer-based activities and listening to U2 on Pandora. Transitions went off decently on Sunday, though those stubborn buggers wouldn't just break down and cry, damn it! Jessi did a little, but that was it. I even (mostly) held it together when I read them the rededication portion, with the roses and everything. Lisa followed them around with a camera the entire time, which made it harder for them to be all sappy, because they were making goofy faces at her the entire time. Claire and Jessi are way obsessed with Lisa. It's cute. Luckily, the pictures came out beautifully. This one's my favorite:

That's during their first stop, Play. We didn't actually fill the pool with water, so they should be grateful. And if we're going for strange, this one's pretty great:

While Claire and Marguerite hug, Danielle is actually smelling Claire's hair. And some mystery hands are wrapped around Danielle's waist. It's the Dani-and-someone hair-smelling monster! Bizarre. And then, of course, there's the series of weird Claire faces (made at Lisa, of course):


What can I say? She's a charmer, folks! I hope the good folks of Iowa are ready for her. She'll be taking Grinnell by storm come fall. Jessi will luckily be a bit closer to me, at Dartmouth. I've already offered up my services as chauffeur so that she can go see the BF at Brown. Then I have an excuse to go see Lexi and Katelet! And quality time in the car to hear about life in the Iveys. It's a win-win.

In other news, my house is still being taken over by workmen trying to make it pretty to sell. Hence I am hiding in various coffeeshops around Nashville. Hopefully it'll be all ready to go within the week, and then we'll sell the sucker. And then...to Massachusetts we shall go! Whoo! Yeah, I'm not excited. At all. Clearly.

How I Say Goodbye

Words: 46,003

Well, it's been ages since I touched this "new" blog. I need to get back into it, I think. Since last I wrote, I did manage to buy myself a copy of Little Earthquakes, which has been living in my car and making me happy. I even made the kiddos listen to it on the way to the thrift store during our lock-in last Friday. They didn't whine, so I figure they must have thought it was ok.

Earlier this evening I was listening to The One Who Knows by Dar Williams and making myself tear up. I'm working on a slide show for the youth group, and Dar is for the section covering Transitions (when we say goodbye to seniors) and Youth Sunday. It's going to be very sweet. Of course, I can't finish that section until after Transitions, which is Sunday. I still have to plan this year's route out. Luckily, all the written parts have survived from the last two years, so only a little editing will be required.

It's been so strange to start the goodbye process. I'm still so wrapped up in getting these last big events accomplished, that I'm hardly noticing how quickly it's all going by. My last youth group is in 13 days. I know that, intellectually, but I'm not feeling it yet. Once it's all over and I'm gone, I'll feel it. That's how it always is for me. That last morning at TIP, crying all over Angela. Getting into my car after I got back to Orlando after Smith graduation, only to find that damn Thank You song (the one Lexi and I could never escape) on the radio. Listening to Ben Harper (Walk Away) as I drove down 91 and away from Rowe one last time. I mourn best in private, when I can turn over all the memories in my mind one by one, noticing their intricacies and beauty. Then, I store them away, fodder for the words that come later. I'm good at living in retrospect, with occasional forays into the present. And somehow, I'm ok with that. The present, when I'm here, is good. The past gives continually, and the future holds promise out for me to grasp.

So I will say goodbye, in my own way and in my own time. And years from now I will still find something of value from this moment and all the moments that have made up my time here.