What This Snow Girl Reads

It's supposed to snow today. The temperature dropped. The sky is white/gray. I've snuggled in and picked out a book. So, let it snow! I'm ready.

A lot of people have "beach reads" -- books they read in summer while they're lying in the sun. Chick Lit often falls into that category for me. But more than beach reads, I have "winter reads" -- genres and styles that I like to curl up with on dark, snowy days beginning in December.

I find that I read thicker, slower books in winter. Books that are complex and hearty, like stew. For me, this is the time to delve into literary novels that require readers to concentrate and read for longer spells at a time. These are not the books you pick up, read a few pages of, then put down. These are novels that take you to cabins set deep in the woods if you let them; books that span the globe and time dimensions. In winter, I read books I can savor.

And in between those heavier novels, I like to curl up by the fire with suspense and murder mysteries. Especially those set in the snow. You'd think I'd like to read about a tropical setting when I'm huddled on my couch swathed in blankets. But, no. I want to feel the comfort of being inside contrasted against the chill outside in both real life and the novels I'm reading.

A couple of favorite snowy reads:

The Virgin of Small Plains by Nancy Pickard that begins with a farmer discovering the frozen naked body of a teenaged girl while he and his sons are rounding up their livestock during a blizzard. I'm a sucker for a blizzard story.

Which brings me to The Children's Blizzard, by David Laskin. This is a true account of an 1888 blizzard that suddenly swept across the American plains killing hundreds of people, mostly children, who were caught unaware as they tried to walk home from school. The book is absolutely chilling and you'd think it would make me swear off reading about snow during the winter, but instead it fascinated me and made me prepare my coats and car for impending disaster. I'll never forget this book.

I've written before, but will mention again, my favorite short story, which falls into the winter reads category: To Build a Fire by Jack London. I loved it!

Last, but not least, Speak Softly, She Can Hear by Pam Lewis is one of those wrong place, wrong time novels that changes the lives of the characters involved. A prep school girl goes to a cabin one snowy weekend with her boyfriend who, unbeknownst to her, has also invited another woman there. Things get out of hand and the stranger is killed, then buried in the snow. The book follows the girl through decades as her life unfolds, always affected by that one snowy weekend.

Anyone else a winter snow reader? I'd love some more snowy book recommendations.

Boys' Day

An hour into “Boys’ Day,” Joan was reconsidering whether bringing her three grandsons to an amusement park was such a hot idea. The 11- and 12-year-olds were having a blast. They’d run off together as soon as they could, racing for the mega-roller coasters that 6-year-old Jeremy was neither brave enough, nor tall enough to ride. Instead, he was abandoned to the company of his grandmother, who was determined to make sure that Jeremy had as much fun as they did, no matter the personal sacrifice to her own enjoyment of the day.

“Can we ride this, Grandma?” Jeremy asked as they passed in front of the Scrambler.

Joan pasted on a smile and bit her lip. She knew the ride would wreak havoc with her back, but it was one of the few rides that Jeremy could go on outside of Kiddie Land. “You sure you want to? It looks like it’s going pretty fast.”

Jeremy nodded and tugged her toward the line. They watched the passengers before them spin toward them and then whip away. There were a few squeals of excitement and one or two from people who sounded scared. Joan watched her grandson’s face, trying to gage whether this ride might be too grown-up for him. Though his eyes grew wide as he watched the heads and arms of children flail in their seats, he eagerly pulled his grandmother along and ran to an empty car once they passed through the gate.

The attendant strapped them in, pulling their seatbelts firmly across their laps and then fastened the pin lock into place. Joan and Jeremy grinned at each other and then the motor began to whir into action. Jeremy gripped the handle bar tightly, his round eyes saucers of excitement. Joan held on, too, hoping to hold herself in place so that the motion didn’t jar her back too severely.

The ride picked up speed, slamming Jeremy into his grandmother with each criss-crossing pattern. He giggled and yelled as Joan grimaced with the force of his small body ramming her in the side. Who knew how bony and sharp one little body could be.

As the ride slowly wound to a stop, Joan let out a sigh of relief. It hadn’t hurt too badly, though her stomach was a little unsettled. Sharing Dippin' Dots with Jeremy beforehand might not have been a good idea. Still, she’d survived it and the smile on Jeremy’s face made her minor discomforts worth it.

The teenaged attendant came to their car and released the lock. They struggled forward to step down from the ride and dizzily searched for the exit sign. Jeremy spotted it and grabbed his grandmother’s hand, ready to run as fast as his little six-year-old legs could carry him.

Joan braced herself. She knew what was about to come next. Jeremy pulled her along, his body quivering with anticipation.

“Let’s ride it again!”

Funeral Flowers

Arlington National Cemetery



Two weeks ago, my co-worker's father died. He flew down to Tennessee to be with his family and my department immediately began collecting money to send flowers. Two days before the funeral, we got the name of the funeral home and the funeral arrangements. Of course, we couldn't be there, but we'd all chipped in for a huge bouquet to be sent.

The day after the funeral, the administrative assistant in our group said that the senior manager didn't think we'd have enough time to send flowers to the funeral home (wrong!), so instead, we'd just send them to our colleague's house once he and his family got home.

I was flabbergasted. Am I alone in thinking that idea was totally absurd?

I donated money for flowers to be sent to the funeral home in lieu of us actually being there. To me, the flowers were a show of respect; an acknowledgement that our company and our department specifically were trying to represent ourselves and show respect to the family since we couldn't be there in person. Why in the world would our co-worker want flowers delivered to his home a week after the funeral?

I know when my step-father died, it meant a lot to me that my department sent flowers. It showed me that they cared and were thinking of me and my family and what we were going through on that sad and difficult day. I voiced my opinion to the administrative assistant that I was very disappointed. She relayed the sentiment to the senior manager who then decided that instead of sending flowers to our co-worker's home, we'd send an edible arrangement. Somehow, to me, that's even more crass. Edible cookie or fruit arrangements seem more suited to celebratory occasions.

She missed my point entirely. I am very disappointed in how this was handled, but maybe I'm over-reacting. Am I wrong in thinking that flowers should have been sent to the funeral home as a sign of respect?

Pull Up the Oxcart!

This beautiful oxcart is on display at the Doka Coffee Estate in San Jose, Costa Rica. Oh, how I wish someone would load it up with nice, strong Costa Rican coffee beans and deliver it to my house. I've got my coffee cup all ready.

How To Be An American Housewife

Japanese Gardens, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco



Usually by the time I've reached the end of the first chapter in a book, I flip to the back cover pages to read the 'About the Author' section. This information seems somehow critical to my reading, as though I need this information to put the book into the right context. This was probably never more true than when I flipped to the back of How To Be An American Housewife and read the blurb about author Margaret Dilloway. Suddenly, her novel about a Japanese woman who married an American soldier at the end of WWII and was supplied with a guide on how to be a good American housewife seemed more biographical than fiction.

The author blurb says that Dilloway was inspired by her Japanese mother's experiences, and especially by a book her father had given to her mother called The American Way of Housekeeping. Like Dilloway, this discovery fascinated me. Each chapter of the book begins with an excerpt from the book, some of which were very insightful as to the differences in our cultures. For instance, the guide instructed Japanese women on how to make spaghetti, which they considered to be the meal that every American husband would want. It also addressed the isolation and prejudices they might face as Japanese women in America, and how they should respond. It was a glimpse into life in that era, and into the lives of a population few knew anything about.

Dilloway painted a fabulous picture of what life might have been like for a young Japanese woman at the end of the war. She takes us from American-occupied Japan to the United States. I can only imagine that much of Shoko's character is based on her mother. It also made me wonder whether the character of Sue (the daughter) was based on herself and her relationship with her mother? Bottom line, I inserted that perspective into the book as I read.

The author blurb definitely added to my enjoyment of the novel. I'm looking forward to reading Dilloway's next book, and can't help but wonder how the 'About the Author' blurb will change.

February Is Fattening

If you start a diet in January, things go okay for about a month. But in February, it all falls apart. February is so fattening. There's Superbowl party munchies, Valentine's Day candy, then Fat Tuesday paczki doughnuts. Sure, you could substitute some of these goodies and have chicken breasts instead of chicken wings, or low-fat desserts instead of Mardi Gras cakes. But that's a recipe for insanity, if you ask me.

I'd rather just resume dieting in March when I may have to dodge a few Fish Frys. Or maybe April. I'm not big on Easter candy anyway.

I think I'll start today with a doughnut in memory of Jerry. Then on to chili, wings, chips & dip, and anything else we serve up for the Superbowl.

Honesty Prevails



Military swearing in


"Whenever you do a thing, act as if all the world were watching."
                                                                           -- Thomas Jefferson

In the past few months I've come across two sociology experiments that tested people's honesty and was heartened to learn that there really are decent, honest people in this world. I am often a hopeless optimist, sure that people are fundamentally good at heart. But in our crazy world with doom & gloom headlines, sometimes it's hard to believe that it's true. Luckily, I stumbled upon a couple of headlines that confirmed my theory.

In Scotland, author Paul Story released 5,000 copies of his book Dreamwords around towns including Moray and Edinburgh. He left a note with his novel asking finders to read the book within a month and if they liked it, to voluntarily pay for it if they wished to read the follow-up book. His plan worked. So far, 561 people have paid. You can read more here: Honesty Project

Closer to home, an experiment was launched in Cincinnati last summer. Honest Tea set up a webcam on Fountain Square along with a rack of bottles of cold iced tea priced at a dollar. Payment was on the honor system. They placed an acrylic box for people to drop their dollar bills into and then sat back and waited to see how honest Cincinnatians are. I was happy to learn that most people paid. In fact, 88% of the people who took a bottle of tea paid. I was definitely Hometown Proud. Read more here.

I'm sure there are many more instances and stories of people displaying honesty even when they don't know they're being watched. Unfortunately, these stories rarely make headlines. Apparently integrity just isn't sexy enough.