The Dog Year by Ann Wertz Garvin

The Dog Year by Ann Wertz Garvin
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Step inside The Dog Year and meet Dr. Lucy Peterman, a plastic surgeon struggling to navigate her life after losing her husband and unborn child. She copes by stealing hospital supplies and stockpiling them in her bedroom. Until she gets caught, and discovers she can't continue through life without help from friends.

Peopled with realistic human characters, The Dog Year contains many life lessons and a generous dose of humor, tempered with just the right amount of sadness.

Ann Garvin just might become your new favorite author. I'm lucky enough to possess a copy of The Dog Year signed by Ann herself--if you have a chance to hear her speak, do it!


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Burnt Toast Makes You Sing Good by Kathleen Flinn

Burnt Toast Makes You Sing Good: A Memoir of Food and Love from an American Midwest Family by Kathleen Flinn
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

What's not to love here? Family, fishing, foibles and food are all part of this fabulous Michigan memoir that includes the recipes mentioned in the story. Kathleen Flinn, author of bookshelf-worthy reads The Sharper Your Knife The Less Your Cry and The Kitchen Counter Cooking School, delivers yet another engrossing true story, and this one is set in Michigan (also my home state)!

I don't want to give too much away, but I can tell you I laughed at the chicken coop tale and the streaking story, and I cried at one point...maybe two. Kathleen included family photos as well, captioned with quotes and other wise words from her parents and ancestors. This book is a celebration of family and an inspiring invitation to cook a grand yet simple meal to share with your loved ones.


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Bookworms Anonymous

It's here!

You can find your copy on Amazon.com.  

The women are gathered again! Bookworms Anonymous is a non-traditional reading group established in 2000, comprised of seven women in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. They meet monthly to share a gourmet vegetarian meal and discuss and swap books. Part memoir, part cookbook and part celebration of words and reading, Bookworms Anonymous Volume II contains many of the same things found in Volume I: reading group meetings, anecdotes, book reviews and recipes. "A love letter to reading, beautifully rendered, and with all the warmth and fun and closeness of your favorite book club on that perfect meeting night." - Robert Kurson, author of Shadow Divers and Crashing Through "A warm celebration of two of life's most vital ingredients--books and friendships." - Ellen Airgood, author of South of Superior and Prairie Evers

Writing Weather

It's a grand day for writing. The wind is whipping the trees around (no power outages at our house yet, but there's still hope) and the rain comes and goes so it's impossible to plan any outdoor activities. The clouds are cruising west to east so fast they look like the time release camera shots on reality TV shows, the sun only winking at us now and then. It's sweatshirt weather, and it's about time! We've had a long, hot summer but it's been so nice for so long, I'm ready for a stormy day.

The muse likes days like this. It's easy to motivate oneself to write, to work on the latest story or novel, when the air is calm and comfortable inside and I can draw energy from the invigorating weather outside the window. And it's a three day weekend! Maybe we'll have three days of crazy weather and I'll finish my entire project...

The only other activity that's mildly entertaining on such a day is cooking, but of course that comes after writing, then reading, and it's a pretty distant third option. Maybe I could start a large pot of soup and let it simmer so I can say I cooked all day, when I'm really engrossed in words and agonizing over syntax and comma placement (not realistic, if you know me at all).  I'll daub some flour on my face for effect.

Extreme Writing

As mentioned in Bookworms Anonymous, extreme reading is a little recognized sport performed by reading outside.  I doubt we'll ever see it in the Olympics, or witness a district extreme reading tournament. It's not really a spectator sport; the reader/performer is the team, the audience and the coach. 

Extreme reading exercises the brain and can improve coordination when re-filling lemonade glasses require frequent trips into the house  (setting the book down isn't allowed;  the extreme reader can walk and read at the same time, navigating stairs and thresholds with ease).  After cocktail hour begins and vodka is added to the lemonade, the challenge of extreme reading increases.  Barked shins and bruised books serve as evidence of extreme reading while under the influence. 

This summer, with its sweltering, sweaty heat (yes, even here in the UP, we're stewing daily in 85+ degree weather), has forced me outside to work on my book.  The laptop runs hot, so I set up the extreme nerd outdoor office, consisting of a TV tray table and a shelf with my reference materials stationed at my elbow.  We don't have central air conditioning because we would only use it about once every five years, so we seek shade and air movement outside to survive the threat of heat stroke.  We dream of blizzards and icicles, hoping the mental images will trick our brains into cooling us off.  So far, it isn't working, but at least I'm getting some writing done. 

Bookworms Anonymous Meeting

We enjoyed yet another successful Bookworms Anonymous Meeting the other night--Christine is cooking her way through a cookbook called Vegetarian Traditions and she prepared and served a four-star meal, with Almond-Crusted Tofu appearing as the celebrity.

To read about the meeting itself and our fabulous group of seven readers, check out the website www.bookwormsanonymous.com and go to the page "News and Events". To see which books are touring through the club right now, click on the page "What We're Reading" (I know, you'd have figured that one out, but I didn't want you to miss it!).

Winter is knocking on our door now, so it's time to prepare for hibernation. Luckily I have a grand collection of books to keep me sane, or at least as close as possible, and we have one more Bookworms Anonymous meeting scheduled before Christmas to anticipate and enjoy.

Country Mice in the City

Tomorrow I embark on a journey to the city. Chicago! Named for a wild onion, it's the city of big shoulders and wind and it's my favorite major US city (I've been to NYC, LA, St Louis and Orlando, so those are the comps). My sister, daughter and I will stay just outside the city itself and take the train in every day as if we're commuting. We'll stroll the Mag Mile and State Street, take in a show at the Briar Street Theatre and eat lunch at Ed Debevic's. It's October so we will enjoy a color tour all the way there and back and we can leave our outer layers at home.

We'll stop at a Borders Books. This alone is worth the 8-hour drive, each way, so we can sit on the second floor drinking coffee in the window and watching people scurry by on the pavement below. We'll shop at Macy's. Macy's! And the fabulous Columbus Day Sale! Oh, to live in a place with stores. I'm also bringing three of my books to leave in various strategic locations for someone to pick up and read.

This, the eve of a trip to the city, makes me wonder what it would be like to live in an urban place. It seems glamorous from here, tucked into the woods where the only culture is the free karaoke performance at the bar. I'm sure I'd take in a play at least once a month and rarely eat dinner at the same place, cook less often than I do now (it's become my  least favorite chore) and buy fresh flowers from the corner stand regularly. I'd probably dress better--a Life Is Good T-shirt would not be considered dressy casual in a city--and I'd know all of the train schedules, which taxis are the fastest, and the shortest routes on the safest streets. I would be just one more anonymous soul trying to get through the day with no one asking me how I like my new job or if I've seen the new hairstyle of the girl at the gas station.

I'd miss the trees. And my routine: a five-minute, five-mile commute to work on a two-lane road canopied by maple trees much of the way, mine frequently the only vehicle on the entire route. I run out the door most mornings, my boots untied and coat half-on, turn up the radio to hear 5% of the news events occurring in the world, none of which impact our lives here, and which  my commute was longer so I could hear the rest of the story. I always see Mrs. Goetz in her window, watching me turn toward work, so she can later report to me what time I arrived every day last week. She's pretty accurate--if any local employers are considering time clocks, they should just hire her. She'd also be a reliable alibi corroborator if one had driven by her house at the time of the murder. She'd remember, down to the minute, what time she spied the vehicle and which direction it was headed.

But I digress. We are traveling to the city, it will be fabulous, then we will travel home and it will be even more fabulous for the brief interlude of urban sophistication. 

UP Living

Some days it's easier to remember why we live here, and today was one of those days. Autumn is just peeking through, painting random leaves and gracing us with bright sunshine and cool, crisp days. The tourists are gone now so there's no traffic, no need to lock anything, and I can leave my purse in the truck without worrying whether it'll still be there when I return. The temperature is perfect for light activities, there's no wind and everything smells of earthy, rotting leaves. I spent the day designing five different electric services, driving from one beautiful hunting camp to the next, from the hardwoods to the rocky beach of Lake Huron.

Then I came home and sat on the porch, reading my book (remember, reading outside is an extreme sport) in the sun with a cup of coffee. Heaven.

Today was the kind of day I want to tuck into my back pocket and retrieve next February when we're buried beneath six feet of snow and the newscasters are advising us to stock up on supplies (every good Yooper is always stocked up on supplies, so this dire announcement usually doesn't inspire any action, just humor).

Writing Weather

It's a grand day for writing. The wind is whipping the trees around (no power outages at our house yet, but there's still hope) and the rain comes and goes so it's impossible to conduct any outdoor activities. The clouds are cruising west to east so fast they look like the time release camera shots on reality TV shows, the sun only winking at us now and then. It's sweatshirt weather, and it's about time! We've had a long, hot summer but it's been so nice for so long, I'm ready for a stormy day.

The muse likes days like this. It's easy to motivate oneself to write, to work on the latest story or novel, when the air is calm and comfortable inside and I can draw energy from the invigorating weather outside the window. And it's a three day weekend! Maybe we'll have three days of crazy weather and I'll finish my entire project and arrive at work Tuesday morning full of energy.

The only other appropriate activity for days like this is reading. I'm currently reading Little Bee by Chris Cleave, and if you haven't read it yet, get yourself a copy today. It's fabulous. I'm only on chapter three but I'm totally sucked in. The back cover reads: We don't want to tell you what happens in this book. It is a truly special story and we don't want to spoil it. Nevertheless, you need to know enough to buy it, so we will just say this: This is the story of two women. Their lives collide one fateful day, and one of them has to make a terrible choice, the kind of choice we hope you never have to face. Two years later, they meet again--the story starts there... Once you have read it, you'll want to tell your friends about it. When you do, please don't tell them what happens. The magic is in how the story unfolds. 

Sorry, but I have chosen to honor the author's (and marketer's) wishes and not reveal any further information. Go get this book and read it yourself, but if it's a nice day outside, you'll have to carry it outside with you because you won't want to put it down.

Aging (Slowly and Bravely)

My 40th birthday was nearly three months ago, and I'm adapting to my image in the mirror. I've also adapted my morning routine to include make-up every day (it's no longer optional, and neither is the under-eye wrinkle eraser) and a flat-iron styling (actually adds some waves to my dull, drab, lifeless hair). I notice a more insistent hunger, distracting and seemingly insatiable, and a nearly constant tired feeling invading my body.

I've also noticed I care a lot less about hurting others' feelings. I don't purposely set out to ruin someone's day, but if I occasionally ignore my diplomatic tendency and speak my mind I no longer lose sleep over it. In fact, sometimes I speak my mind on purpose, and wish I'd started this practice two decades ago.

So, on my birthday I received a new bike from my daughters and my mom: a cruiser-style bike with ten speeds and a wicker basket. I first told my daughter I coveted this model a few years ago when I spied a friend riding one through our Village, mentioning "I want a bike just like that, but I have to wait until I'm 40 to pull it off". My daughter remembered this and orchestrated the purchase of a gorgeous black bicycle with hot pink details, ready to ride to work and help me slough off the 6 pounds haunting me since last fall.

I know, fewer pounds translates to more wrinkles, but at this point I'd rather trade the weight for more energy even if it means staring at the aging woman in the mirror, wondering who she is. I'm not afraid of aging, as long as I can maintain my pace: slowly and bravely, slowly and bravely.

Thanklessly Thankful

Sometimes it's difficult to remember how grateful I am to live in a small town, geographically sequestered as we are from civilization, culture and shopping malls. It's easy to take certain things for granted here, such as the crime rate (zero) and the way we leave our keys in our trucks and never lock our houses (I think I have a key...somewhere). When Mother Nature is burying us in snow or breathing her icy breath down our backs, when I drive to work on unplowed roads without passing another soul, when the latest rumor only needs fifteen minutes to be twisted and communicated to everyone from the mayor to the one homeless person, it's hard to remember why I like living here.

I don't recall living anywhere else, which makes it difficult to imagine moving away and actually joining the daily commuters on a city train or wearing a suit to an office on the twenty-seventh floor (our tallest building here is three stories, but it's a B&B; we have no office buildings and I wear jeans to work!). City life looks and sounds glamorous until I consider the hordes of tourists, summer people and weekenders who drive for hours or days to enjoy a tiny slice of the good life, breathing our sweet, fresh air and walking down the middle of the street in celebration of our lack of traffic.

As for the weather, testing our strength of character today with icy winds straight off the water, at least it provides conversational fodder every day of the year. I've often wondered what people from temperate climates discuss when they meet on the street--do they comment on the temperature? ("Nice day again--70 degrees. I thought it was going to dip below 68 last night, but it held steady") Or do they even notice the weather at all? Maybe the weather fades right into the background until the one rainy day, every blue moon or so, when it's back in the spotlight until the sun emerges and life returns to normal. Our forecasters work hard here--the Great Lakes provide not only scenic beauty, shipping channels and water recreation venues, they also flummox weathermen with unpredictable wind patterns and temperature changes. The forecasters, then, are rarely correct in their predictions but they are followed by a loyal cadre of weather-obsessed people who plan their wardrobes and schedules around daily meteorological proclamations.

It seems I've digressed from my original topic, which was something about being thankful I live here in this desolate, beautiful, politically neglected place.

Here are some reasons I'm thankful:

scenery/fresh air
low crime rate
keys/locks unnecessary
low population
knowing everyone in town
no fast food restaurants
no traffic
my job--it's wonderful, an office job in an interesting field--which allows me to dress as I do every day, in jeans and a t-shirt (no kidding!)

Here are some things I'd like, but I know if they were improved the very character of the UP would be compromised and I might as well just live elsewhere because pretty soon everything will be the same anyway, so the following list should be given no weight whatsoever:

cheaper, fresher groceries
cheaper gas
more jobs (with higher pay)
more restaurants (but no fast food! Yuck)
more hotels
mall/shopping center
warmer climate (but still, no deadly snakes, bugs or spiders, and no life-threatening natural disasters such as floods, earthquakes or tornadoes)

Hhmmm. The more I think about it, the less attractive living elsewhere appears. I think I'll continue to live here, work two or three jobs (depends how you count them) and take vacations to civilization, staying just long enough to prove to myself once again that I would rather be here.

So, come on UP! On your next vacation hop in the car and drive north until you find us...sit in the bar, talk to some locals, stay a few days.

Weather or Not

Winter is breathing down our necks. We've had one hard frost already and the old folks and the Farmers' Almanac are predicting a brutal season. The leaves are turning, still clinging loyally to the trees along my five-mile commute to work (see photo of my favorite stretch of road, which I'm forced to travel daily between work and home).

It's time for Winter Preparation: clean up the yard so no toys/bikes/tools/potted plants/landscape sculptures will be harmed or displaced by the snow plow; drain and winterize the boat and camper; move all large trailers, boats and campers to the storage garage for the same reason; check the garage for anything that shouldn't freeze, and move it to the basement; finish summer projects; stock up on books.