I cannot live without books...

I saw these great questions about literature on a friend's blog and immediately began formulating my own answers. I do not consider myself well-read, but do consider myself a reader. Okay, so some literary questions with not so literary answers.

1. If you could host a party with 7 literary characters who would they be and
why?
1- Hans, the father from The Book Thief, by Marcus Zusak
2- Valancy from The Blue Castle, by L.M. Montgomery—but the Valancy who says what’s on her mind, not the pre-29 Valancy.
3- Jo from Little Women, by Lousia May Alcott
4- Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee
5- Neighbor Dorothy from Standing in the Rainbow by Fannie Flagg
6- Anne, from the Anne of Green Gables series, by L.M. Montgomery
7- Richard Kendrick, from The Twenty-Fourth of June, by Grace S. Richmond
I think that all of these characters are great conversationalists and would be active participants, not passive attendees, at the party. I think the conversation would be lively with many varied viewpoints, lighthearted quirky humor, and intelligent topics discussed. My favorite party is one in which we can meet together and chat, everyone helps shoulder the weight of the interaction, and we all have a good time. This would be an AWESOME party.

2. Which literary house would you like most to live in?
Ooh, ooh, I would love to live at Green Gables from Anne of Green Gables, by L.M. Montgomery. To be in the beautiful land of Prince Edward Island, surrounded by fields, woods, and ocean. Wow. Sounds amazing to me. Or The Burrow from Harry Potter—it just sounds like a busy, cozy, homey place to be.

3. Which literary couple would you like most for parents?
Marmee from Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott
Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee
Both of these parental figures convey such pure love for their children by their actions, words, and solid character. Hey, a lot like MY parents!

4. Pick 3 literary characters you would like to have as siblings.
Daisy Fay from Daisy Fay and the Miracle Man, by Fannie Flagg
Hassan from The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini
Ginny Weasley from Harry Potter, by J.K. Rowling
I think we’d have a good time together.

5. Who is your favorite literary villain?
I would have to say the character of Death in The Book Thief, by Marcus Zusak. I know, not really a villain because Death is so likeable, but *ppbbthh*.

6. Name a character that most people dislike, but that you do not. Why do you like them?
I honestly don’t know. Maybe Katherine Brooke from the Anne series. I think she’s just misunderstood. The lesson I learn from Katherine Brooke is that I need to be careful to not be quick to judge behavior I don’t understand. I think if we would just give each other credit for the amazing things we each have endured in our lives, we’d have a lot more respect and love for each other. *stepping off soapbox now*

7. Name 3 books that you rarely see on people’s favorite book lists that are on your own.
The Twenty-fourth of June, by Grace S. Richmond
The Blue Castle, by L.M. Montgomery
Return from Tomorrow, by George Ritchie
These are all fairly obscure books that I have reread over and over again.

8. What is your favorite literary name?
Oh, goodness, I’m not that picky about names. I like the names of my favorite characters! Jo, Anne, Gilbert, Hermione, etc.

9. What is a book that changed your life?
The Hiding Place, by Corrie Ten Boom. A quintessential example of true heroism. But, what I love about Corrie Ten Boom is that she acknowledges that most of the time she doesn’t want to be the hero and has very unhero-like thoughts. And yet, in the end, she is an amazing example of love and forgiveness. Her story made me want to be better.

11. What is a book that you’ve read more than once?
Oh, I’ve read MANY books more than once. I love re-experiencing my favorites over and over and over. One book that I’ve read multiple times for reasons I can’t explain is the Beverly Cleary autobiography (which is actually two books—one for her early life, one for her college and post-college years): A Girl From Yamhill and My Own Two Feet. Why do I love these books?

12. What is a book that you’d want on a desert island?
I’d want a survival guide that could give me all the information I’d need on edible roots, plants, etc and other tricks for surviving in the wilderness.But, if we’re talking about non-reference-y books, I’d probably go with the Harry Potter series. And yes, I mean the whole series. I think they are essentially one book as a whole—a great mix of adventure, love, triumph of good/evil, fantasy, etc.

13. What is a book that made you laugh?
Daisy Fay and the Miracle Man- Fannie Flagg. There was one scene involving a donkey, Daisy Fay in a bathing suit, and a carload of teenage boys whereupon after reading it I actually laughed out loud and kept giggling for the next several pages.
14. What is a book that made you cry?
A Day No Pigs Would Die, by Robert Newton Peck. I was in sixth-grade and it made me sob. It was the first time a book moved me that much.

15. What are you currently reading?
Outliers, by Malcolm Gladwell
Wild Swans, by Jung Chang
The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger

16. What is a book you’ve been meaning to read?
Oh, this list is long too. Currently on my to-read list are:
The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas
A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens
Many other classics…

17. What is a non-fiction book that you have enjoyed?
I enjoy reading memoirs, autobiographies, and books about studying human behavior, so I have read a lot of non-fiction. Some of my favorites are;
Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, by Amy Krouse Rosenthal
Me Talk Pretty One Day, by David Sedaris
The Glass Castle, by Jeannette Walls
I also really enjoyed Blink, by Malcolm Gladwell and Freakonomics, by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner.

18. What is a book that you don’t enjoy?
The Twilight Series. I know it’s sacrilege, but it’s a fact. I didn’t care for Twilight. I have, however, been to Forks, Washington and loved it there.

(On the beach in La Push, WA at sunset)

19. What is a book you remember as a real page-turner?
The Giver, by Lois Lowry

20. Who is your literary role model?
Oh goodness, I don’t know. I admire so many literary figures. Anne, for her courage and intelligence. Dumbledore, for his wisdom. Not high literature, I know, but some of my favorites. And Atticus Finch, for his integrity.

Tastes Like Heaven

I thought I knew what heaven would be like. Fields and fields of daisies, forever sunshine, skipping through said daisies in said sunshine. Sounds nice.

But then I found this.

And this.

And THIS.

And just to be sure that you understand the beauty of this ginormous Lindor truffle--let me unwrap it for you.

And now I know that Heaven is really the place where all of the best candy is ten times it's normal size!

You can find your favorite giGANtic snacks here.

I haven't even shown you the best of all. Coming in at 1 meter long, weighing approximately 13.2 pounds, and an estimated calorie count of 10,000--I present the ginormiest Twix I've ever seen.

Ahhh....heaven.

I want to ride my bicyle, I want to ride my bike...

So, I’m in the market for a new bike. The current bike I have, bless it’s little pea-pickin’ heart, has stood by me faithfully but is looking well, a little tired. We became acquainted with one another in the Sear’s Sports Department about the time I graduated from high school when my sister, brother, and I took advantage of the sweet deal and each bought identical Royce Union Mountain Bikes. I know I rode several bikes up until the Royce Union Beauty, but I only remember a couple of them.

From the time I was six or seven until I was ten or eleven, I rode a lovely, red banana seat bike with foot brakes. It had a red-and-white striped basket that strapped to the handlebars and served well to hold interesting rocks, the detonated fireworks my brother and I would scavenge for on the morning after the 4th of July, and various and sundry other interesting objects you could find on the way home from school or on your way to the pool. We spent a lot of hours together, that bike and I.

(Yes, yes. That is me, sporting a velour v-neck sweater and ridiculously short shorts on my awesome red bike.)

One significant memory I have with this bike involved the most blatant act of disobedience my brother and I ever committed together. He had, one day, inadvertently left his bike lock too loose around the seat of his bike on our way home and the chain on the lock dangled in his spokes and made a terrific clicking noise. I promptly hopped off my bike, adjusted my lock until it was dangling just so, and we clicked and clanged all the way home. Upon our arrival, our mother discovered our new breakthrough and plainly told us that it was dangerous to dangle our locks in the spokes and we were not to do it anymore. The next day, we biked a ¼ mile from home, dismounted our bikes, adjusted the chains and went on our way. After school and on the way home, ¼ mile from home, we would adjust the locks in full belief that so long as mom didn’t know what we were doing, all would be well. This worked splendidly until a few days later when I was beebopping along with a loudly clacking bike lock when it lodged in my spokes, stopped the wheel suddenly, and flipped the bike over and I skidded onto the pavement—knees-first. I quickly examined the bike, saw several bent spokes and burst into tears, not because of the damaged bike, or because of the profusely bleeding gashes on my legs, but because we were about to get in the biggest kind of Cabbage trouble: Disobedience. I cried while we walked our bikes all the way home and we didn’t get to ride for the next 2 weeks. Torture to a seven-year-old! But, lesson learned.

After the retirement of the red banana seat bike a couple of years later, my favorite bike to ride was my Mom’s bike and I will tell you why. She had a couch seat. Seriously, the thing was ginormous and cushy and so comfortable. I’d ride around the neighborhood perched on that heavenly seat impervious to bumps, ruts, and washboard roads. In fact, when I got ye old Royce Union, I took the seat from my mom’s long-since-regularly-used granny bike and attached it to my spiffy new mountain bike and enjoyed years of painless rides.

Which brings me to the real reason for my post today. I’m in the market for a new bike. I have gone to the local bike shop and test-rode a number of bikes and have had a realization. The pursuit of finding the right bike is very much akin to Ollivander’s quest, in Harry Potter, to match the right wand with the right witch or wizard. As Ollivander points out, “it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard.” And so it is with bicycles, I have found. I noticed that I can get on a bike and within the first two rotations of the pedals, know it is not the bike for me. The handlebars are too far away or the seat leans me too far back or my feet don’t feel secure on the pedals or the steering is a little shaky or my knees feel like they’re going to hit my arms or…it’s just not right. And then, THEN, you get on the bike that makes you feel like you’ve come home after all these years to your red banana seat bike with the red-and-white striped basket tied to the handlebars. That’s the bike I’m looking for. And I think I’ve found it. This is what it looks like.

Fantastic, eh?

A to Z, Part 6 (and the end...)

Alrighty, today is V through Z. (for those who may or may not be alphabetically challenged, that means this is the end of my Encyclopedic postings...).

V-Vulnerability, Public Displays of. I am not a fan of crying in public. Not other people’s crying, MY crying in public. And I’m not referring to the occasional tear trickle during the reveal on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, this is the tear-gushing, throat-constricting, loss of voice control kind of exhibition. Such displays of vulnerability are rare for me. They invariably leave me feeling tired, annoyed, and stupid for reacting to whatever caused the outburst in the first place.

W-Whistling Choir. Someday, I am going to have a whistling choir.

(Geert Chatrou, International Whistling Champion)

I haven’t decided yet whether or not I’m interested in massive quantities of whistlers (akin to the campers in Hayley Mills’ The Parent Trap as they follow Susan and Sharon to their Cabin of Isolation/Revelation) or if I will have auditions to make sure the select whistlers can carry a tune and harmonize. One thing I am sure of: my dad and my brother will get in. My Dad has an enormous whistling range, and my brother has been whistling since he was a baby so he’s a shoe-in.

X-eXtremes. I’m a pretty even keeled person, but there are a few things about me that lean toward the extreme. I am extremely ticklish. So much so that I was afraid I was going to crash the driver’s ed car during “Driving Exam 7: Dealing with Emergencies” if the instructor did the “No brakes!” drill by reaching over and grabbing my knee. I have nearly decked people out of reflex when they unwittingly grab my leg or try to massage my shoulders. And I am worried that I will kick some unsuspecting toddler who suddenly grabs my leg for balance as he’s learning to walk.
I am extremely critical of poorly written dialogue in books. An author can create a great story with fun twists and thoughtful turns, but if the dialogue is unrealistic or cheesy, the other creativity is lost on me.
I am extremely protective of those I love. When I was in 8th grade, a kid in 6th-grade made a less-than-kind statement about my younger brother. Having only known me as a happy-go-lucky girl who beebopped her way along, he (and the rest of the class who watched) was taken aback at the tongue lashing I gave him that let him know in no uncertain terms that nothing of the kind would ever, EVER, come out of his mouth again.

I surprised myself with that extreme.

Y-Yeast, Baking With. I have always had an irrational fear of yeast. Well, maybe not so irrational. I once tried to bake cinnamon rolls, but did not heat the water warm enough and so the yeast did not activate. I baked my flat little rolls, assuming that all would be well. And I ate a couple of them. It was only after bathing in the warm fluids of my stomach that the yeast activated wholeheartedly. Thereafter ensued the release of the gases that were supposed to leaven my rolls. It leavened me instead. Goodness, what a horrible evening.

(This past Thanksgiving I attempted the rolls again--with success!)

Z-Zits. This may be more information than you want, but I have a love-hate relationship with zits. I hate having them, BUT, there is an odd satisfaction that comes from purging one of its contents. A satisfaction that is difficult to attain in any other way.

There you are. More than you may have ever wanted to know about my ordinary life. What would be in the Encyclopedia of YOUR Ordinary Life?

A to Z, part 5

Here it is Jauna! Part 5. R through U.

R-Radio. For my 10-year-old birthday I got a Walkman, which was a big deal. It was a pink and white Casio with a snazzy black strap so I could carry it like a purse. It. Was. Awesome. I created my own radio station called K-A-T-Y! for which I sang and produced all the songs and even had commercials for products like Rubbermaid and breakfast cereal. It was a rather eclectic radio station with music that ran the gamut from primary songs like “I’m Trying to Be Like Jesus” and “Away in a Manger” to popular songs of the days for which I clearly did not know all the words such as “Ice Ice Baby” and “The Bartman”. I also sang parodies of holiday tunes such as “We Three Kings” and “Joy to the World” (cue music….Joy to the World, the School Burned Down, and All the Teachers Died…) and mesmerized my audience with all three verses of “Hold On” by Wilson Phillips (including the backup vocals). Following the fake fadeouts, I even served as my own critic saying such things as, “Wasn’t that amazing!” Amazing indeed.

S-Symbiotic Relationships. I’m all about symbiotic relationships. Everyone wins. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. It all works out. I had a roommate who hated taking the garbage out and didn’t mind vacuuming. I hate vacuuming but don’t mind taking the garbage out. Badda-bing-badda-boom: the birth of a beautiful symbiotic relationship and I didn’t have to touch a vacuum until I moved away. Everyone wins, indeed.

T-Twenty Questions. When my sister and I go on roadtrips together, to pass the time we play 20 ?’s. This isn’t the wimpy animal-vegetable-mineral-I’ve-figured-it-out-with-5-questions-version of 20 ?’s, though. This is the hardcore-it’s-gonna-take-50-miles-of-roadway-and-250-questions-and-I’m-pretty-sure-this-is-something-I’ve-never-heard-of-what-the-HECK-could-this-be??-version. Some of our best (and the ones that took the longest) have been: shrunken heads, drawstring, fidelity, and a sneeze. Some others that we thought would be hard, but turned out to be surprisingly easy were: dung beetle, gold plates, and Jesus.

(My sister and I, in the Badlands in South Dakota, on our way to Chicago in Summer 2007)

U-Unique. I learned awhile ago that my brain doesn’t always work the same way as other people’s brains. When the teacher broadcasts a question to a class, we all knowingly nod our heads and respond in unison, except that everyone else says one thing and I say something else. The first answer I have is often not the answer everyone else has. Why? I remember a memorable Institute class where the teacher had written the following statement on the board: “There is no such thing as a good _______.” I knew the answer. Of course. He read the statement and waited expectantly for the class to respond. I said “lie”, and the entire class, as one, turned and gaped at me. Apparently, the correct answer was “war”. Sure, that works too. But, he didn’t leave it at that. He went on to refute my claim that there is no such thing as a good lie (I still don’t think there is, despite his arguments. I think you can always be honest—and have TACT. You don’t have to lie.). I puzzled as to why this seems to repeatedly happen to me and I related the story to my brother. When I shared the statement with him, he responded, “Lie. There is no such thing as a good lie.” My mom responded the same way. Perhaps, we Cabbages are just hanging out on our oddball wavelength together. I think that’s it.

A to Z, part 4

Okay, kids. Here it is. The next section. N through Q.

N-Noseyuk. A “noseyuk” (pronounced: nose-yuck—a term coined by my mother) was what a “booger” was called in our house growing up. The word “booger” was, in fact, on the banned list of words that were never to be uttered (along with stupid, stupidhead, dodo, shut up, and dummy). Imagine the social suicide I unknowingly committed as a kindergartner—my first real foray into the social world outside my family—when I declared that Adam D. picked his noseyuk and ate it.

The confused stares that met me were enough to quiet my accusation for the moment. It was somewhat traumatizing to discover there was a whole vocabulary out there that I now had to navigate. Fortunately, I’m a fast learner.

Obligation, Heightened Sense Of. My old roommate once informed me I have a heightened sense of obligation. When it comes to accepting invitations, attending others’ activities, saying yes to needy people, it doesn’t occur to me that declining is a real and viable option. I’ve debated back and forth as to whether or not I’m grateful for this inherent (learned?) trait or annoyed by it.

P-Peter. When I was in graduate school, one of my clinical assignments was to do therapy with a 4-year-old boy with high-functioning autism. He was a bright kid, but missed the social nuances of conversation, humor, and language. Our therapy sessions were filled with activities to increase his understanding of emotions, prepositions, and other –tions. One day, I went to pick him up in the waiting room of the clinic and someone referred to me by my whole name. He looked up at me, very serious, and said quietly, “You are Katy Cabbage.” I nodded and said that he was right. After a short pause he finished his thought, “And I….am Peter Tomato.”

Q- Quills. In seventh grade, I did a report on porcupines and my dad went to the garage and used his Shopsmith to make me two imitation porcupine quills. I still have them.

A to Z, part 3

Okay, so it's been a few days since I posted because well, I'm home visiting family and well, Christmas happened so things have been busy. But, here we go. Today is J through M.

J-Jobs. While we were attending the same college, my brothers and I frequently discussed what we called Get-You-Through-School Jobs.

(My brothers and I a few years before college)

These were not the menial jobs we actually had during college, but, rather the jobs we never wanted to be forced to have if we opted to drop out of school and forego an education. See, an education provides choice, glorious choice. For my brothers, Get-You-Through-School Jobs included: construction, roofing, door-to-door salesmen, and anything having to do with manure (shoveling, distributing, burying, hauling, etc.). We had a particularly memorable interchange on the way to school one day in which my older brother declared he didn’t want to have a job that involved pallets in any form: moving pallets, stacking pallets, loading pallets, etc.
For me, it comes down to two main categories of Get-You-Through-School Jobs: Daycare and Sales. Recently, I inserted both feet into my mouth when I made a comment at a social gathering in which I said something like, “You will all know I’m down and out when I’m working at a daycare and selling Mary Kay.” About the time the words left my mouth, I realized that one of the girls sitting there currently does not one, but BOTH of these things. But, as I stammered an explanation that I hoped would lessen the offense I was sure I had issued, I realized this situation just proves the point of the value of an education. She enjoys working at a daycare and she likes selling Mary Kay. She has a college education and is delighted that she gets to do exactly what she wants to do. I have a college education and am delighted that I get to do exactly what I want to do—and I assure you it is not the dream she is living. I love being a speech pathologist. I get to work with people one-on-one. I get to work in education, but with a medical twist to it. I get to learn about science-y things, but not to a crazy detailed extent. It’s the perfect job for me. God bless college.

K-Kittens. See, the problem I have with kittens—although they are unbelievably cute—is that they grow up into cats. We had cats growing up, but they were of the outside-mousing-hissing-scratch-the-heck-out-of-you variety versus the inside-lovable-watch-the-kitty-chase-the-yarn variety. There’s a big difference. I remember one day my older brother and I saw one of the uncatchable kittens (they were all uncatchable kittens) underneath the climbing rope that hung from our swing set. In all of our seven- and eight-year-old stealth, we decided to carefully sneak up on it to lovingly hold it in our arms. We moved ever so slowly towards it, all the more awed as we moved closer and closer without it running away. Feeling pretty proud of ourselves, we observed that the cat’s mouth was open as if it were smiling—like it wanted to play with us. It wasn’t until we got within arm’s length that we first suspected that something was awry with the very still kitty. Even so, my brother reached a finger under the kitten’s paw to give it a jiggle, you know, to wake it up. Upon doing so, the rigor mortis that had already settled into the kitten was quite apparent as it stiffly rose and fell back to the ground.
Looking back, I suppose our response should have been one of sadness, grief and well, at least some emotion. Instead, we both kind of sighed, pronounced it dead, and fetched mom to go and bury it before jumping on the swings and continuing with our play. I’m just not a fan of cats. Maybe this is why.

L-Love. This past August, I moved halfway across the country to go pursue a doctoral degree at the University of Nebraska. A few weeks later, my brother and his wife had a family gathering at their house to have a beard-shaving party (that’s another story…). When my parents pulled up and got out of their car, my brother noted that they were decked out in University of Nebraska garb that they had gotten when they dropped me off at school. When my brother asked my dad if they were now supporters of Nebraska, he replied, “Nope. We’re supporters of Katy.”

(My parents and the two littlest grandchildren-Ben and Emily-supporting Katy.)

M-Mirage. A friend and I were on a road trip to Seattle and the Tulip Festival. As often happens, the conversation turned to the state of our lives and, because she had just had a disappointing occurrence with a particular boy, an aura of discouragement, frustration, and hopelessness had settled over the car. Driving on the fairly deserted road between Hanford and Mattawa, I looked out the window and saw this. Hope. Suspended in mid-air, as if to say, “Hang in there girls, I’m not as elusive as you think.”