World Book Day is today! Reading has always been an integral part of my life, ever since I was a little girl. My mom especially was a particularly active reader and encouraged all of us to take up the hobby.
I remember as a child, she would usually read a story to me before bedtime. Occasionally my mom would drift off to sleep while reading. She would sometimes even start reciting sentences that didn’t even make sense. I would laugh and nudge her, “Mommy, you’re falling asleep!”
There was one book in particular that I would have her read on a recurring basis. The book was called Obstreperous by Ted Greenwood written in the 1970s.
This wasn’t my copy, just a random photo I found on the internet. (Thank you, Google!)
By the time I had inherited it, it was old, discolored and worn out. The stitched binding was loose, but the pages were still in good condition. From what I remember my mom telling me, it was actually my brother’s book before it ended up on my bookshelf instead.
I don’t know why I loved it so much. Maybe it was the illustrations and how they looked like paper collages. Or it could’ve just been the title. In fact, the book was written so as to encourage an interest in vocabulary. This is amusing, particularly because as I got older, I became obsessed with words, often hoarding our family’s 3-volume Webster’s Dictionary in my bedroom so that I could read random pages and learn as many new words as possible.
Strange, I know, but by the time I finished high school, my vocabulary and command of the English language was exponential.
Books have the power to do so many things. They can open minds, create memories and establish strong bonds between people. They can change lives. What about you? What was the last book that changed your life?
In keeping with my Goodreads goal, I’m trying to stay on top of my reading pace. March was a difficult month for extracurricular activities, so I’m about a month behind. I’m also a month behind in posting reviews on what I read. But now I’m catching up.
I read this book Coming Clean: A Memoir by Kimberly Rae Miller back in February before wedding mode really switched into high gear. It was on my reading list for years when I finally decided to read it. I’m glad I did because this was truly a thought-provoking, emotional and engaging read.
From Amazon:
“Kimberly Rae Miller is an immaculately put-together woman with a great career, a loving boyfriend, and a beautifully tidy apartment in Brooklyn. You would never guess that behind the closed doors of her family’s idyllic Long Island house hid teetering stacks of aging newspaper, broken computers, and boxes upon boxes of unused junk festering in every room—the product of her father’s painful and unending struggle with hoarding.
“In this dazzling memoir, Miller brings to life her experience growing up in a rat-infested home, hiding her father’s shameful secret from friends for years, and the emotional burden that ultimately led to her suicide attempt. In beautiful prose, Miller sheds light on her complicated yet loving relationship with her parents, which has thrived in spite of the odds.
“Coming Clean is a story about recognizing where you come from and understanding the relationships that define you. It is also a powerful story of recovery and redemption.”
I loved the Coming Clean Memoir so much that I couldn’t put it down at times. In fact, I think this is the fastest I’ve read a book by far this year, perhaps last year too.
What made this book so appealing was not only the subject matter, but her writing style. For me, both were relatable. Not to say I had a similar upbringing, but I believe my parents were kinda packrats to a lesser degree.
I think she writes with just the right balance of emotion and wit that keeps the book moving at a steady, easygoing pace. And as far as the subject matter goes, it makes you think twice about judging the people on that show Hoarders.
Disclosure
This book was purchased by me with my own money for personal enjoyment. Opinions are that of my own and not influenced by the publisher or any marketing agency.
The whirlwind that was last weekend has finally died down. Craig and I have re-inserted ourselves back into normal daily life after spending 72 hours in marital bliss. I can finally sit down and write at my desk without having glue, tulle, or floral tape stuck to my butt.
The details of that day flow into each other like washes of watercolor in my memory. The strong leather scent of my new, blue Tieks as I unpackaged them from the box. The thin layer of nervous sweat that covered Craig’s hands as he held mine during our wedding vows. The sounds of the gentle breeze rustling through the trees as we stood there in his parents backyard in front of a small crowd of our family and friends.
I always thought I would get married on a cold winter day, but a mild spring day in March seemed more perfect for us. I wore a dress that I paid for myself. It was an empire-waisted, ivory white, floor-length chiffon dress. It had intricate beading along the bust and down the back with a court-length train. It was simple from a distance, but perfect.
My “something blue” were my blue Tieks. I’ve been wanting to get a second pair so what better time than my wedding day. My “something borrowed” was the bouquet charm that my sister used for her wedding. It had a picture of our dad with a rhinestone cross and a tag that said, “Always with me.” My something old was a necklace that belonged to my grandmother, which my mom brought to me that day. All of these things were special. They represented the things that made me who I am.
When it came to my wedding, I would compromise anywhere else but the flowers. I had to have fresh flowers.
I found my florist a month earlier, a lively and pleasant woman by the name of Azar who owns Nirvana Flowers in Addison, and gave her a vision for what I wanted. I knew my dress would be simple and therefore the perfect canvas for a bold bouquet of flowers. Just like any creative, she took my vision and made it come true. My flowers were orange calla lilies, green cymbidium orchids, and blush white ranunculus. They were beautiful and bold, which is exactly what I wanted.
In the last few weeks leading up to the wedding, my friends kept asking me if Izzie would be part of our special day. Initially I hadn’t planned on it, but the closer it got, the more I realized we couldn’t not have her there.
Two weeks before the wedding, I found the perfect ceremonial attire for her. It was a white patent leather collar with a matching leash. The collar was adorned with silk flowers and crystal “bling.” The leash matched in the same way, but also had bling lettering that read, “I do too.” It was exactly what our ceremony need. If Craig wanted to marry me, he would have to marry Izzie too whether he liked it or not.
And she was such a little socialite too. We were so proud of her. Even though she did bark at people as they entered the house, it was more of a, “Hello! Welcome! Look at me down here!” kind of greeting. Still she would occasionally trot in and out of the room where I was getting ready so that she could see who she hadn’t met yet.
About 30 minutes before we were to walk down the aisle, I had my friend Christina who was also our photographer, deliver a present to Craig. It was a book I had put together and had printed, titled, “Here’s Why I’m Marrying You Today, Craig Adams.” I wanted to surprise him with something special, something that would just be for him. So I created a cute little book with caricatures made in our likeness illustrating the numerous ways why I love him so much and I wanted to marry him. And I’m so glad Christina was there to capture the moment he opened it because to be able to see the look on his face is priceless because he was over the moon about it. I think that was probably what made all the stress and the waiting worth it.
We were so happy. The event was intimate with all the important details I wanted. Our families were there and although we didn’t invite everyone we knew, we did the right thing by planning a wedding that wasn’t a financial burden on anyone else. At the same time I wanted it to reflect Craig and I, our tastes, our values and our personalities. In the end it turned out to be everything we wanted it to be.
“What time does the gym open today?” Craig asked me.
I was sitting at my desk in my office researching ink. “Ummm… I think it’s closed today,” I responded jokingly.
“Oh really?” He wasn’t amused. “It’s closed today? I highly doubt that, Miss Ice Cream. I’m still mad at you about that.” He walked away and started getting his workout clothes ready.
I rolled my eyes.When I posted that picture of that decadent bowl of ice cream yesterday after work, I knew I was gonna get it. Craig tends to get overdramatic anytime I indulge even a little bit, whether it’s a cookie or a bowl of ice cream. “Ok, come here,” I said. “We’re going to cuddle.”
It’s funny, anytime, we need to work things out, I know the best way to do this is to cuddle with him. We’re not looking at each other, but we’re physically close, which allows us to be vulnerable and honest. “Honestly, it’s just jealousy,” he said. “I’m jealous that I can’t let myself have indulgences even though I encounter them every day.”
“Ok,” I said. “So let’s talk about that. Why do you feel like you can’t do that?”
The thing is he’s obsessive about being healthy, about wanting to prolong life while avoiding death as much as possible. So when I was diagnosed with diabetes, it terrified him. He didn’t even want to even consider the possibility of me outliving him. “I don’t want us to die in our 50s, I want to live well into our 80s.”
While it was an ideal wish, it’s not something that can easily be accomplished just by eating right and exercising. Sure, it helps, but countless times there are stories of people who live perfectly healthy lives who die early on in life because of some freak accident or some unavoidable medical condition. The part that worried me the most about what he said was that his expectations were beyond our reach as mortals.
“See I think of it differently,” I said. “While I agree with you that we should try to live as long as we can, I don’t think we have that much control. Instead, I see it like this: no matter when we die, whether it’s 20 years from now or tomorrow, we should always be able to look back at our life and say, ‘Yes, I’m happy with what I’ve done so far.'”
We should live the life we want to live with no regrets.
He paused for a moment before agreeing with me. He told me someone had interviewed people with terminal illnesses and asked them to give advice to the living. Their words were sad, but the most common theme among their advice was to stop working so hard. That reminded me of something that my dad said to my mom while he was in the hospital those final days.
My dad had just retired that year after 40 years as a lab tech at a major hospital system in Dallas. It was a significant milestone, one that was celebrated by many friends and coworkers at a large reception held for him. But unfortunately, almost immediately after he retired, he became very sick. “I wish I had retired years ago,” he told my mom.
Months after he died, I was cleaning out his home office and I came across printouts of cruises and European vacations he had been researching. Apparently he planned on taking my mom on a big vacation once he retired. And because of that, to this day, I can’t imagine him saying those words to her without crying.
I sat there for a few moments in silence just thinking. Tears began to roll down my cheeks and Craig asked what was wrong. “Something reminded you of your dad?”
I nodded. I told him about what my dad had said to my mom and Craig held me tighter.
I told Craig, ever since then, I decided to live my life without fear. I grew to become a more assertive person. I tried new things. I came out of my shell and I dated different types of men I would’ve never given the time of day. I learned to be more adventurous and resourceful. I was no longer the predictable Kristine who chose the safe route, the route that everyone expected of her. I was the Kristine who took the route she felt like taking because it was her choice and no one else’s.
But I’ve learned that when it comes to indulgences, there has to be a trade off. if I’m going to indulge, it’s going to have to be worth it. Yesterday I’d had a particularly stressful day at work, after which I left early so I had a couple hours to kill before Craig would be home. I decided to try out this ice cream place where they serve Thai-style rolled ice cream. “I could’ve just as easily gone to Kroger and picked up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s for half the price but same amount of calories,” I said. “But it wasn’t just about the ice cream. It was about the experience. I loved being able to watch them make the ice cream right in front of me. That part was so cool.”
And see, that’s the thing about it for me. I don’t just want to do the same boring thing I can do any other night of the week. I want a memorable experience, like that bowl of rolled ice cream. Because when you add all those memorable experiences together, you have a life that you can look back on at any age and say to yourself, “Yeah, I think I did pretty good.”
When it comes to favorite genres, I tend to have a pretty expansive range. However, suspense and thriller is where it all started for me. A couple years ago, a coworker of mine recommended Pretty Baby by Mary Kubica. Like me, mystery and suspense novels were her favorite and after reading the synopsis I was intrigued.
Pretty Baby is set in the cold, unforgiving city of Chicago. Heidi Wood is known for her charity. Then one day she sees a homeless teenage girl standing on the train platform in the pouring rain, clutching an infant in her arms. In an instant, the girl and the baby disappear onto the train, and from then on Heidi can’t seem to get the two out of her head.
Then when Heidi encounters the girl and the baby a day later, she offers the girl food and a warm place to stay. Of course, she does this without first consulting her husband or her teenage daughter.
From the moment Willow and the infant Ruby enter their home, their pasts are a mystery. But as the clues gradually surface, what comes to light is a story so shocking that none of them could’ve ever anticipated it.
I’ve never heard of Mary Kubica before so this was my first time reading one of her novels. Her writing is very tiresome so it took me quite a while to really get into the book. But once I finally got hooked, which was about halfway into it, the pace quickened and I could read it a lot faster.
I didn’t like Heidi from the get go. Something about her character seemed very weak and pathetic to me. And, as it turns out, there was a reason why as we witness her mental health unravel. Of course I have to stop right there before I reveal too much.
Throughout her perspective I couldn’t help but sense a thick layer of pro-life propaganda settling on her character, the same way grease eventually settles on the surrounding area of a kitchen stove. But maybe it’s just the timing of when I was reading the book since there were a lot of politically-charged events going on in the news at the time.
Willow, on the other hand, seemed different. From Heidi’s point of view, she was a mystery. She was a threat. But when the story switched to Willow’s perspective, she seemed more like a lost soul.
Pretty Baby is a suspense novel told from different perspectives. The author does use interesting reverse storytelling mechanics to build suspense, but for me it wasn’t enough to overcome the writing.
Disclosure
This book was purchased by me with my own money for personal enjoyment. Opinions are that of my own and not influenced by the publisher or any marketing agency.
Pretty Baby is set in the cold, unforgiving city of Chicago. Heidi Wood is known for her charity. Then one day she sees a homeless teenage girl standing on the train platform in the pouring rain, clutching an infant in her arms. In an instant, the girl and the baby disappear onto the train, and from then on Heidi can’t seem to get the two out of her head.