The Paris Wife: Reading and Wondering, Part I

Hemingway:  the man, the myth, the power.  I have always been fascinated by his mystique, but I have given very little thought to the women who shaped him, four wives and one pretty nurse.  The Paris Wife focuses on Hadley Richardson who was Hemingway's first wife and the one during the Paris Years, and this example of historical fiction is leaving me with a hollow feeling.  To be honest, I can only read it in bits and pieces.  Maybe because I know how it ends, adultery and divorce.  

I know somewhere there will be a sense of female empowerment.  You can see where it is shaping, and in this age, I cannot imagine publishing a book about a doormat; however, the author is now showing how overwhelming Hemingway was in life and how dependent Hadley must have been.  She was emotionally attached to her dysfunctional family, never fully comprehending her father's suicide and her larger than life mother.  The fictional Hadley never felt the desire to live until she encountered the enigma of Hemingway, a man several years her junior. She was emotionally stunted and years younger in experience, so her happiness was hinged on a man who wasn't able fully to love without fear.  He left before his women could.  

At this point in the book, I just want to slap her.  As Cher says so elegantly in Moonstruck, "Snap out of it!"

Each step is a process, and we are to experience life with her, but at this certain point, I am just thankful not to be married to writer in Paris during the 20s and dealing with his emotional issues.  Greek tragedy is based on catharsis, and this book, in a way, is cathartic.  Her obsession is allowing  me to clear my own mind of the relationship garbage that seems to creep in and makes me doubt myself.  In that sense, this is a good book for me, right now, but if only I could yell at her to stop and regroup.  Don't build your life around one person, Hadley. People are fallible, and they will break your heart if you only live for the myth you create in your own mind. She can't hear me.  She is too torn between being the Victorian child or the "modern" woman in Paris.  She thought she could save him.  Poor Hadley, because thanks to Oprah, we know he is the only one who can save himself.  

Maybe this is why I haven't made a life commitment since my divorce until recently.  Love is scary and dangerous.  It is scary to lose yourself into one person.  It is even worse to lose yourself in the ideas of  the life you want but not fully realized.  You become a shell or ghost; a shade just going through the motions.  Your home is filled with the shadows of the possibilities of life but nobody is fully living.  Love shouldn't turn you into less than what you really are.

So far, Hadley is merely a shade mirroring the life being lived by Hemingway.  Hopefully, soon the pages will reveal a stronger voice and one worth hearing.  

To be continued...

Everybody Has Got Their Problems...

That was said to me this week,and it is so true.  Sometimes we get caught up in our own world that we forget that everybody is mired in their own quagmires of reality.  Bills need to get paid.  People die.  Cars crash or break down.  Hearts are broken.  Before we say a harsh word or make an assumption, maybe should we take a moment and remember everybody has got their problems.  Your world may be in discord, but so is that woman over there and also that man in the back.  We are all strangely united in joy and in pain.

I know this won't make our own struggles easier.  Only faith, hope, and love can do that, but maybe we are here to make their loads a little lighter.  What can we do to bring a smile?

Sadness on a Sunny Day

He sent a friend request on Saturday on Facebook, but I didn't find it until yesterday.  Email buried under several others.  He died on Tuesday.  I couldn't breathe, I just couldn't.  This is unreal.  He was a sweet, gentle man, and I cannot imagine his final days or  the fear as he faced his final moments.  I am dedicating the following video to him.  He sang it for me once.

Too Soon

Two weeks ago, two classmates died within days of each other and were at the funeral home at the same time.  I dressed in my funeral black and paid my respects to both.

Easter Sunday one of my best friends from high school died.  He was gone in a blink, and I was unable to say good bye.

This week a friend of mine was murdered by his wife.

In the process of it all, I stop, I grieve, and then I go to soccer practice or work or church or to the store.  Every step is a reminder that they are gone, and I will never see them again.  Every step reminds me I have miles to go before I sleep, but they are now still.

Every step makes me takes a deep breath of gratitude, and I move forward.

The Roads That Lead to Us

A few months ago the county decided my neighborhood needed a new bridge.  Turns out we were about to fall in the creek.  During the time of our bridgeless existence, we had a fake road that was built where the trains once ran.  As of yesterday, our bridge is operational, and our fake road now leads nowhere.  They took out a section because it was causing flooding issues; however, for a brief time, it was the road that led to us.  To me, that makes it important.  Thing One captured it for a 4-H photo essay, and it reminds me how sometimes we find beauty in the most unexpected places.  What was once so inconvenient is now a refuge.  Peace and beauty are present in every turn.

I now must search my heart for the moments I hide. This Easter I must look and acknowledge the fears and pain that has taken up residence in the darkest corners.  Open and welcome the tears because I know some of my greatest victories were born from these unguarded moments.  Sweep away the cobwebs and embrace the blessings God gives me.

The Simple Cook Strikes Again

Tonight is the end of my mini-spring break.  Due to snow, we only were allowed two days off, and those days were spent landscaping my grandmother's backyard and every day chores that don't seem to get done every day.  Yesterday I was able to take Thing One and Thing Two to my cousin's for lunch and a play date with her babies.  There are several years between our children, but the Things had a blast with their "baby" cousins, and the baby cousins loved playing with the big kids.  We live several hours apart, so days like yesterday are special.  I am moving closer to her in a few months, and I really hope we can get together more often.

Today was a lazy day that consisted of our Easter Cantata, two meals cooked, housework, and I finally planted my herbs.  Somewhere in there, Thing One and I walked three miles on the temporary road leading to our house.  Our bridge is being reworked so we have a fake road where the trains once ran.  We basically drive four miles to go one, but the views are amazing.

You may be asking what does this have to do with my cooking or lack of cooking skills.  During my too-short-vacation, I purchased my first copy of Cooking School magazine from the Taste of Home, and I am impressed.  The recipes are basically idiot proof.  This magazine is one I will keep and not recycle. I find many foodie or cooking magazines pretentious, but this one is true to the idea that it can make you a better cook.   Each page is filled with one idea after another with helpful hints that even I can do.  I also like the fact the magazine is broken down into easy to find categories.  I am currently planning a wedding party brunch and Easter dinner, and I am able to find what I need as I need it.  Basically, I am impressed.  I have already tried several recipes this weekend, and the breakfast pizza was a hit with kids and grandmother (tough crowd) and Provolone Chicken Sandwiches were amazingly easy and yummy.  I always expect something good with Taste of Home, and the Cooking School Magazine didn’t let me down.  I will be buying the next issue.

http://www.tasteofhome.com/cooking-schools

My Mother's Daughter

I told a person, who once was in life, I was getting married, and in passing I mentioned the groom's politics which was greeted with a the comment, "Well, I guess you are now just like your mother."
Wait, did I hear sarcasm there?  Oh, wait, you aren't giving a compliment, are you?  Oh, due to the fact, she doesn't believe the same as you then she must be wrong.  You need a villain in your story, and you choose those who don't measure up to your personally developed standards, which have done you wonders.  I'm sorry, but it would be honor to be like my mother.

 She is brave.  She has battled several diseases with courage and grace.  No matter how bad things have gotten, she has never felt sorry for herself.   She doesn't feel the need to moan and groan about the lot life has given her. Instead, she moves forward to the next day with gratitude.

She is honest.  She lives her life in completely honesty, and yes, sometimes, I would rather hear a more peaceful truth, but it is always easier to live in fantasy than in reality.  She is a woman of integrity and honor, and she lives her life behind closed doors as she would in the public square.

She is smart.  She can talk politics, religion, entertainment, and philosophy, but she doesn't have to hear her own voice to prove to others she is capable.

She is generous and loving.  I have seen her give her last fifty to a former student.  She has sacrificed time and time again for her family.   Even when it hard for her to get up in the morning, she is there for those who need her. For the past eight years, she has supported me as I faced one life changing event after another.  Sometimes she may be vocal with her opinion, but her judgement is sound and done with love.

She is my mommy.  I will not apologize for being close with her.  Even when we don't see eye to eye, I know her love is true.  It is with pride I say I am my mother's daughter.