Sorry Jazzy couldn’t make an appearance today. She’s off looking for Boxing Day Wine Sales. Meanwhile, here’s a Christmas dozen from Facebook pages. And after this we will not mention the C word again for at least eleven months.
“So alive, I swear the pages of this wickedly funny and moving novel are breathing.” —Caroline Leavitt
The Good House by Ann Leary is about Hildy Good, a sixty year old divorced realtor, mother, grandmother, and descendant of a Salem witch. She lives in a small New England town where she has a knack for reading people and is a successful business woman. She is also an alcoholic in complete denial of her addiction. The fact that she goes solo skinny-dipping and drunk-driving, makes rambling phone calls in the middle of the night, loses periods of time to blackouts, passes out in her cellar and has excruciating hangovers – is all perfectly normal sober behaviour – or so she would have us believe. She is a lonely woman who is her own worst enemy, making mistake after mistake until my pity and concern for her turned to exasperation and I just wanted to yell at her and give her a good shake. I guess that’s proof that she is a well drawn and believable character, just like her new best friend Rebecca who is also incredibly needy and unhappy and having an affair with Peter, the town psychiatrist. Frank, the handyman who grew up with Hildy seems to me to be the only character with any sense. And even he doesn’t have enough of it to make him steer clear of Hildy for his own good.
If all that sounds “wickedly funny” to you, then I guess you will enjoy this book. But I enjoyed it too without ever once laughing out loud at anything in it. I suppose I just don’t find addictions all that funny. Then there is a bit of a twist at the end which I didn’t see coming, so that was a pleasant surprise.
The book is very well written as a rambling account of how things happened from Hildy’s point of view, both drunk and sober. Often I wasn’t sure which details were real and which were vivid but drunken hallucinations. I also wanted more closure at the end, but maybe sometimes it’s a good thing to find yourself staring at that last page wondering what happens next. The reader is left hoping Hildy is finally going to pull herself together. And at the same time not caring enough to anticipate a sequel. Strange book. Good, but not funny.
I’ve seriously over-dosed on lettuce today! Is that possible? Does ones face turn green when that happens? I’m afraid to look in a mirror.
There was extra spinach in my smoothie this morning because it’s on the verge of wilting and I wanted to get rid of it. Then I used up all the already washed lettuce in the fridge, packing it into a lunch container with a few other salad type things and ate that at work this afternoon.
And when I came home from work, there was a caesar salad ready to be tossed and eaten, so guess what happened with that. W has been making meals, and I am not going to discourage him. I think I might try to get him to lighten up a little on the cocktails and wine though. He already has drinks poured before I’m in the door, and while I certainly do appreciate it, and drink them down to avoid hurting his feelings, I think there’s a few too many calories involved in this practice.
There has been some serious discussion in our family about making a pilgrimage to Greece sometime next year, and riding up a mountain on a donkey. If the donkey part of it is going to happen for me, I think shedding a few pounds is definitely necessary. I would hate for my donkey to be the only one that doesn’t complete the journey.
So, less wine, more lettuce. Some lovely Grecian donkey is going to thank me for this one fine day.
Also, on a completely different brain fart, FRESH EGGS WHEN THEY’RE BOILED ARE HARDER TO PEEL THAN EGGS THAT HAVE BEEN IN THE FRIDGE FOR A WEEK OR SO. I looked this up, and my friend Laura is right. Even though she did not grow up on a farm she knows what she’s talking about when it comes to egg boiling and peeling, unlike the person who tried to convince her the egg peeling thing was the other way around and that fresh eggs are more easily peeled. Really. Even someone like me who doesn’t care one way or the other knows that you don’t boil fresh eggs, you boil the old ones you’ve had hanging around in the fridge for so long you’re afraid they’ll go bad if you don’t do something with them very soon.
And once they’re boiled and peeled (try doing it under cold running water – that works for me) and mashed up with mayo into egg salad, you can make a sandwich and use up a bunch of old LETTUCE.
Sorry for all the shouting, but some things just beg to be emphasized.
Ooookay, this lettuce and alcohol diet could be the next big craze. I’d get into anti-oxidants and electrons and free radicals and maybe even superoxide dismutase, catalase and peroxiredoxins, but I’m sorry I’ve had entirely too much wine and can’t even pronounce that shit right now.
W is loading the dishwasher and putting the leftover lettuce and wine in the fridge for tomorrow. I feel like I’ve lost about five pounds just sitting here writing about it.