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As I was leaving my neighborhood library, the Old Colorado City Branch of the Pikes Peak Library District, two shelves with books wrapped in newspaper caught my eye. They were near the backdoor in what seemed an out of the way location for a holiday display, although I realized it’s far too early to be in that mindset. Then I saw the sign: “Blind Date With A Book.”
The concept is to check out a wrapped book without knowing its title. I was intrigued. I picked up a couple of books/packages in much the same way I’d consider which gift to open first on my birthday or Christmas. Did I really want to commit to something I knew absolutely nothing about? What if it was one I’d already read? Yet, in a way, starting a book is very similar to a blind date anyway; there’s always a sense of the unknown, of possibilities and disappointments.
I considered another blind date. It’s how I met my husband, and that’s turned out very well. So, I decided to take my chances. I was paired with Now and Forever by Ray Bradbury. I haven’t read anything by Bradbury since my high school days, but this book contains two previously unpublished novellas: Somewhere a Band is Playing and Leviathian ’99.
I laughed when I opened book. It was dedicated to two women, which didn’t strike me as a very auspicious way to begin a date.
I’ll review the date, I mean, the novellas in a separate post.
If there’s ever a contest for creating the most unusual topping combination for pizza, The Secret Stash Pizza in Crested Butte is definitely in the running.
It’s hard to fathom why anyone — over the age of 12 — would only consider pepperoni or sausage with such varied possibilities as the Mac Daddy: a combination of Thousand Island dressing, lettuce, red onions, pickles and shaved beef. Or, the New Potato Caboose: traditional sauce, roasted potato, bacon, green onion, cheddar and sour cream. We opted for the Figalicious/Notorious F.I.G., featuring, of course, figs, bleu cheese, asiago cheese, prosciutto and truffle oil. In keeping with the ious-motif, it was delicious. It was also decadently rich. The sweet figs countered the saltiness of the prosciutto and the cheeses bound everything together.
The Secret Stash, located at the western end of Elk Street, has been part of the Crested Butte dining scene since 2002. In June, the owners plan to move to a larger location in the center of town.
In addition to the variety of imaginative pizzas, the Stash has an eclectic décor, as if perhaps its name came from the idea of being a receptacle for anything funky, fun or startling. Vintage photos, knick knacks, all manner of kitsch adorn the restaurant. A surfboard, bust of King Tut and miniature Volkswagen bus rested on a shelf above our table. There was more, much, much more, but my eyes kept returning to Tut, and my taste buds kept enjoying the pizza combos.
The Secret Stash Pizza
Four Plates
2 Elk Ave.
Crested Butte, CO
When our boys were little, and not so little, we read to them. Often, that wasn’t enough for our middle son, Tim, who insisted on a special story as he was tucked into bed each night. These were the Tim Stories, and each one always began the same way: Once upon a time there was a little boy named Tim whose parents loved him very much…
I don’t remember when the Tim Stories stopped, but the reading aloud continued for many, many years. We read at night. We read in the car on road trips. We read on camping trips, in tents when it rained or by the campfire with the help of a flashlight when it was clear. We read series written by C.S. Lewis, Lemony Snicket and J.K. Rowlands. Heck, we had a book we read during dinner for a while. It was a fun one about manners (Do I have to Say Hello by Delia Ephron). We read a lot out loud.
Reading has always been hard for Tim. Although he struggled with it in school, he developed some great strategies. He is an excellent listener, he discovered books on tape, and he learned to ask questions for clarification, for help. He studied with tutors. He worked more than his brothers, harder than his friends or anyone else around.
This week Tim graduates from college — early. And, he still knows a good story when he hears one: Once upon a time there was a young man named Tim whose parents love him very much…
When I was growing up my brothers and I had to finish everything on our plates before we could leave the dinner table. Some nights I was there for hours. As I struggle to finish a book that is neither well-written, interesting, nor can compete with the demands of daily life, I feel as if I am stuck at the table again.
Years ago I gave myself permission to try the 50-page test with books. If I wasn’t hooked within the first 50 pages, it was time to find something new. That worked for a while, but then I regressed. Recently, I found myself struggling with a book recommended by a friend whose reading list I respect. I made it through 10 pages, but it took a lot of time. I crawled through another 20 pages, put the book down, gave myself a few days and tried again. I actually reached page 118, but I didn’t enjoy a word of it: it felt like punishment. I’m returning the book to the library.
I obviously have the if-you-start-something-see-it-through ethic. I began to consider things I have no reservations walking away from: bad service in a restaurant, bad attitudes from clerks in stores, bad food that appears in front of me. With my kids, the rule was to at least try what was on the plate. I’m going to make a better effort at following that same advice when it comes to books, and not be so reluctant to move on.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to wait to acknowledge the first anniversary of The Blue Page Special next month, or do a shout out for this my 100th post. Then I thought, hey I can do both — if I want. It’s a cool milestone: 100 posts. Along the way I’ve experienced some great and not-so-good books and meals, discovered new blogs and learned more about myself.
Mostly, I’m grateful for my readers. Some are family members; many are people I’ve known for years and still others are new-found friends who simply share a common interest in books and/or food. I must admit, though, I was thrilled when the number of followers I’ve never met began to slowly (very slowly) surpass those I know personally. This is not meant to disparage my friends, because I appreciate your support more than I can express. Rather, it’s just an odd sense of validation.
I’d love to be able to make a living writing about books and food, or just books, or just food. Instead, I teach at a community college (something I enjoy a lot), read as much as possible (something essential in my life), dine out more than I should (something I find exceptionally enjoyable), and love my family (something self-explanatory). Although only one of those helps pay any bills, my blog has made me more disciplined in my writing and my readers have made me want to be as creative, honest and as worthy of your time as possible. Thanks for being part of the ride.
The smoke and flames rose into the sky beginning Saturday afternoon. As the
proverbial crow flies, the fire was probably five miles from my home, and many
friends live in areas of imminent danger. They were evacuated immediately. In
the early hours of Sunday morning the entire town of nearby Manitou Springs
was evacuated. Although residents there were allowed home less than 24 hours
later, it was unsettling for everyone. As neighborhoods around our home received
evacuation notifications, my husband and I discussed what we would take: not
surprisingly, photos and family mementos topped the list. When we got word we
were in a pre-evac area, it was time to really consider what to pack. This difficult
task was made even more daunting by the fact that by this point thousands of people
had been displaced and many had lost their homes.
We have shelves and shelves of books. Looking at them I knew I would not be able
to select just a few to carry away. Only one of our sons is home from college this
summer. He packed a box filled with what he called his “theatre and geek books.”
My husband packed his Bible. I looked at my nightstand stacked high; I searched
the shelves near my desk, in the living room, in the study. I even looked at the titles
my absent sons have in their rooms.
Finally, like a scene from Moonrise Kingdom, I packed the library books in a suit-
case. What books would you take?
I’ve always loved to read, but there are times I just can’t bring myself to pick
up a book. Suffering overwhelming grief, experiencing mind-numbing fatigue,
and finishing an exceptionally well-written book have all, at one time or anoth-
er, contributed to a reading lull. I’ve had a bit of trouble picking up a book since
finishing The Dovekeepers. This made me think about other books that have
stopped me in my reading tracks*: Cutting for Stone, The Night Circus, A Prayer
for Owen Meany, among others, I’m sure.
Occasionally there are times I stop reading a particularly good passage just to
relish the image or writing. This happens frequently when I read Barbara King-
solver. But that’s pleasurable. I truly do savor good books. I get lost in them. I
think about them. I want characters to move into my home. Some stories I just
don’t want to end. When the especially good ones do, I sulk. I want more of the
same, not something new.
Perhaps I’ve been over-reading, a concept I’ve never really considered until now.
Is it possible to read too much? I hope not, but I am satiated from my last read,
and I’ve been reluctant to start anything new. Fortunately, this usually doesn’t
last long.
When I can’t read, no matter what the reason, I feel unmoored. The great thing
about books, though, is that I know there are others certain to stop me yet again.
I can’t wait.
*This is obviously taking that end-of-a-good-book feeling to the extreme.
This week my younger brother reaches a milestone birthday. Late last year he published
a book. Both of these events are significant, but it’s the latter that makes me exceptionally
proud and very jealous. He wrote a book! And it’s published! Although I have the copy he
gave me, when I saw the book in a bookstore, I was thrilled beyond words – so I took a
photo.
Once I decided to start my blog I knew I did not want to review meals made by friends or
myself, and I thought I should not review books written by friends or family members. I
didn’t really think the issue would arise regarding books by people I know; but it has, and
I feel the same. I don’t want to review my brother’s book because of my background as a
journalist and my, perhaps misplaced, desire for objectivity. I can say with all sincerity he
has written an attractive, informative book about architect Wallace Neff whose fascinating
building process involved the use of balloons and concrete. I’d never heard of this before.
I can say the book is well-researched and well-written. But I can’t, I won’t, rate it because
to say I love it could be misconstrued as sisterly-love-induced bias. Conversely, if I say I
despise it that could be chalked up to good old fashioned sibling rivalry. I don’t hate it, and
I do love my brother.
Happy Birthday, Jeffrey! Keep writing. You make me envious – and proud!
No Nails, No Lumber: The Bubble Houses of Wallace Neff
By Jeffrey Head
Princeton Architectural Press, 2011
176 pages
I’m a writing tutor at a community college. It’s at once rewarding, challenging,
and, sometimes, frustrating. In a break from rhetorical analyses and summaries,
a student, with the aid of an ASL interpreter, asked for reading help. Initially
I recommended a reading tutor, but soon realized she was more interested in
books than the process.
“I don’t know how I should feel at the end of the book,” she explained.
Her face revealed she was being neither ironic nor sarcastic; she was earnest.
I was silent. What should you feel at the end: joy, relief, disappointment?
“It’s pretty subjective,” I finally answered. “So much depends on the book and
where you are in your life. Some books I don’t want to end; the good ones I think
about long after setting it down for the last time. Others make want me to read
something better where I can know the characters, revel in the language, be awed
by the images, or just enjoy the story. Sometimes after finishing an exceptional
book, I don’t even want to read anything new for a while.”
Her rapid hand movements interrupted me, “But have you read any famous books?”
The inquiry seemed sincere. “I read a lot,” I said, “including books that could be
considered famous.”
For a moment she was still before she scrunched her face, moving her lips and
her hands at the same time. “Like Harry Potter?”
“Sure, like Harry Potter,” I said. “I read those to my kids, at the end we couldn’t
wait for the next one.”
Was that it? Did she really just want to know how she should feel at the end of
Harry Potter?
We all shrugged our shoulders.
It left me wanting to read a good book, one I can’t put down. How should you feel
when you finish a book?
With so many recent literary references to tigers it’s easy to think
The Tiger’s Wife has something to do with Asia. That’s not the
case with Tea Obreht’s lyrical, engaging debut novel. Instead, she
writes about fear, imagination, survival, and war’s shadow – on an-
other continent altogether.
The title’s namesake and the “deathless man” are told like fairytales
along with the narrator’s, Natalia, desire to know the circumstances
of her much-loved grandfather’s death. These tales also figure promi-
nently in how he lived his life; he was a doctor and survived an earlier
war. It’s his demise that propels Natalia, and even though death is a
constant throughout the book, it is not disheartening.
Natalia, too, is a young physician in a devasted eastern European
country, whose story begins with her memories of going to the zoo
with her grandfather: to see the tigers. Other animals are mentioned,
but the tigers drive their visits. As Natalia grows up, the threat of war
is never far removed, yet she is surprised at her cavalier attitude
toward it. Later, when she treats children orphaned by war, she still
never appears to believe it’s real.
Although, she’s preoccupied with her grandfather’s death, the more
she looks for understanding, the more she explains the myths he shar-
ed. There actually was a tiger and a young girl known as its wife in
the grandfather’s childhood village. By contrast, the deathless man
was known only to the grandfather, and Natalia clearly wants to know
more about both men.
Four Bookmarks
Random House, 2011
338 pages
The Blue Page Special 