Book - "The Children of Willesden Lane"

A new friend at church handed me a book ("The Children of Willesden Lane", by Monda Golabek and Lee Cohen) and said, "I think you'll enjoy reading this."

I thought it was so nice that she had thought of me. We sing in choir together and she knows that I play the piano. I was impressed to see that 14 names had been signed on the inside cover, people my friend had shared her book with.

Still, I wasn't convinced. I hadn't been in a reading "mood" (I go in phases.). I was also a little overwhelmed by the cover and the title, "The Children of Willesden Lane" with the subtitle "Beyond the Kindertransport: A Memoir of Music, Love, and Survival." That is quite a mouthful, including one word I wasn't sure how to pronounce ("Willesden") and one I had never heard of ("Kindertransport"). It looked and sounded like it would be intense and a little depressing. Because I am such a slow reader, I tend to get a little lazy. I have a hard time starting books that may take me a while (and a lot of thinking) to get through.

I finally felt the pressure of needing to buckle down and read the book so I could return it to my friend. What a pleasant surprise to discover that it wasn't a "tough read"--I was quickly hooked. It is the story of Jewish young woman in Austria who is practicing to become a great pianist like her mother. She has to give up her music for a while when she escapes to England before World War II on the Kindertransport. She finds her way back to the piano as soon as she can.

What made it even more fun was to see the comments and underlined passages of previous readers. I never mark in my books, but I loved the insights and this connection with other readers. Most pages were not this heavily marked, but this is an example from two pages towards the end of the book.

I enjoyed the book so much I wrote a thank you note to my friend. Here is what it said:

Thanks so much for sharing this book with me. I started it hesitantly, not knowing what to expect, but it quickly won me over. I wish I had a CD to go along with the book so I could feel the music along with the characters. I did get on the computer and looked up some of the songs. I rarely listen to classical music, but was reminded of how beautiful and powerful it can be. Yesterday I played through Chopin's Prelude in E min. (p. 9), and today I think I need to pull out Debussy's Clair de Lune (pp. 20, 87) again. I didn't have the drive to practice for three hours each day (!!), but I am so grateful to be able to play. Thanks again for sharing this story with me and reminding me to be grateful for all that I have (and to sit down and do some real practicing and playing!)

Before I returned the book to my friend, I had to pass it on to Anne, another reader and music-lover. She also loved it and said she would enjoy reading it again.

Since this book was such a pleasant surprise, I decided to check my stack of "To Be Read" books. I pulled out a book that has been on the shelf for a few years. Anne had loaned it to be to read and return so long ago that she hardly recognized the book when I finally did return it (oops).

Anne's book was called, "The Road From Home: A True Story of Courage, Survival and Hope." It is the story of a young Armenian girl who flees her homeland during World War I. It tells of the Armenia genocide, an event I was unfamiliar with (How sad is my lack of knowledge as it pertains to history!). Can you see why I might have hesitated to start this book?

Again, I was so glad that I read this book. Because it was written from the voice of a young girl and was targeted for young audiences, it was perfect for me. I have a hard time remembering history. Stories like these two help me put myself in that time and place for an extended time (slow reader, remember?) and make it more real. In fact, these are not just stories, but were real events. And I am better for having learned about them.

The Intimacy of Smell

Last week I finished reading a book by my favorite author of young adult novels, Shannon Hale. It is called "Book of a Thousand Days" and is not part of a series. According to the inside cover, "...this little-known classic fairy tale from the Brothers Grimm is reimagined and reset on the central Asian steppes...."

The main character of the story describes a custom of her people:
"In greeting, we always clasp forearms, touch cheeks, and inhale through our noses so as to breathe in each other's scent"
[I did a little online research and discovered that this really is a customary greeting of the Polynesian island nation, Tuvalu.]
"Smell is the voice of the soul, and this greeting is the most intimate. It's common among family and clan, of course, but I've been on my own for so long, I'd forgotten how warm and wonderful it is" (p. 173).

I find this a fascinating greeting. I can see that it is so intimate that it would be reserved for those dearest to you. As I reflected on various greetings, I found it interesting how we can use all the senses as we greet those close to us. Sight, sound ("Hello"), and touch (hand shake, hug) are natural greetings. But we also include taste (While a kiss is not much of a "taste" of someone else, I know I have experienced a "taste" of my children after kissing a slightly salty forehead.).

Why should smell not be included in our greetings? I often found myself inhaling the newborn baby scent of my boys. What surprised me was how much I would continue to inhale their scent, long after it morphed from newborn to little boy.

"...As we gripped arms, he pulled me closer, resting his cheek against mine, and inhaled through his nose, taking in the breath of my soul" (p. 213).

Before I became a mother, a coworker of mine had told me that she loved the smell of her kids when she leaned in to wake them up in the morning-even when their scent was slightly less than ideal. At the time I thought it was strange. Now, I think I get it. We want to experience those we love with all five senses. We want the memory of them to stick with us, always.

"Things worn closeset to the skin, to the heart, carry the scent of a person, and of course, scent is the breath of the soul" (p. 48-49).

I finished reading this book the week before Brett left. I had noticed in the past that I would breathe in Brett's clean scent, resting my head against his chest in a hug. Last week, I found that I was more intentional--like I wanted to breathe in a part of him and keep that part of him with me while he is away. I would be close to him like that thinking, "I miss him already."

Now I am left to think something along these lines:
"Is it wrong for me to imagine laying my head on his chest and closing my eyes and breathing in his smell?" (p. 214).

Just to clarify: I have no desire to smell Brett as he is currently sure to be smelling.... I would prefer to breathe in the clean "breath of his soul".

Alternate Song Lyrics - by Ryan

New words to the Christmas carol "The First Noel" sung by Ryan--loudly, in bed, when he should be sleeping...  "God is the king of Israel. Oh well, Oh well. Oh well. Oh well. God is the king of Israel."

This was followed by a pretty good rendition of the chorus from "Angels We Have Heard on High", i.e. "Glo-o-o-o-o-o-ria. In excelsis Deo."

Which was followed by a hymn he is currently learning at church, "Choose the Right."

It's too bad this kid doesn't like to sing. I mean, it's too bad this kid says he doesn't like to sing. He's really pretty good at it.

Everybody Dance Now

If I believed in reincarnation, I would say...
In my past life I was a dancer.
Or perhaps, in my next life I will be a dancer. I can feel it in my bones.

But since I don't believe in reincarnation, it is left for me to say...
In my dreams, I am a dancer.
Or perhaps, I fantasize of being able to dance.

Not that becoming a dancer is on my list of realistic dreams or life goals. It's not. At all. I'm not creative enough to be a real dancer. And it's too late to teach me how. But who knows? Maybe someday I will have enough guts to go back and take a dance class sans partner.

I took two dance classes in college, many moons ago. I took a clogging class my first semester of college--which I hated. Until it was over. Then I loved it. I still have my shoes tucked away in the corner of my closet. I broke them out about ten years ago to participate in a talent show at church with my dear friend, Janice. We did a routine to an Alison Krauss song and had so much fun.

My last semester at BYU I took a folk dance class, which I loved from the beginning. I was sorry that I didn't take folk dance my first semester and continue taking classes while I was there. A minor regret.

Nowadays I only pretend to dance maybe once a week, for about five minutes, when no one is home, and a song comes on the radio that gets me moving.

On Saturday Todd had a birthday party at the skating rink. Instead of just dropping Todd off and leaving, I paid for Ryan and myself to do some rollerblading.

Most mornings I take Copper rollerblading after the boys get on the bus. I really enjoy it, but it still feels like exercise.

When I am skating in a rink it feels like Dancing.

I don't love all the music; and why, oh why, would you give kids whistles at a birthday party??? Still, I had so much fun "dancing" around the rink for almost three hours with very few breaks.

I will go on the record to say that there is something so attractive about a man who can dance. There was an off-duty employee at the rink who was easily the best skater on the floor. My eyes were drawn to him all afternoon. Half of it was, mmmmm it is so nice to watch him move--and the other half of it was, I'm so envious of how easy he makes it look!

Lest I injure Brett's feelings . . . Brett, the kid was probably fifteen years younger than I am. And I wasn't attracted to him, just his dancing. Ultimately, to quote George Strait, "I just want to dance with you." What do you say? Maybe you could be my partner for that dance class I want to take someday.

Really, what do you think?


That's what I thought.

I can still fantasize.

Bulbous Bouffant . . . Macadamia

I got to see my twin sister Lisa in Utah this past November. Okay, so she's not really my twin. In fact, she's nine years younger than I am. In other words, she's like fifteen--or something close to that. But whenever we get together with the family we are undoubtedly called by the other's name. All.The.Time. Especially by Mom. So, we decided to have a little fun with it. Lisa straightens her thicker-than-mine hair every day. Every Day. This was the second time in my life I had straightened my hair. I am just too apathetic--and lazy, I've concluded.

What do you think? Can you see the sisterly resemblance?

Lisa straightened my hair the night before I flew back home. That day I enjoyed the silky smooth feeling of my new hair and looked forward to seeing what Brett thought about it.

As you may know, Winter has passed us by this year. We have been enjoying the season called "Humid" for months now, with very brief reprieves. The night that Brett picked me up from the airport in the convertible was no exception. By the time we got home, there was only a hint of the formerly silky smooth hair. By morning, all traces of it were gone. Ah, Florida.

I got three inches of my hair cut off this week, and we haven't had a dry day since. Which means that somehow I am sporting what I can only describe as a modified bouffant.

It's not exactly a bulbous bouffant, but when considering my hair this morning I couldn't help but think of this "song". The first year that Brett and I were married we lived in Tallahassee and drove "home" once or twice a month. Sometimes on the drive we were rewarded with a little Dr. Demento time on the radio. That is when I discovered this gem. Just saying the word "bouffant" brings back memories.

Be forewarned. It's catchy.

(And, just for fun, here's another one of Brett's favorites.)
(Why stop there? Brett, this one's for you.)