Monthly Archives: August 2017

Reading Materials: August 2017

39. The Zookeeper’s Wife, Diane Ackerman. (Digital Library) I did not love this book. I appreciated that it was a true story, but there were just too many rabbit-holes. The author would introduce a very minor character, and then spend several pages giving that person’s biography. It made the story clunky.

40. Duma Key, Stephen King. (Library, Book Club Selection) I enjoy Stephen King books; I am not a fanatic about them. I read (and loved) The Stand, The Gunslinger series, and Bag of Bones. I have read many others, and liked them plenty, but King is not in my personal pantheon. That said, this is one of the better ones I’ve read. It’s a doorstop of a novel – nearly 800 pages – but it moves quickly and efficiently from one plot point to the next. I may have felt especial empathy for the main character because he searches for words in the same way my mother does. Most of the novel is creepy, but not outright scary – until you get to the last 25% or so. I stayed up late to finish it and then had nightmares. I’m sure Mr. King would consider that a compliment.

41. Hillbilly Elegy, J.D. Vance. (Kindle Purchase) In college, I dated a guy from rural southeastern Ohio. I spent a lot of time there, including a whole summer. Additionally, I lived for three years in rural northwest Alabama. Many of Vance’s observations rang true for me – hollowed-out towns with boarded-up main streets, hollowed-out people whose futures left when the plant closed. I loved Vance’s straightforward storytelling, which eschews flowery language in favor of the unvarnished truth. Sentences like “I watched my mom get loaded into a police cruiser” really don’t need embellishment to be disturbing. This book has been on my to-read list for a long time, since I heard an interview with Vance on a podcast earlier this year. I’m so, so glad I read it.

42. All the Birds in the Sky, Charlie Jane Anders. (Purchased) This was a summer reading selection at our (delightful) independent bookstore, the Midtown Reader. The description – Science vs. Magic! Romance on the brink of global catastrophe! – ticked all my boxes, but the book was not what I expected. That said, I thoroughly enjoyed it and have selected it for my own book club to read later this fall. It was funnier than I expected, though I feel its young adult category may be a stretch. It had some very, um, adult portions. I would not be comfortable with my 14-year-old reading it.

43. All Together Dead, Charlaine Harris. (Gift) Palate cleanser. Perfectly entertaining fluff. Great way to end the month.

2017 Totals
Fiction: 36
Non-Fiction: 7

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A Study in Pink

Our house is basically a side-hall farmhouse, but it has a fourth room downstairs that defies logic at every turn. We’ve been befuddled by it since we bought the house, and have finally made some progress in taming it. It’s the green area below:

Side Hall 2

Originally, I believe this room was R.A. Gray’s study, as he mentions having a study at home several times in his autobiography, and there’s really no other conceivable purpose for it. This room is 10′ x 13′, and originally opened onto a small porch, but a previous owner enclosed the porch part to make a nursery for his daughter (more on that in a moment).

When we moved in, Hollyn chose this space for her bedroom – partly because she’ll be moving out in two years, and partly because she’d have her own bathroom….ish.

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This is the back wall of the room. The door to the right leads to a half bathroom with the World’s Most Ludicrous Toilet. There is a mere six inch clearance between the rim of the toilet and the toilet paper holder, which means that if you need to use it, you’ll probably want to sit side-saddle. The door to the left formerly led to a closet, and is now a shower. Just. A. Shower.

That was a choice, people.

The first thing we did was rip out that carpet, which had definitely seen better days. We were delighted to find beautiful hardwoods underneath…. but there was a huge patch by the half bath, and no flooring under the enclosed porch part.

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Dagnabbit.

We replaced the carpet with one-inch hexagonal tiles, which fit the time period in which the house was built. We were inspired by all the old hex tile floors we see in Thomasville, Georgia and New Orleans.

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Next we swapped out the old fan for one that operated. Marvelous!

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Then we painted the main part of the room. Hollyn asked for a neutral color, so we went with our old friend Steamed Milk.

Finally it was time to turn our attention to the most frustrating part of the room, which I will call the nook. Remember when I talked about the enclosed porch space that became a nursery? This is it. Hollyn has her bed at one end of the nook and her closet space at the other.

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When I get stressed I find it helpful to make a list. I made a list.

  1. Paint the walls, which were pink.
  2. Paint the trim, which was also pink.
  3. Replace the light fixtures, which were… not good.
  4. Replace the roller shade, which was busted, yo.
  5. Cover cased opening for privacy.

We dug in. As I pointed out above, the doorway wall in the nook is the same cedar-shake siding that is on the rest of the exterior of the house – and it’s a pain in the buns to paint. But you know what else is a pain in the buns to paint? Beadboard. Sweet Fancy Moses. I had to use an artist’s brush to keep the beads clear of paint glops. Both the walls and the trim required three coats of paint. I listened to many hours of podcasts in that nook.

We left the ceiling blue. It’s a nod to the Southern tradition of painting the underside of one’s porch ceiling blue, but honestly I was just d-o-n-e painting.

The light fixtures were an easy swap. They’re on dimmer switches for Maximum Drama.

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Originally, we wanted to hang some salvaged French Doors on barn tracks over the cased opening. But they would have hung at a very awkward height – and not actually done a whole lot for privacy. Instead, I hemmed the curtains from the master bedroom at our old house and hung them on a large dowel rod.

To add visual interest to this sea of cream, I stained the dowel rod dark, and chose a tatami style wooden window shade.

Here’s the nook after:

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Hollyn’s room looks much more pulled-together. All that’s left is to paint her dresser – she’s selected a deep teal – and add more colorful art to the walls.

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Since this room contains the only downstairs bathroom, it gets frequent traffic. But now it’s ready for company!

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Story Time

I was fortunate to be selected again for the August Story Slam at the Midtown Reader, our adorable independent bookstore. The theme was “heat,” and here is my interpretation of it:

Goddamn.” Jolene and her elderly car rolled into the parking spot beside her mobile home with a sigh. She pushed the car door open, listening to the metallic groaning that set some damn dog barking his damn head off.

Every. Damn. Night.

“SHUTTUP!” she yelled, slamming the door, then dropped her voice to a mutter. “I swear to God I’m gonna kill that dog.”

Jolene closed her eyes and inhaled the Friday night trailer park smell – cigarettes and beer and fried food and an electric smell that she believed was ozone from dozens of wide-screen TVs. “Why anyone needs a damn TV that big, I surely don’t know. Put a $2000 television in a $1500 trailer, I swear. Trash.”

Jolene worked the evening shift at the Waffle House – the one by the interstate, she was always quick to clarify, the nice one.  She got off around 8, counted her tip money, and drove home. Once in the safety of her driveway, she began her post-work routine. She removed her hair net and tossed it in a trash barrel by the rusty picnic table. Jolene ordered her hair nets by the case from Amazon. She thought this made her a savvy hair net consumer. The other girls at work bought their nets at the Wal-Mart a couple of towns over. Waste of damn money, she thought. I get 100 for eight dollars.

She pulled herself up the wooden stairs of her mobile home and locked the door behind her, then set the chain. At last, she could breathe.

Jolene lit a cigarette and removed her work uniform, which was eternally slightly greasy. She inhaled deeply, letting the smoke burn away the myriad petty annoyances that comprised a shift at the Waffle House. She considered showering, but instead her feet took her to the liquor cabinet.

They knew the routine.

Jolene used to drink a bourbon and coke when she came home from work, until she realized that the caffeine made her as jumpy as a damn flea. Now she drinks two fingers of bourbon with exactly five ice cubes. She thought this made her a savvy bourbon consumer. Skip the damn middle man, she thought.

The bourbon, like the cigarette, slowly melted the icy stone of discontent that formed in her chest during the day. It warmed her back, her shoulders, the heat releasing muscles tensed out of habit. Bourbon: the massage therapist of the lower classes, Jolene thought approvingly. I oughtta write that down.

The first drink was gone quicker than she realized, and she got up to pour another. Most Friday nights she didn’t feel like eating –she’d been around food all day, and besides, the bourbon worked better on an empty stomach. Skip the damn middle man, she thought. Didn’t I just say that?

Jolene leaned back into the plaid couch cushions and put her feet on the coffee table, which was dinged all to hell but suited her just fine. She’d bought it with her first paycheck from the Waffle House. I’ll be damned, that was ten years ago. Ten years of grease and hair nets and aggravation and this same damn routine, every damn night. Ten years of cigarettes and skipping dinner and muttering about the neighbor’s dog.

Ten years.

I could use a splash more. No ice this time.

The bourbon pulled her like a warm amber river, away from the trailer, away from the Waffle House. Its heat spread through her empty stomach, reaching for her fingertips. She was loose, made of honey, golden. Now, with the heat filling her ears, she could sleep.

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