Small-town girl, living in a big city. Former Coastie, married with 2 kids. Inveterate reader of all genres, though non-fiction and YA currently rule. Indie bookstore employee, small business owner, tea drinker.
I will admit it. I’m not a big basketball fan. I mean, I appreciate my home team (Portland Trailblazers), and I enjoy a good game when it happens to be on, but…that’s about it. I’ve never closely followed brackets or players, and I rarely know when players switch from one team to another. Having said THAT, there are some names that transcend the sport of basketball. Kobe Bryant was one of them.
Did I *know* Kobe? Not anymore than the legions of true fans did. What I knew of Kobe Bryant, the basketball legend, was from the news and social media and watercooler chats about last night’s game. And yet – I mourn his loss, and that of his daughter, just the same.
Some people will claim that mourning a celebrity is stupid, wasteful, accomplishes nothing. I dispute that claim. I say that sometimes, those celebrities are such larger-than-life figures, that we feel we *do* know them. We feel that, irregardless of their money and talent, they are like us in more ways than not. And so we mourn not only their passing, but the death that is coming for us all one day. We grieve for a life that had so much *life* left to give – until the time that it didn’t. And in this case, we see a proud father who probably spent his last moments consoling his daughter and praying that even if he didn’t make it, she would. Who among us cannot feel that pain, and know in the depths of our hearts how frightened he was for his child?
We also mourn for the family left behind – the wife and kids who were not on the trip that day, now left without their husband, their father, their sibling. And we know that, someday, that will be *our* family, saying goodbye to us.
Did I know Kobe Bryant? No. Do I mourn his passing, so suddenly and with him so young? Yes. And I don’t think that makes me ridiculous or weak or silly. I think it shows that I have a heart, and I can feel empathy for his family and friends. That I can say goodbye to all that he had to offer. And ultimately, that I understand death comes for us all – and we never know when, or how, or where.
My daughter is homeschooled currently, primarily because she’s a competitive gymnast. This means, at her level, 20+ hours in the gym a week. Fitting that around school hours, traveling for meets, homework – it’s a lot. She had been asking for a couple of years before we finally gave in, and luckily, she attends a homeschool charter. Essentially, she meets with someone once a week to make sure her education goals are being met, and she has 2 classes at the school (math and science, currently), while the rest is done at home. On Fridays, I teach Health and Cooking to her and another teammate that is also homeschooled, and last week, we discussed grief. (Note: Before anyone gets all fired up about what weird curriculum I may be using, it’s actually from her Glencoe Teen Health textbook.)
During this discussion, the three biggest things I wanted them to learn were:
There is no right or wrong way to grieve. Everyone experiences the “steps” of grieving differently.
Grief is not contained to just humans or pets. Someone can grieve anything that has been very meaningful to them and will no longer – for whatever reason – be that way. The example I gave? A competitive gymnast, who has devoted so many hours to her sport while missing out on so many other things, who decides to hang up her leos and walk away. There’s a reason gymnasts wear “joking” gear that says, “I can’t. I have practice.”.
When someone close to us is grieving, follow their lead. It’s not on us to “allow” them to grieve in whatever way we deem “the right way”, but to *help* them while they walk their own path.
So, we had this discussion – and it was a great one. But later, as I was telling someone else about this lesson, it dawned on me: this is a topic most people don’t talk about. Like, ever. It certainly was not ever a topic that was covered (by anyone) when I was their age. And yet, it is one of the most important things we can discuss. Every single one of us will grieve at some point in our lives. A pet, a family member, a lost job, a severe illness…there is not one person that won’t experience grief in some capacity. But because we’ve not every really talked about it, we tend to feel like there are certain *expectations* around grief. How long, how hard, who and what…and we feel guilty and alone when our experience may be different. I know this because, over the course of the last year, I’ve had…a lot…to grieve. And it’s only now, when most of it is done, that I find I even *can* grieve – long past when others have started moving on.
Here’s a run-down of the last year, so you’ll know what I mean: daughter got CO poisoning, and the responsible party has taken no responsibility. Son got rear-ended, and his car totaled, by a driver with no insurance. Daughter moved to a new gym. Brother died unexpectedly and unnecessarily. Dog had to be put to sleep. Husband diagnosed with cancer, followed by a pretty severe surgery and radiation. During said radiation, he almost died due to negligence. Son graduated high school. Going through all of our savings while husband couldn’t work for a full 6 months – then another month before his first paycheck. All of this within the space of 7 months. It was A LOT. And here’s the thing – I’m finally to a place where I *can* grieve, because I’m not busy trying to put out fires constantly, and I’m so overwhelmed I’m just not sure where to start. It’s such an uncomfortable feeling, and I think it’s not helped by knowing that others *do* judge, others *do* feel there’s a “right” way to grieve. And my husband, being all redneck white dude, has it even worse. He struggles to allow himself to grieve his illness, my brother’s death, the dog’s death. All because we as a society tend to sort of shove the conversation under a rug until that time when we just can’t anymore.
So as I look back on that lesson with those girls, I am happy this conversation took place. It’s sort of an awkward one with teenage girls, but a necessary one. Because someday, they will find themselves grieving – and they will know in their hearts that it IS ok. THEY are ok, no matter what form their grief takes. And they will be the better for it.
When I was…11? My mom announced she was getting married to the man she had been dating. That’s an awkward sort of age no matter what, but it’s particularly awkward to be thrust into a new family. To their credit, they (mostly) accepted me without question. The biggest reason for that, I am – and will always remain – convinced, was due to the matriarch of the family. Grandma Rose had one of the biggest hearts that the 11-year-old me had ever met. At the same time, she was one of the strongest women I’ve met to this day. Grandpa may have believed he ran the show (though I’m pretty sure he knew in his heart it wasn’t so), but Grandma was the iron will that held everything together.
Every Christmas and Easter, we walked to their place for big dinners and the whole family gathered together. My favorite things she made were these mincemeat pillow cookies – I’ve yet to figure out how to replicate them, and I will always regret not asking for her recipe earlier. Grandma always did all the cooking, and made it seem so easy. A full ham, multiple salads and sides and desserts, and drinks enough for everyone. I’m pretty sure she spent a couple of days cooking to prepare, though I was young enough that I never paid a lot of attention.
She was a farm wife, through and through, and very little got her flustered. Because we lived so close (2 bogs away. Yep – bogs. Cranberry farm.), we spent a lot of time over there for various reasons. There were a couple of summers, after I had been introduced to lemon cucumbers, that I would sneak over and grab a couple fresh and sneak back. Grandma never said anything, but I’m sure she knew. She rarely got angry, but when she decided she had had enough of whatever antics I was getting up to, I *knew* not to push any further. She had an affinity for hummingbirds, which I share to this day.
As is the case, I grew up and left home. I joined the Coast Guard, went to boot camp, and spent my first Christmas away from home in sunny Florida. One day, I got a box in the mail – and it was a lovingly packaged shoe box *loaded* with those mincemeat cookies I loved so much. And for every Christmas, for so many years, she sent a box to every location I was stationed – even Gitmo (Guantanamo Bay).
In time, Grandpa had a series of strokes. Grandma was ADAMANT that he was not to be put in a home, that she would help take care of him at home. And that was that. She did for quite a while, and then a caregiver was hired to help. It aged her, taking care of Grandpa for so many years. But she *refused* to bend – Grandpa would be taken care of in his home. Once he passed, she never really recovered from the toll it took on her, and she ended up ill as well. But, true to that iron core, she just hung on – defying everyone to tell her when it was her time.
Two days ago, on the 25th of January, Grandma Rose finally decided she was ready. Dad says she was at peace, and I can only imagine she knew she was ready to go and see her beloved Bill once again. But in a lovely touch that may mean nothing to some, but means everything to me – I had a special email today. I follow Bella the hummingbird on the Explore Live Cams (https://explore.org/livecams/hummingbirds/bella-hummingbird-nest), and her first egg hatched yesterday – the same day I heard about Grandma’s passing. Grandma would be pleased, I think, to know that this little life was born just as hers was ending, and it seems a fitting way to encapsulate all that I knew and loved about the woman I will forever know as Grandma Rose.
So I wrote yesterday about using my platform to share books by marginalized authors. I also mentioned, briefly, the Rick Riordan Presents imprint. As Riordan himself says, “The point of Rick Riordan Presents is to publish and promote great voices from cultures that have been too often marginalized or erased by mainstream culture.”. He goes on to say, in the intro to Race to the Sun, “No one has suffered from this more than Native and Indigenous peoples.”. As a reader, as a bookseller, as a book *lover*, it makes my heart happy that this exists, and that Riordan is using his considerable voice to help boost others without that same amount of wattage. I’m also super pleased that, in reading Race to the Sun, it was just as good as I’d hoped it would be.
I came to this particular title as a fan of Roanhorse’s Sixth World series. I truly enjoyed the cultural aspect she brought to those titles, and was absolutely thrilled that she was getting so much recognition. However, I was also a little nervous about this book – it is not uncommon for authors who started out in adult titles to really struggle writing middle grade. The voices sometimes don’t sound authentic – either it feels like they’re trying too hard, or like they’re (unintentionally) talking down to their audience. I’m certain it’s a difficult balance, particularly if you’re used to writing for adults, but it’s definitely one that too many struggle with. So having said that – I was afraid to get my hopes up for this, Roanhorse’s middle grade debut. Happily, the worry was all for nought.
In Race to the Sun, Nizhoni Begay realizes that she is seeing monsters. Granted, they *look* like people, but they feel weird to her, and tend to have creepy red eyes. It all comes to a head one day when during a basketball game at school, she sees one watching her – and learns that he (it?) is her dad’s new boss. From there, adventures ensue, with Nizhoni, her best friend Davery, and her brother Mac trying to find a way to defeat the monster. They find they are aided (or not) by some Navajo gods they have only ever heard stories about.
The characters are so well done! The best characters feel *real* when readers begin to know them. They can be pictured, they can be empathized with (or detested, as the case may be), and there’s a sense of a relationship as the story goes along. Nizhoni is a girl who has begun learning about her Navaho heritage, but not always willingly. She’s had a bit of a rough life, as has her brother, who gets picked on relentlessly. She’s a combination of spunk, anxiety, and determination, with a smidge of sarcasm thrown in for good measure. Her brother and her best friend have the same sense of realness – one who is used to being the brunt of all torments, and the other who is super smart and tries to talk Nizhoni out of some of her more…bravado…ideas. As for the gods themselves, well…this book just made me want to learn more. They made me giggle, and occasionally, just have ALL THE FEELS.
The story is fairly fast-paced, so it will work even for more reluctant readers. A smidge of danger, some wise-cracking, and a dramatic denouement that will leave everyone cheering – it’s perfect for middle-grade readers. Having said that, it would also be excellent for as a read-aloud in class, for middle-grade or even upper elementary/lower-level high school. The glossary of terms (with pronunciation!) in the back was brilliant and so helpful. For those who are not familiar with Navaho, as is the case with me, it was nice to know that was back there so I didn’t feel like I was butchering anything *too* badly.
Overall, I really did enjoy this book. Much more than I even anticipated. I am truly hoping that it becomes the first in a series – or even a trilogy – because I would love to read more about these kids, the prophecy surrounding them (no spoilers!), and the Navaho culture from one who knows. As Riordan said, the Native culture has been the one that has been suppressed and oppressed the most. Even as other POC have begun having their voices amplified, little by little, Native culture has not had the same boost. That is, however, beginning to change, with titles like this one. Having this book out there will be invaluable for those who have felt their voices minimized and shunted aside, allowing so many kids to see themselves in a story and, hopefully, realize that they *do* matter.
I read a comment on Twitter yesterday that set my teeth on edge (Though honestly – it’s Twitter. That’s the norm.). Before I get more into the tweet itself, let me preface by saying – I am a bookseller. Yes, that’s what I do for work, but it’s also a piece of who I am. I have been recommending books to others since I was in high school – everyone knew I was The Reader in the room, and if they needed a title for a book report, I could give them options. Books are a part of me. I value them, and I view them as necessities. So much of who I am as a person today is because of books – the characters and flaws I was exposed to (and still am), the things that make me think and re-evaluate. So this tweet really hurt my heart.
Now, I can’t imagine what this is like for an actual POC, because…I’m not one. I don’t have that barrier. But as a bookseller, this is appalling. The reason I – and so many others – love books as we do is because books aren’t just about their settings, or the specific storyline, or that one character. Yes, those are important – but what makes books everlasting are the THEMES they address. It’s not just about “too dark”, “pregnant teenage girls”, or anything else. It’s about showing that kid, reading alone in their room, that they’re NOT alone. There is darkness everywhere – particularly in the world right now. Rape, child molestation and trafficking, sexism, racism, bigotry – it doesn’t just contain itself to a “regional” area. These are themes that play out in every town, in every country, in every single part of the world – and those that experience them need to know they’re not alone. Those that *partake* in them may learn, by reading a book recommended to them, to see from the angle of their victims. These things are universal, and we do a disservice to readers when we can’t see that.
Now, I don’t know how this gets changed. What I do know is, that as a bookseller, I’m lucky enough to have a voice – even if it’s a small one. And how I *use* that voice is of utmost importance. Recommending diverse titles, displays for people to want to look at (Planning one right now for the Rick Riordan Presents imprint – he’s a white dude, but every single book in that imprint is for marginalized voices), setting aside our own impulse to recommend primarily white authors…getting those voices out there is key. Because at a certain point, people in other countries pay attention to that as well.
As a blogger, who will be blogging about books, I *also* have a responsibility to make an effort to share books by marginalized voices. Does this mean I have to share a book even if I hated it? Absolutely not! But I can work on reading more works by marginalized voices, because the Law of Percentages (Does that exist? If not, I’m totally using it anyway.) states that: The More Exposure One Gets, The More Likely One Is To Find Something They Like. And when we find something we like? BLOG THE HELL OUT OF IT. Share it. Talk about it. Let people know that this is a book worth using their (potentially limited) time to read, and to spend their (again potentially limited) money on. Or worth waiting for from the library. Or listening to via audiobook. #Getthewordout.
I’m aware that, in the scheme of publishing and books, I have a very small voice. But when many Very Small Voices combine, then it becomes a Very BIG Voice, and then – people pay attention. It’s on all of us who love books, and truly value what they represent, to help make this happen. That old saying, “Sharing is caring” truly represents the best of books, and that’s where we *all* need to be.
Guys. I have a problem. And in terms of reading, it’s sort of a big one. But I’m putting it out there, because I can’t *possibly* be the only one who does this. Are you ready?
I…rarely finish trilogies. Some of my favorites have gone without end for years. The Illuminae trilogy? Still going. Red Rising (though it’s grown)? Unread. Nevernight? Nevernope. And the list could go on. Even worse? IT’S NOT A CONSCIOUS CHOICE. I *have* the third book for every. single. trilogy. They were purchased with the full intent of reading them immediately. And yet…they sit, unread, TAUNTING ME.
I’ve thought a lot about why this may be, and as much as I’d like to say I have an actual answer – I don’t. I *do* have a guess, though. I do wonder if, in some distant part of my heart, I just don’t want the story to end. We all have those things, right? Where we think that if we just ignore it, we will never have to face it – whether it’s paying a bill, dealing with a child who keeps asking over and over again, or ending a relationship. And that’s what these trilogies are, right? Relationships.
Any time a reader devotes time and energy to the characters in a story, there is a relationship built. Between the author and the reader is where the first relationship is built – trusting that the book will be just what was hoped for. From there, the reader builds further relationships with the characters (one hopes) as they have their adventures, solve their problems, kill their bad guys, or whatever the case may be. In a trilogy (even a duology), those relationships are extended, and the characters are expanded, and eventually – for so many readers – it’s hard to say goodbye when it’s over.
So, that’s my thought. I apparently have relationship issues, and struggle to understand when they’re over. Instead, I look longingly at those third books, swear that I will get to them “as soon as this book is done”, and then when the time comes, I just…don’t. I move on to something else, someONE else, and feel guilt over my neglect. But now that I know, I will *absolutely* begin working on those endings. Just as soon as I’m done with the one I’m reading now.
That is HARD WORK, people. Seriously. I have to wonder how many people get all excited about setting up a blog, and then hit that “title” stumbling block? Because here’s the thing – there are simultaneously endless options, and yet not enough. Is it already taken? Does it make sense? Will people be able to remember it (if you get to that point)? What will you be writing about? IT’S A LOT.
I started out thinking, well, I’ll have book stuff on there. But not just books. Probably some politics because…have you seen the world today? And maybe a smidge about my small business. But not too much, so it can’t be centered around that. So maybe it’ll be more like a coffee klatch. But I don’t drink coffee, I drink tea. This is pretty much a stream of consciousness idea of how the process went. And in between, I was coming up with ideas and then discarding them – either because they didn’t make sense, wouldn’t work in the long-term, were already taken, or would be difficult for people for one reason or another.
An example of this is perfectly illustrated by one of my favorite ideas: Tea and Craic. Craic being Irish for news, fun, and entertainment. Excellent, I thought! I’ve done it! It makes sense, it will encompass a little bit of everything with no problems, it’s something that is suitably vague, yet also weirdly specific…I’M IN. I checked, and it was available. BELLS WERE RINGING. And then. I thought a little bit more about it. Craic is pronounced “crack”, and well…that’s sorta weird for people who won’t know. And how many people are going to type tea and criac, or tea and crac, or tea and craik…the options for getting it *wrong* were virtually endless. So, sadly, out the door out went.
On and on this process went, finding ideas and discarding them for a variety of reasons. Single word titles? Taken. Bookish titles? Too specific. Tea? Nothing worked well. Finally, I hit on Still More Words. It works for everything, makes sense – AND IT WASN’T TAKEN. There may have been a short dancing celebration, but I will neither confirm nor deny.
And, well, here we are. A new blog, with a title that works for me and makes sense for the (anticipated) contents. So for any of you reading this and thinking “I could do that!”? You absolutely can – just sit down with a drink of choice, plenty of time, and some music in the background (Men at Work is good). Prepare for it to take some time, and no matter how frustrating it gets, don’t cave until you find something that really feels right. And then feel free to do your happy dance when that accomplishment is finally complete.
I’ve always enjoyed writing, in all its forms. I was that annoying kid in high school that always had the excellent papers in every. single. class. I was the weird child that used to write “reports” FOR FUN. AT HOME. Yep – that was me. But somehow, over the years, writing for me has ceased to be something that happened very often. I graduated high school, joined the Coast Guard – did a lot of writing there, because I had to do logs and case reports. But…it wasn’t the same. And as the internet and cell phones and all that stuff became more ubiquitous (Yes, I’m also that person who sometimes uses big words. Drives my husband nuts.), writing sort of…stopped. Everything is typed, or texted, or insta’d. And I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I saw this blog post, by the excellent Chuck Wendig.
Now, mind you. I don’t view myself as a writer in the sense that he was talking about. I’m not an author, and not likely to ever be one. I can write the hell out of something, for sure. But the other important piece is the idea…and I suck at that. However, I *am* a writer in that I’ve always enjoyed taking a thought and writing it out and making it make SENSE. To myself, or to someone else. So when I read his blog post (and if you don’t follow him, you really should – it’s always interesting, typically entertaining, and *never* dull), it struck a chord. It reminded me that writing for writing’s sake is also ok. That it’s something I enjoy, and should really try to make time for. And so…here we are.
I don’t know exactly what this process will entail. I’m pretty sure it will be pretty random. Definitely book reviews – that’s a given. Probably some bits on different teas, more than likely some politics (my Twitter account is the weirdest mix of books, politics, and just random stuff.), and maybe even some bits about my struggle to learn how to eat intuitively. Not something I’ve ever been good at, but something I’m working on. What I *do* know is that it will be written more for me than any audience. Honestly, I would be flattering myself if I thought there would actually ever BE an audience. People tend to like to have an idea what they’re getting when they sign up for a blog – and for at least the first while, that won’t be happening here.
Having said all of that – if you’re still here – welcome! I look forward to hearing from you if you’re so inclined. I hope you find something of interest to you as I get this party started (Pink. Love her. Might have musically bits every so often as well.). I do have a couple of requests, however:
Please be respectful of everyone. That includes me. You may not like what I have to say, and that is perfectly ok. But I won’t tolerate trolling or hatred or rudeness. Life is too short for all that. Respectful discourse is perfectly fine, but remember – if I want to see hate, I can just visit my Twitter account.
If you fail to abide by Rule #1 – you may be blocked from commenting in the future. I *will* exercise my ability to remove comments as well.
When I taught, my students struggled with too many rules. So I prefer to follow the KISS rule. However, these are always up for change as needed. But I believe that most people are capable of reasonable, rational thought (current emerging national cult notwithstanding).
Now that THAT’S out of the way – Welcome. And here we go!