Book Review: Runaway

Runaway: Stories by Alice Munro
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Last year before Christmas I heard a story on NPR about Alice Munro and one of her books of short stories. I had read Munro's stories in the New Yorker, but for some reason it was the words read aloud on the radio that made me file away her name as someone I wanted to read. Of course, my to-read book list in my mind is long and constantly adjusting. But I finally got around to starting a book of hers and, from the second I picked it up, I could not put it down, but did not want it to end. Alice Munro, just from this one book, I believe could be one of my favorite authors.

While reading the stories in Runaway I would think, "Oh, I just love the way she chooses words." Two minutes later, I would think to myself, "No, it is really the themes and characters I love. She gets to the core of the human condition." And other times it was simply the little towns and homes and images she painted. Ultimately, I think it she is a universally great author. Although I am so taken by her writing, in some ways the term author does not seem to describe well-enough her mastery of words and prose. As I read, I underlined, wrote in the columns, and studied it as if I were reading it for one of my English classes in undergrad. I would love to be assigned to write critical essays on any of these stories. I just wanted to digest it and keep it for myself.

Some of Munro's recurring themes are central themes for me personally --- the balance between spirituality and rationality, aloneness versus community, what it is to be good, what it is to embrace this life, and chance turning points. Plus, her stories take place in Canada which I have a certain fondness for. I can see the Vancouver waterfront, Stanley park, driving through small towns like Kamloops, and the beautiful Rockies in the Banff area. It made me want to go the east coast as well.

Out of all of the stories, the one I think that I might carry with me more than anything is Silence. It articulates perfectly one of my deepest fears. When I read it, I literally switched to shallow breathing and later to deep dismay. It was not so much at the story that was told, but the fact that it brought forth one fear that I generally push right below consciousness. While I continue to process this story and the feeling it stirred in me, I take some relief (comfort?) in that Munro understands this fear. And somehow, reading Munro's interpretation allows me to put language to my fear which removes some of its power. A gift I am thankful for.

Anyways, I have a feeling I am going to be reading a lot of Munro over the next year as I am really sad to be finished reading this book (although I am not completely finished with the book itself since I am still processing many of the stories). I also think I will be gifting this book to many of my reading friends and family during the holidays. I am happy to have discovered a new author to add to my favorites.

Adios Shani Arturo

Shani went to his forever home today. He had been with us since March and carved a special place in our home. While I was routing for him to find a great forever home, I was really happy with him here. But then a older couple in mourning over the passing of their 16 year old dog found him online and he found them. He will be number one there and pampered and loved.

Shani with the Furcrew

Shani came to Tzu Zoo from a local area animal shelter where he had been picked up as a stray and was due to be euthanized. He was beyond skinny with an untreated heart murmur and teeth so rotten that a hole had rotted out between the roof of his mouth and his nasal cavity. He came in appreciative and eager to follow the rules. He loved to snuggle, was great with every dog he met, and just was the most social, out-going little guy when company came over or when we were out and about. As he felt better, he transformed from a quiet, sleep older senior to a playful, perky guy. As his skin, coat, and eyes improved, he grew into a gorgeous dog with bright eyes and the softest coat I have ever felt on a dog.

Every morning Shani would go out on the patio and seemingly meditate ("Hay santos en el jardin") before starting his day. He was great with Grace and always followed her or me around. He charmed our babysitters, our extended family, and, most of all, our little family. There was a very comfortable spot here for him and I love him, but, had we adopted him, he would have always been a number four and he deserved to be a number one. Now he is. My heart literally hurts at having to say goodbye to him, but I am happy for him and his new family. And I am happy that we can continue to foster and save lives. But we love you Shani Arturo. It was a pleasure and a privilege to be able to have you with us while you waited to find your forever home.

Unfettered Dream of the Privileged [A Poem]

I read a quote last week which stated quite cleanly something I think about often. “It’s easier to talk about one’s culture than one’s power, one’s ethnicity than one’s privilege.” (K.V. Hardy) It started words swirling in my head and fueled thinking about often flawed assumptions related to the desire to help others versus actually helping others. I wrote this poem related to these topics. It is not autobiographical.

Unfettered Dream of the Privileged

Your love is not enough
To fix the Truths of my past.
And they are Truths
That cannot be rewritten.

There was a womb, unanswered cries, learned helplessness
Before I met you.
To rewrite the story is to deny who I am;
A violation of self I will not commit.

You lifted me out
And gave me the better life
Mine is an inspirational story of hope.
Those are the [true] words of others.

I love you.
Everything I know of love is because of you.
But I now realize that more than loving me,
You love the idea of me becoming.

Yet I am.
Here I stand before you, as your child
Not becoming, but simply being.
Your limitless dream is for some other.

I cannot be your dreams for me;
The dreams of unacknowledged privilege.
Yet perhaps, even without fictitious possibilities,
I am enough.

Yay Mommy

Grace was watching her favorite ABCs video online today. She would watch it and then turn to me and say, "Again." I was reading (Alice Munro's The Runaway --- love it!) next to her and would click the button to replay it. About three times in, she, to my surprise, figured out how to press the replay button. She smiled proudly at her independence. The smile was not for my benefit. Just pure joy at her own accomplishment. I was impressed too and decided to tell her.

"Yay Gracie. Good job. I am really impressed that you figured that out."

She watched the video a couple more times without my assistance, smiling to herself each time she made it replay by herself. Then, she pushed a button that launched a new window and could not figure out how to get her previous window back. I watched and let her try to figure it out (knowing that a premature offer of assistance would result in her common phrase to me, "Mommy stop.")

Finally, after exhausting her options, Grace turned to me and said, "Help mommy."

I scooted over to her and pulled up the correct window, then clicked the replay button.

Grace smiled, turned to face me, paused, and with the purest of praise said, "Yay mommy!"

Ah, praise is not unidirectional in our relationship. I smiled. Yeah. Yay mommy. But for a different reason. Sweet angel.

Kissing Fallen Towers

So Grace and I are playing today. We are building towers with her wooden blocks. We talk about gravity, how they get wobblier as they get taller, and make predictions as to which additional block will make the tower fall. When it falls, the wooden blocks make a loud clatter on the floor that makes both of us flinch, but we smile and talk about it falling, that gravity makes it fall down, and then go about collecting our blocks so we can start over. We have been building towers for months now and are experts at it I dare say. Today our tower building took on something different.

Grace handed me a block and said, "Here you go mommy."

"Thank you," I replied as I took the block. I carefully began to place the block on top of our already tall tower.

"Fall. Falling mommy. Block fall." Grace made her prediction that this would be the block that would make the tower fall this time. I agreed with her that indeed, I thought this would be the one that would topple it as well.

Sure enough, I placed it on top best I could and the tower began to lean and dismantle itself as it fell over in slow motion. There was the expected clatter. We smiled.

Then Grace looked at me, smiled even bigger, and said, "Uh oh. Fall down. Kisses block," and proceeded to lean over to a blue wooden block that had fallen and kissed it. She carefully picked up the block and asked it, "Hurt?"

She paused as if listening to an answer, then replied to the block's silent response, "Aww. Kisses. Better?"

She pointed to another block, looked at me, and said, "Mommy, kisses." So I followed her lead and consoled the block that we pretended was hurt from the fall.

When the blocks were properly comforted, I asked Grace, "Should we stop building towers?"

"No." And she started the base of another tower. And again, we made our predictions and once the tower toppled, Grace began comforting the blocks. Yet we built another tower.

There are several parts of this that strike me. But more than anything, I watched in wonderment as she evolved a game we have been doing for months to add a level of empathy and caring to it. She knows what it is to fall (especially on those hard wood floors), and was reaching out and caring for the fallen. She joined me as comforter. Yet she still wanted to keep building the towers as if accepting that the blocks getting hurt was just part of the process. And she is right, I think it probably is.

Looking Back on the Present

Too Hot To Handle 15K 1:29:30; 26/132

I purchased a picture from a race Jeff and I did a couple of weeks ago. I do not look pretty or glowing with happiness in the picture. I appear really sweaty and hot and as though I am working hard. Yet I purchased the picture from the race photographer and am excited to have it.

Several years ago, I would not have considered purchasing this picture as I wanted only pictures of myself that represented me at my "best" as defined by my perceptions of beauty. I would gravitate towards pictures of me smiling, looking trim, or just ones I thought I looked pretty in. As I looked at this sweaty picture of myself today and considered purchasing it, I thought of how I pushed through the wall on that race, how I felt strong, and how I thought the picture really captured the feeling of the moment as I pushed forward despite the heat and my tired muscles. I flashed forward to some future day when I might feel sick or might be unable to use my body in the same ways. While the smiling, pretty pictures might be some comfort, I think will take greater pride in the one that showed I was strong and really pushed myself hard.

So here is to sweaty finishes, reaching personal time goals, and occasionally grimacing as I sprint to the finish.

Off to the Races

Today we went to Lone Star Park with some friends of ours to watch the races. It was our first time to the park and Grace's first time to the races. While taking your kid to the track might not seem like the most family friendly activity, it was appealing to us because it involved horse (which Grace likes) and Mary Poppins races horses. Around our house these days, any thing we can relate to Mary Poppins is instantly a success.

When we left our house we told Grace that we were going to the horse races.

"Horses. Horses. Horses. Horses. Grace Horses?"

"Yes, Grace is going to go see horses. We are going to a horse race just like Mary Poppins was in a horse race."

"Poppins horses. Grace horses." Clap clap.

We placed our bets and we got to see and pet horses. She loved looking at the horses and like the cheering during the races. And, much to Grace's joy, it was dollar snow cone day. Overall, a great way to spend the afternoon.