The Thirteenth Tale

Last week, a colleague walked into the library and asked me if I had read The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. I had not. She told me I had to read it, set the book on my counter, visited for another minute and then walked out.

From September to May, I read a fairly steady diet of YA and cross-over lit (books written for adults, but read by teens). This may sound like work, but, in all honesty - YA is my guilty pleasure. I love this genre. Feeling like I should read one more novel, I started the book that same night. My plan was to give at least 25 pages (my advice to kids), skim the rest and return it. I was hooked from the first page. There were some sentences that took my breath away. Brilliantly crafted in Gothic style, it was reminiscent of Wuthering Heights (hated it) and Jane Eyre (one of my favorite books of all time), this story captivated me. The ending completely surprised me - me . . . I almost always read ahead to the ending of a story (this book was no exception) and I was still surprised!

This is not a book I would have read from the summary on the back. It was only read to appease a friend, but I am so glad I gave it a try.

S0, in the continuing spirit of stepping out of our comfort zones . . our book club has chosen to read Hyperion by Dan Simmons. Lance and Dave selected it for us and most of us are looking forward to being forced out of our tried and true genres - will keep you updated on what our group thinks of this book. Why don't you read it with us?

Zakhor. Al Tichkar. Remember. Never Forget.

I recently read an article in SLJ by Diantha McBride. Titled Tough Love: an open letter to kids' book publishers. You can read the full article here. One of her points that made me smile was "Thanks, but no tanks" - encouraging a moratorium on publishing more books about WWII. It started me thinking about how many titles my library owns (both historical fiction and non-fiction) about this time period. A LOT.

As I was pondering this article, I began reading (totally unrelated) the book Sarah's Key by Tatiana De Rosnay. This book was published in 2007, but just recently came to my attention. It had been in my "to read" stack for some time.

It is the fictional recounting of Vel' d'Hiv'. In July of 1942, thousands of Jewish families living in Paris were rounded up by the French police, locked for days in an indoor stadium in horrific conditions and eventually sent on to Auschwitz. To be gassed.

The story begins with Sarah, a ten-year old girl who is arrested with her family in the middle of the night. Thinking they will soon be able to return to their apartment, she quickly locks her four year old brother in a secret cabinet, promising to come back for him. The narrative then fast forwards to modern day and begins to intertwine with a journalist who is researching Vel'd'Hiv' for an article on its sixtieth anniversary. This is a gripping, haunting tale of a terrible time in our global history. As I read the story, I kept picturing my own nearly 10-year old daughter. I wondered what it was like to have your daughter ripped from your arms as you were loaded into a cattle car. I wondered how the children who managed to survive the holocaust even functioned as adults. I wondered how we as humans get to a point where it is okay to treat another race, religion, or group with such intense cruelty. Unfortunately, I know this is a story that has been repeated in other places like Rwanda and Sierra Leone.

So, I agree with Ms. McBride that we need a broader historical perspective in most of our collections. Yet, personally, I realized that I am drawn to this time period because I feel an almost desperate commitment to "Zakhor. Al Tichkar. Remember. Never Forget."

Where there's smoke. . .

We just returned from a fabulous month long vacation. . . We saw Mt Rushmore. . .

Spent an afternoon exploring Custer's Battlefield . . .


Spent a week in SunRiver with my entire family - biking, rafting, swimming, eating, eating, eating ( you get the picture ) - the perfect vacation!


My husband pitching in a family kick ball game. . .

Floating the river. . . . Really, it was an amazing vacation. . .

A day at the Oregon Coast - does it get any more perfect?

And then we came home. . . I wish I could tell you that after four weeks off, I was invigorated, motivated and energized. I wasn't. All I could do was dream about (you guessed it) vacation. . . I spent two days moping and then today woke up determined (notice, I am still not using words like motivated) to get back in gear. I had been serving my family grilled cheese and soup (out of a can) and keeping the house clean enough to prevent a visit from social services. Today, today, was going to be different. I cleaned the house, went to work for a few hours ( Ugh!) and worked out. I even had a menu plan! I was going to serve a yummy salad, homemade bread and grilled fish - a far cry from soup in a can. . .

As I was preparing dinner, I took a break and went out to visit with Lance ( you know the one that NEVER stops working?). He was working out in our garage - insulating - a terrible job. This is after he spent a full day at school. I thought he was looking a little tired and began to feel a few misgivings about my meal of salad and fish (and homemade bread). So I went back into the house, determined to redeem my meal. I went where all desperate cooks should go when looking for a good recipe: www.thepioneerwoman.com, and found the perfect recipe: blackberry cobbler. **The pictures on PW's sight are absolutely mouth-watering.

While vacationing, I had also picked berries (shocking, I know) . . . I was going to make my husband marionberry cobbler.

Here is the salad I served for dinner - a yummy combination: fresh lettuce, beets and hardboiled eggs. Served with a mayo dressing - even Lance gobbled it up. As I watched him eat, I relaxed, maybe my dinner would impress after all ( not a huge leap after canned tomato soup).

Half-way through dinner, I got up to check the cobbler ( I was keeping it as a surprise for Lance) and this is what I found: (seriously)



I almost started to cry ( and not just from the smoke). . . . . The cobber had run over the pan. I couldn't take a picture of my oven - it was too terrible.


Go ahead, compare this to the PW picture. I know, they look NOTHING alike. . . .


I told my kids they had to do the dishes ( I was feeling a little testy) . . . Tommi tried to find survival gear. Yes, my kitchen really is this smokey - this is with ALL the windows open. I finally took pity on them and finished the dishes myself. I did cry this time. . . In fact, my eyes are still burning.

As I was blindly finishing up the kitchen, my kids called. . . there were seven bucks (deer not dollars) in our neighbor's yard. . . I went running out with the camera - those of you who know me well, know that deer do not normally excite me, but I was looking for ANY excuse to escape my house. . . I was able to get a picture before the wind blew the smell on my clothes their way and they ran off. . .

Lesson learned: Always keep chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in the freezer. . .

**Disclaimer: I am sure that PW's cobbler was as wonderful as it looked. I made the mistake of putting mine in a pan that looked exactly like hers, but was obviously a completely different size.