Books - reams, slews, loads

 I like books. I really enjoy reading for pleasure as well as to learn and be informed. While I do have a Kindle and I use it, there is nothing like a physical book, in my opinion. I have books from when I was a very young child, from my teen years, and especially from my adult years. 

I have lots of fiction - many, many mysteries, fantasy, historical fiction, including writers from Jane Austen to contemporary writers. I also have many books about music, including a dozen about Mozart. In addition, I have seven novels about Wolfgang's sister Nannerl. I have a sizable collection of books related to the American Revolution - since I used to teach American history from Jamestown through the Revolution I became fascinated by the people and events of that time. And I admit I also like romances, those happily ever afters.

My son inherited this love of books. Though he doesn't live with us any more, being married with a little son, his old bedroom has a tall bookcase stuffed with books. 

The issue that has sprung up related to this abundance of books is space! And really, if I'm not going to reread a book and it doesn't have sentimental value, it needs to go find a new home. And, if I've had the book awhile and still haven't read it?? 

So my book project now is to read the books I own but haven't ever read. If I read enough to know it's not for me, I'll stop, but I'll give every book a fair try. Right now I'm reading New York Burning by Jill Lepore and Double Falsehood by Vaughn Entwistle. 

The subtitle of New York Burning is Liberty, Slavery, and Conspiracy in Eighteenth-Century Manhattan. It is nonfiction, an account of an unsuccessful slave revolt in New York in 1741. It's a slow read with a lot of detail. 

Double Falsehood is a novel set both in present times and in Shakespeare's time. It's 1597, Elizabeth is queen, and Catholics are being hunted. There are mysteries and adventures and plays being written. In the 21st century the narrator is a rather innkeeper in England. It appears that he will discover a manuscript in his inn though I haven't gotten that far.

It will be interesting to see how long this project will take me to get through all the unread books.

The Black Sweater Saga

 A black cardigan sweater is such a useful part of a wardrobe. Black goes with everything, and you can just throw the sweater on if it's chilly. I have a lot of trouble holding on to a black sweater. I wonder if that's common?

In November 2006 I was so lucky to get to go to China on a teacher trip. We went to Beijing and met teachers and observed classes. I was especially thrilled to be able to watch a piano lesson at the Beijing Conservatory. (It's the school superstar pianist Lang Lang attended). After Beijing we visited Xi'an and saw the clay soldier army in situ, which was amazing. Last we visited the Yunan province, which is sort of like Florida as far as retirees. 

One of the items I packed for the trip was a black sweater. Flying back from China was really long (as was getting there). Changing planes in Hong Kong and then in Los Angeles to finally arrive in Chicago. Slogging through the LA airport with purse and carry-on, I dropped my black sweater. When I realized that, I walked all the way back to the TSA station, but couldn't find it. I was so tired, I didn't want to go through TSA again, so I said good-bye to that black sweater.

A few years later we were on vacation in Bellingham, Washington (which is one of the most beautiful places I have ever visited). Our daughter was participating in a music festival and we came to see her and hear some concerts. We went out to dinner. It was warm and I took my new black sweater off and hung it on the chair. Well, of course, I walked off without it. Once I realized, we went back to the restaurant but it had vanished, probably to the Island of Lost Outerwear. 

Being tourists, the next day we were all browsing in the shops and I found my next sweater. It was completely different from the one I lost in LA, which was long and silky. This one was short and chunky. I loved it. I can't remember what happened to that sweater, but I don't have it anymore. 

My next sweater is long, silky and made of bamboo. I wear it often. 

There is one more sweater story though. After my mom passed away, my sister and sister-in-law were dealing with my mom's clothing. She had an entire collection of cardigan sweaters in a rainbow of colors, including black. I claimed that black sweater. It was a cable knit, with buttons. I didn't wear it as much as the silky bamboo sweater, but apparently I wore it enough to lose it. Yes, I think I left it in a restaurant in Chicago. I didn't realize it for several weeks, too late to try to find it. 

At least I have my beloved bamboo sweater.

Memories of Elementary and High School

 Quite a few years ago I had a conversation at my school (the school where I taught) with two other teachers about our elementary school experiences. So we're talking about school memories from the 1960s and 70s, maybe 80s. All three of us had memories of being bored, so bored, and so we were comparing what we did with our time until dismissal each day. 

We each had managed our hours differently. I think that Amy read surreptitiously and Matt looked out the window. I made up stories. Usually about people who I also made up. Sometimes whole families. I would watch the second hand of the clock, each 360 degree turn marking a year in my fictional people's lives. A lot happened in my head - kids had adventures, babies were born, people disappeared and came back years later! 

Surprisingly, my grades were not terrible, though not stellar either. 

We moved from a very small town in Wisconsin to Connecticut right before I started junior high. It's tough time to start when you're new and have no friends yet, but I loved that new school. I did make friends, but I also had interesting, engaged teachers who made learning appealing and inviting. 

I learned a lot, about the subjects being taught, but also about people. I had mostly teachers who really cared about their students and loved their subject matter. I remember interesting assignments in high school - I wrote a song in French for a French assignment and I read Rosencranz and Guildenstern are Dead for my project after reading Hamlet in my Humanities class. American history was organized by topic rather than being chronological - I remember we began the year looking at U.S. foreign policy, starting with Washington's farewell address. I campaigned for a candidate for a local office in Civics. And of course I played in the band and orchestra and learned music theory, even composing some music. 

I still not a stellar student - I graduated in the middle of my class GPA-wise - but I had great experiences and learned a lot. 

Conversations with Imaginary People

 Several years ago I signed up for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo.org), a challenge to write 50,000 words in November each year. I had an idea for a novel, but I quickly realized that my idea needed a lot more if I was going to come anywhere near 50,000 words. It was a really good learning experience, and I was not discouraged. I kept working on it sporadically. One of my issues was just not enough plot. Another was that I didn't know why the "bad guy" had it in for the protagonist. 

It's interesting how a fiction that you create in your head can take on a life of its own. My characters had conversations in my head that I didn't initiate. (Other writers told me this happens and to take advantage of it and write it all down). 

I decided to try interviewing the antagonist, whose name is Karl Gruber, to see if he could shed any light on this. This part of the novel takes in 1782 in Austria. The protagonist is Allie. Both are musicians, but Allie is an accidental time traveler from our time. Naturally she doesn't want to tell people that. She is also going by an alias, Anton, a horn player from the newly created United States. She has been invited to join a rural court orchestra led by Antonio Rosetti, a real person from that time.

Me (the author): Karl, why are so suspicious of Anton?

Karl: He appeared out of nowhere. I know many musicians in the Austrian empire and I have never heard of Anton Berger. He speaks German well but with a strange accent. 

Me: Where do you think he's from?

Karl: Herr Rosetti says he is from New York, one of the British colonies.

Me: Well, wouldn't that explain the accent? He would most likely be an English speaker.

Karl: Well, yes. But it's more than that. There's something very odd about him. He's not like anyone I've ever met.

Me: Couldn't he be just a stranger to Austria?

Karl: Yes, but it's even more than that. 

Me: Are you afraid he will harm the orchestra?

Karl: Perhaps. He avoids personal questions. He appeared  out of nowhere. Franz [another musician] arrived with him just yesterday. Where did he come from? 

Me: Why does it matter so much to you?

Karl: It is just wrong. He  doesn't belong here. Everyone is accepting him at face value, but I think there's more to it than that.

Me: He hasn't done or said anything to you that is threatening.

Karl: No. But I feel he is hiding something. People who are hiding parts of themselves can be dangerous. I like my life here. I don't want it to change. I think this strange young man will change things.

Conclusion: Karl is perceptive, but baffled. He is afraid, of what, he doesn't know. 

We (me and the characters) will see where this goes.