read a Russian

 

"There is no mistaking a real book when one meets it.
It is like falling in love."

Christopher Morley

I love books, not just the reading of them, but the looking and the touching and the smelling.  Give me a musty, old book any day.  Half of the journey is in imagining who held its spine before.  What secrets did it whisper into other ears?  What actions did it spur?  What distresses did it drown?  I have some books of my grandma's who passed away a few years ago.  She was a somewhat emotionally distant woman, and I can’t say that I knew her well.  But, I thrill when I come across her underlining or margin-writing – a window to a distant soul.   

I've done some underlining of my own...I wonder what the scribbles reveal about my word journeys.  Some of the margin-note-worthy books that have moved me the most are by Russian authors. These haven't been the quick or easy reads. Usually they make me cringe or face some demons of my own. BUT, that is what I love. I want a book to change me, to prod my tender places, to bid me beyond what is merely comfortable or nice.

I thought about this Russian factor the other day when I was at a book club friend’s house. Anna Karenina was sitting on her shelf. I gasped and declared my love. She said she hadn’t read it yet because a friend warned that the subject matter was rather unsavory. I gasped and declared my horror. Anna Karenina was incredibly enlightening to me. On the surface it is the story of a woman who leaves her family for another man, yes, but that is honestly a subplot.  And I don’t even mean that in a “there’s only 3 bad words” or “there’s one part where you should close your eyes”, excusing way. The story of Anna serves to highlight what is truly Good & Right in life…The main Good & Right is presented by a man named Levin in an extraordinarily moving way.

Tolstoy begins the book with the famous words, “All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” The commonality of the Happy clearly comes down to…or Up to, I should say, God. Belief in God, turning to Him. Definitely a worthwhile read.

The Brothers Karamazov is another. Dostoevsky powerfully focuses on the eternal Truth of change. Those enslaved to sin need only make one step God-ward to feel the beautiful cascade of love from Above. Any small step to Good will bring beauty into one’s life…whether it comes in the form of other humans who serve God or directly from God himself. A few thoughts from the book:

“. . . his whole heart blazed up and turned towards some kind of light, and he wanted to live and live, to go on and on along some path, towards the new, beckoning light, and to hurry, hurry, right now, at once!”

“. . . I know that heart, it is a wild but noble heart . . . It will bow down before your deed, it thirsts for a great act of love, it will catch fire and resurrect forever. There are souls that in their narrowness blame the whole world. But overwhelm such a soul with mercy, give it love, and it will curse what it has done, for there are so many germs of good in it. The soul will expand and behold how merciful God is, and how beautiful and just people are. He will be horrified, he will be overwhelmed with repentance and the countless debt he must henceforth repay. And then he will not say, ‘I am quits,’ but will say, ‘I am guilty before all people and am the least worthy of all people.’”

“All this exile to hard labor, and formerly with floggings, does not reform anyone, and above all does not even frighten almost any criminal, and the number of crimes not only does not diminish but increases all the more. Surely you will admit that. And it turns out that society, thus, is not protected at all, for although the harmful member is mechanically cut off and sent away far out of sight, another criminal appears at once to take his place, perhaps even two others. If anything protects society even in our time, and even reforms the criminal himself and transforms him into a different person, again it is Christ’s law alone, which manifests itself in the acknowledgement of one’s own conscience.”

Huge ideas, huge impact.  Buy a copy with large margins.

My latest Russian venture has been The Story of a Life by Konstantin Paustovsky. I highlighted it in my “Recent Reads”, but will echo my thoughts here.

I'm not sure there is a plot. It's really his memoirs...a compilation of small stories & scenes, but the descriptions had me mesmerized...so poetic & lovely, leaving me to wonder how this man who lived & died in Russia 50 years ago has captured on paper snippets of my own experience. He describes feelings for people & places & seasons & times in ways so akin to what I feel but haven't been able to adequately translate into words.

He also jumps in to describe both the Ugly and the Beautiful of mankind. True to my Russian experiences, it has definitely made me think. 

Right now I’m trudging through a book club selection, 1000 White Women.  I’ve been so frustrated reading this book.  I seldom “quit” on a book, but the first 2/3 of this one have left me empty, and sometimes appalled, so perhaps I should just put it down.  I want a book to uplift me, to make me want to Be & Do more.  It drives me crazy that so many modern writers unnecessarily rely on sexuality, pop psychology, sensationalism to push their plots forward.  I felt the same frustration when I read Wicked.  Huge potential for an amazing novel.  Equally huge disappointment...so much sensationalistic side *stuff* that simply didn't matter.

Perhaps I should stick to classics for a while…look for another Russian.  Pregnant with Davyn, I tried to tackle War and Peace. Failed. I think I’m ready for a Do Over.  Does anyone want to join me?  I just can’t face the rest of this other book.  I honestly don’t care if the heroine (vapid, flat, non-deserving of that title) lives or dies.  With Tolstoy I may not ever be precisely sure of the heroine’s name, but I will care.  I Need to Care.

tag, I'm it!

Tagged by Lelly (whose very cute blog is a must-see). Ok, six unusual things about me.

1. I'll get this one out of the way as it has been more than pertinent this week. I am NOT a good nurse…nurturing the sick is (shamefully) not something I do well. I think I shocked Jim with my callous impatience the first time he was sick in our marriage. Surprise, your wife is a beast! He, in turn, shocked me with overly abundant patience. I'm definitely the lucky one here.
2. I was once given an airplane ticket by a complete stranger who I met on the metro in D.C. I was crying, and he was beyond generous. The world is good.
3. I would love to go to school for the rest of my life. Give me homework, please.
4. I can bake platters full of yummy homemade treats, but have never managed to make an edible brownie from a box.
5. Before having my first child I only wore heels. I hiked in heels (Tyler still laughs at me for that one), camped in heels, walked through museums in heels. I was also a sucker for beautiful suits...still long for those Ann Taylor days.
6. I have a pin in my right hand ring finger. The fingertip detached when slammed in the door on Christmas Eve when I was about seven. I remember my parents covering it up so I couldn’t peek at the bloody mess. I also remember my dad carrying me in the hospital, to which I said, “My legs aren’t broken, it’s my finger.”

I tag Kelly, but I certainly won't be able to next year after all of her running skills develop!

better?

No fevers today, but can you seriously consider them "better" when all they want to do is lay in mom's bed?  No playing, no fighting, no eating, no outside.  Hmm...

almost a criminal

On Thursday I was at the grocery store Alone.  This is a rarity.  Grocery visits are usually accomplished with eight little limbs flying from my cart, two tiny voices shouting for This and That, and a finale of one wanna-be-dog child crawling on the ground (they clean those floors, right?).  I hardly need to say that I don’t stop to look at labels.  I seldom smile at strangers.  And I certainly don’t pause to peruse the magazines.  Alone on Thursday, I did. 

Yes, a house full of sick boys awaited the o.j. reinforcements, but I did pause to Look & relish the Alone.  So many magazines to choose from, each one representing a world that Invited with the promise of Escape - breathtaking gardens, a perfect body, luscious food, exotic travel.  A twinge of Pause Guilt struck, and I picked up a wedding magazine.  Mostly Business to this Pleasure, of course, since I definitely need to be looking for more cake ideas with Jenna’s wedding only weeks away.  So what if I’ve already made my plans…there's always room for inspiration.

Flipping pages, face to face with an amazing cake, it was Love at first sight.  I’m a firm believer, part of the reason why the walls in my house stay empty for so long.  I have to fall in Love before I hang something into permanence.  And cake love, infinitely important, of course.  Well, the cake, while lovely, did not warrant the thoughts that crossed my mind.  I had to have the magazine, of course, but I looked at the ridiculous $9.99 on the cover.  My reaction was Anger (one part magazine price, more parts piled up frustrations from the week).  Not that $10 can’t be spared, but for one picture of one cake?  I decided to solve the anger issues by simply tearing out the picture and discreetly returning the magazine to its place on the rack.  Of course I would never steal, but this felt more like Justice to my frazzled mind.  I wheeled my cart to an empty aisle, eyes flashing back & forth to guard against witnesses.  Nervous, I moved to another aisle, eyes still darting.  My hand was on the page, but that was the limit of my defiance.

I came home $10 poorer, one cake photo richer. 

 

I still think it's beyond lovely.   

lost & found

Ok, this is my break from my pneumonia-diseased Jim, strep-throat diseased Aidan, and mild-fevered Davyn.  There has been no throwing up or disastrous messes, and my life is actually much calmer than usual when my boys are sick.  Simply a house of blah.  With not much else to do, I've spent lots of time rubbing feverish little backs as we watch t.v.

Yesterday evening we were mesmerized by a show about prosthetic eyes. Random, yes, but it was so interesting to see the process of fitting and making fake eyes. The ocularist becomes an artist. He paints the eye with the patient sitting right there so the colors can be matched precisely. He then adds thin red veins and even applies some red fibers to give realistic vein dimension.

Aidan got freaked out every time they popped an eye in or out. He squirmed and covered his own eyes often with the exclamation, “I can’t watch this yucky eye.” Davyn would chime in with “me too”, and, not quite *getting* what A was doing, plug his ears instead. It was rather strange to see an empty eye socket, but I couldn’t help but watch.  We were stunned to see that when they insert the eye, it actually has the ability to move. Some kind of magnetics allow this medical miracle.

It amazes me to discover expertise in areas 100% foreign to me. There is someone out there who lives & breathes fake eyes. Fascinating. It seems crazy that such things are even possible. But, this art is apparently not that new.

 

A 4800-year-old artificial eye was found in the skeletal remains of a woman at an archeological site in Iran. This discovery floored me. She must have been a princess or in some position of wealth or power to be outfitted so meticulously with this artificial eye.  It was made of a natural tar mixed with animal fat. According to the Discovery Channel, "Whoever made the eye likely used a fine golden wire, thinner than half a millimeter to draw even the most delicate eye capillaries." 

Crazy precision thousands of years ago….Around the time of the Great Pyramids…of Stonehenge, some rich young princess was being fitted for a fake eye.  Real life (was she nervous, excited?) so long ago…and I was amazed by the *modern* skill on last night's show.

Random, but semi-related, this was a Real Ad on Craig’s List in the D.C. area:

“I never knew how much I really liked my fake eye until it left me. After spending the past 11 years together we had become fairly close and for the most part took each other for granted. It was the kinda love I imagine old people have; spending afternoons together enjoying each others company, not having to say a word but just understanding. There was no need for painful confessions of love where the one professing is unsure if its the right time and the one being professed to is scared for their life. I completed my fake eye by providing it a body and it completed me by providing an eye. Now that it is gone I am forced to revert to my old pirate ways. "Arrgh", "shiver me timbers", "walk de plank", "not all pirate treasure is made of gold". All these sayings come back to me like it was yesterday that I was sailing the seas searchin for jewls! Diamonds and emeralds! Gold! Pirate treasure man! In a word...booty. I mised my pirate days but to be perfectly honest I am a bit lonely without my fake eye and I wish it would come home. So if you see it out there in between the seat cushions on the metro, or in the weeds along the W&OD tell it to come home where it belongs.”

A good laugh on a blah day, but could this possibly be real?  Hmm…perhaps he should make a trade with a certain princess who definitely no longer needs what he so irreverently seeks.