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My daughter is in love with books. As a Mom and writer, I find there are few words for me to describe how ridiculously happy this makes me. Reading is such a gift. It truly opens the doors to worlds of possibility. Reading with her has made me think about the books I fell in love with as a child. When I think back on the stories that delighted me, that caused my imagination to soar, that made me think that anything was possible I find the following books. Some I read and some were read to me by my Mom or Grandma; I treasured them all.

1. Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson
2. Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak
3. Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown
4. The Littlest Angel by Charles Tazewell
5. A Bear Called Paddington by Michael Bond
6. Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel by Virginia Lee Burton
7. The Real Mother Goose by Blanche Fish Wright
8. Richard Scarry’s Best Word Book Ever by Richard Scarry
9. The Complete Adventures of Curious George by H.A. Rey
10. The Tale of Peter Rabbit (The World of Beatrix Potter) by Beatrix Potter
11. Eloise by Kay Thompson
12. The Story of Babar by Jean De Brunhoff

What about you? What were your favorite books as a child? What would you read again if you ran across it in the book store? What would recommend for little ones today?

What Kate Did Next is a blog I enjoy reading written by Kate Lord Brown. As a writer, she has daily prompts attached to her posts that inspire me to write even on the days when writing is going well. But you don’t need to be a writer to enjoy her work. Her fun, insightful pieces will introduce you to new art and artists while making you think long after you have moved on.

Last month, Kate wrote a post titled Light My Fire? that I’ve been thinking about ever since as it relates to a project I’m working on. The post spawned a question that I would like to share with you.

First, I ask you to think of written works such as Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, Atonement by Ian McEwan, and Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Then think of films such as Something’s Gotta Give, When Harry Met Sally, and Serendipity or similar types of romantic comedies. I know these are all very different works of art but they have one common theme, romance.
Ok, now here is my question. When it comes to romance in written or visual works, which type are you more drawn to – the ones where the main characters fight to be together and succeed or the ones where characters that are deeply in love with one another will never be together?

I’m torn. If you take a movie like Something’s Gotta Give which was filled with raw emotion presented in a hilariously, heart-breaking way, I found myself hoping the characters would get together. It just felt like the only place all of the emotion could exist was between those two characters because they either exploded or imploded without one another; they were a mess.

Yet, when the characters in the film Serendipity got together I wasn’t the least bit fulfilled. Was it that they were not exceptionally intriguing characters or that their struggle was not compelling enough? Honestly, I think it was a little of both.
That calls to mind another question. What is it that makes a romantic story compelling – the characters or their struggle, i.e. the things that keep them apart? 

On the flip side, as I commented to Kate, maybe we need characters to remain apart in order to be reminded of the importance of love in our lives. Maybe we need to remember that love is fragile, it can disappear in the blink of an eye or can it? Is love everlasting when two people are kept apart? Is it everlasting when they are together? Maybe characters such as Romeo, Juliet and Heathcliff, among others, are our wake up call, because we all fall asleep from time to time, to remind us not to take love for granted.

What do you think?

What is the first thought that comes to mind when you look at this photo? What is the first thing you feel when you look at it?

Here was my feeling and thought: I love that wildflowers exist in the concrete jungle.

Suddenly, she stopped. My daughter had been running along the sand this summer, giggling as the water tried to tickle her toes, when she looked up and spotted these two kites. First, she pointed. Then, she stood there, mesmerized. Over the course of the next few days, she would point to planes, clouds, stars and the moon. She had discovered a whole new way of seeing the world.

On the way home from our vacation, I looked out the window and noticed that some of the leaves on the trees were already changing colors. I’d never seen that happen in August! I associate leaves changing with the month of October because that’s the month they often come to life in New York City. Don’t all leaves change then? I hadn’t considered the fact that it might happen earlier in states farther north, like Maine. Forgive me sometimes I forget that New York is not the center of the world. 

As I began to dream about what it would be like to live in other states, I realized I was opening myself to a new way of seeing the world. I was also thinking about crisp leaves, comfy sweaters, pumpkins, holidays which was a clear switch from the beach bum thoughts I’d been enjoying until that point.

When is the last time something you saw caused a shift in your perspective?

Tomorrow, Thursday, September 11th, 2008 will mark seven years since the Towers fell in the beautiful city I’ve always called home. It will mark seven years since my friend, Sean Peter McNulty, lost his life for no other reason than he showed up to work on time that morning. I miss him.

I cannot sum up the life or character of this man; the words needed have not been invented. The best I can do, with a little help from my buddy Billy Joel, is to offer a miniscule glimpse into this person. When Billy sings, “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun..,’ I swear he had Sean in mind. But that’s not the point of this post.

See, what I would like to do is share is a small story about a moment in my life that means more than these small words will ever be able to convey. One winter night, Sean, Claire and I went out for “a beer” which as everyone knows always means ten or more. At some early hour of the morning, we spilled out of the bar and onto the street. It had been snowing lightly when we’d entered but now the sky was clear, you could actually see stars despite the city lights. The crisp air was invigorating and after walking a block we decided to turn into a park that had a playground for kids and a basketball court for all ages. One of us thought it would be fun to zip across the ice covered court like speed skaters. Before I knew it, we were all “skating” till someone fell and we ended up flat on our backs, one beside the other. For awhile, we were like little houses on the ice with smoke rising from our lips as though from a chimney; we stared up at the two stars we could see. The North Star was directly above and I remember that regardless of the cold, I felt warmth akin to that found at home. Sean spoke first, initiating a conversation about wishes and life. But it was not the words that were important. It was the feeling; I still feel it. For a moment, we were as innocent and hopeful as children. We were dreamers opening our hearts to the night, to the sky, to the stars, to each other.

Thank heaven for our brain and our heart, for without them we’d never be able to relive our most touching memories.

I recently talked to Claire about September 11th; each year is so different from the next. As time passes I remember more good things about the day like the birthday of a dear friend – Happy Birthday, Cathy! I think of how blessed I am to live a life so filled with the goodness of the people I am surrounded by – both those who are alive and the memories of those who have passed. I have come to see the day as a time to stop and appreciate and care for the cycle of life, its fragility, its beauty, its pain, its shortness, its richness and its magic. I have come to spend time during the day listening to the wind – it’s always restless on this day – and wonder at the heart’s ability to withstand deep love and deep pain at the same time.

Claire said she sometimes thinks she sees him on the street. She’ll see a guy with the same walk or bag and think, “Is that Sean?” I do the same thing. That “lack of closure” as she put it used to hurt. Don’t get me wrong, it still is sometimes disorienting but I’ve chosen to look at it now as a gift that reminds me that somewhere within – either in mind or heart – a piece of Sean is still very alive in me and in all those he left behind.

In this hectic and sometimes forgetful world, it’s easy to take the small, yet incredibly beautiful moments in life for granted. Today, I invite you to think about someone in your life and a small beautiful moment you shared with them. The person need not be a saint. In fact, I think its better that the person be a mixture of saint and sinner. You see sometimes we immortalize the dead or place the living on a pedestal; it’s better when we can simply make them human, thus the sinner and saint idea.

Think of that person. If they are alive, reach out to them; give them a call, send a little message, a dirty joke or something. If not, think your favorite memory – the crazier or naughtier or sillier the better. I invite you to share something about them here.

Much love to you and yours
 

Have you ever seen Almost Famous, the loosely based autobiographical film by Cameron Crowe with great music, including tunes by Led Zeppelin? (Personall, I’m a HUGE fan of gettin’ the Led out!) The film is about fifteen year old William who scores a gig writing for Rolling Stone magazine that takes him on the road with an up and coming band. After watching the movie, my mind was reeling. Here’s what I was wondering.

Would you rather be the band member or the person writing about the band?
Would you rather be the singer or the person writing the song?
Would you rather be the artist or the person reviewing the art?
Would you rather be the sports commentator or the person playing the sport?
Would you rather be the parent or the child?

I could go on but I think you get the point. You can apply the question to almost anything. As a writer, I find myself wondering about whether I want to be the person writing about everything and everyone or the person written about?  I think both and, I would go so far as to say, I think I have played both roles from time to time.

Despite having been on both sides of the coin, I still wonder, does writing = living? If I am writing, am I living? Or should I be spending less time writing and more time living? It’s a thought that doesn’t make me upset or sad; it just is.

If you had to pose the “Would you rather…” question to yourself, what do you think you would find?