One Year Later

My journey has come so far. I was just that kid, no future, no hope of ever making it past the front door of my own house, to now, 3000 miles away with a college degree and knowledge that I can kick ass. But that has only gotten me so far. Emotions are back, deep dark ones. Family drama and abuse have begun again, even from those I thought were really family. And now I want to change everything. For what? Hope that life isn’t this nine to five death trap where one day you wake up and boom, one-way ticket down under (and I’m not talking the kind with the fury kangaroos).

So we’ve come here to Seattle. Over one year in and I would hope to be somewhere different. Eyes wide, dreams fulfilled, and pockets full of dough. Nope. Still here on my couch, just broke down crying not five minutes ago. In the darkest reaches this trip has taken me, I feel that I’ve finally started to bloodily crawl myself out of the hole. Then yesterday happens. My hand catches a loose bit of soil, and I’m back at the bottom of the chasm.

But instead of feeling defeated by it, I can still make out that light at the top.

So why am I sharing all of this? I feel that the budding generation of late 20 somethings is breaking down and hitting walls. Instead of the drones of our parent’s day, we’re alive with thoughts, feelings, and a driven passion for something else. Yet, the world hasn’t changed with us. Only a select few have gotten through and are living their dreams, but so many are still stuck dying a little inside every day. I was one of these, stuck beneath the fluorescent lights, spurred on by a generation who thought they knew what was right or wrong.

I’m not blaming them for this, but if you go back to the beginning, they were the ones that told us to believe in fairy dust and when we take it past our childhood and into the real world, they tell us we’re crazy. Still I want to turn to them and say “I believe.”  I believe that we can be something else. Strike social change, kill the social construct of the working life, and move forward with love and caring for all humanity.

I want you to know that you are not alone. Those feelings burrowing into your soul, leaving scars from their scratches, are the truth. There’s better. We can’t stick to this rut. We must break free because life isn’t just sitting here, making the bare minimum that some schmuck upstairs deems as our worth.  No!  We are human which means we are worth so much more.

This isn’t an easy change. I’m here a year later and no further along. It took me this past year to just get my mind straight. To realize that I can’t walk that line anymore. To filter and clean out my heart, letting in the love and wants that I really need. I’ve fought through the voices playing havoc in my mind. I’ve fought through the looks, the abuse of the ones I trusted most. I’ve made a stink and people run from it. But I fight because when I go down under, I want to know that I loved and lived. So let’s just keep fighting. Maybe someday together we can show the world that the point of life is living.

Love Kait

"The Cruel Prince" Book Review

I really…. really…. really wanted to like this book.

End result, I just couldn’t get into it. Maybe it was my fault, not really in the mood for something of this genre, or maybe it wasn’t the type to catch my attention. I just don’t have much of a comment. You ask and I’ll probably just shrug my shoulders. I didn’t hate it and I didn’t love it, which is why it ended up being 3 stars on Goodreads. Here’s the kicker though, I’m going to read the next book.

*Shock*

*Gasp*

Right!?!?!?

A few comments that I do have. I want to start by prefacing that this is my first Holly Black book. For years I’ve been out of the YA genre. Not on purpose I will add, just sort of fell out of it. But now I’ve jumped right back in feet first. Listening to other souls that I trust, and hearing their feelings on this title, I’m not sure if this was a good choice for my first Black book or jaunt into the Faerie Realm.

This story is dark. I love it. We’re not talking Disney’s version of Tinker Bell with pixie dust and dreams. We’re talking dark, sinister, trickster types from old folktales. And believe me, when you read this book you need to keep that in mind. These characters are not human, their actions are not nice, and they will make you question everything about humanity. But remember, they are not human. The sinisterness and story have been compared to Game of Thrones and I can agree that it deems a few comparisons. I won’t be making them here. You know the rules.

NO SPOILERS.

Two items that annoyed me to death though, are the character dynamics and the writing. Seriously take note here, DO NOT make your readers read ‘I am’ instead of ‘I’m’. My reading flow kept breaking. Sometimes I wanted to throw the book out the window. Thank goodness this was a reading club book and I was forced to finish it up. Next time, I’m warning everyone, I won’t be able to suffer through it.

And here I go on another rant about characters. They make a story though. Tell me one of your favorites that doesn’t include a beloved character? I can wait….

I don’t hate Jude, I just wanted to shake her a few times and tell her to get her life together. I mean, she had so many opportunities to get out of her situation and she chose not to. I know that’s part of the story, but the reasoning behind it just wasn’t believable. Instead her character turned into more of a masochist.

Conclusion, the prologue and the epilogue where superb and awe defining, the center just a bit of moldy cheese; you pick off the bad parts and enjoy the good parts. There were a few. I wasn’t bored the entire time. But with how strong that opening was, the wind was seriously let out of my sails when I started chapter 1. But ugh….. Black pulled a turn around with that epilogue. Now I have to know what happens. I really hope that you like this story if you are a Holly Black fan. I might give another one of her stories a try before I give up.

Giving Up Chemicals: Toothpaste Edition

My goal in life is to become chemically free, but….

I freak out about my teeth. And no.

queue *eye roll*

It isn’t for the usual things like how straight they or how white they are. I hate the tissue test.

I’m deathly afraid to get a cavity, or essentially, have any major dental work. There are also these moments when I fear that a tooth is loose and about to fall out. A weird fear since I had braces for almost 7 years and boy did they tug on those babies. I think if they didn’t fall out then, there’s a small chance they will fall out now. I’m still pretty young to have that worry.

The only way to assuage this fear is knowing that my mouth is filled with all the chemicals possible to ensure that won’t happen.

I silently laugh at myself, because, though they did help me stay away from cavities, I cracked a tooth.

How?

My dentist doesn’t even believe me.

On a soft bread roll during a wedding reception. It was so bad, anything I ate sent shooting pain. Nope, I didn’t get to enjoy the wedding cake…. My…. favorite… part… of… a… wedding. I mean seriously, why else go?

Well, that was the start of needing to make a change. Turns out, that leading brand of toothpaste I had been using was probably the cause. Supposedly, in cases like mine, the toothpaste can actually weaken the teeth. Especially if every morning, like I was, you wake up with white slush in your mouth. I ignored it thinking it wasn’t anything - maybe I had slept with my mouth open or a weird cause like that.

Ok so all that hard work and BAM!

My teeth were ruined.

I’m being a little dramatic. But I had to get my tooth shaved down and a crown put on. My future could hold a root canal. You should join the pool on how long I can last before I break down crying from the pain and beg the dentist to take it all away.

*You didn’t come to read this just for the information right?*

Back to the story. I marched myself up to the health food store and bought me some gooooood toothpaste. I opted for Tom’s of Maine because at some point in my childhood my mother had bought it. It was something I knew. Clearly, if it didn’t kill us then it might be ok to try again.

Fast forward.

I’ve been using this toothpaste I want to say for almost two years. In the past year, I’ve had two cleanings. Guess what? A super clean bill of health. They even said I have some of the cleanest teeth. I might want to pat myself on the back for that one. I don’t know how much should go to the toothpaste. But my gums are healthy and I didn’t make it on any cavity watch lists. My husband, who also has the mouth for cavities - something about all the juices and acids are the right breeding ground - had only a tiny, possibly could become one, cavity.

Now *hangs head in shame* I wasn’t totally chemically free with this option. One reason I also picked Tom’s was because they had a Flouride option. I couldn’t fully jump off that ledge. But I don’t know….

Maybe I can now.

Some information on the brand:

Environmental Working Group Score - 2

Owned by Colgate - Palmolive

Advertises sustainable practices

No Animal Testing

Donates 10% of profits to human and environmental goodness (what this means I have no clue)

I think that this is a great first option. This brand can be found in most major stores (you don’t have to schlep off to that bad smelling health food store if you don’t want to. Oh wait they are better now. Flashback to my youth.)

Doing my research, I do have a few problems with the brand. I really don’t like that they are owned by such a big corporation. I feel that a lot of these corporations buy out smaller companies and hide behind them to say they are doing good. We are still fueling them and why not make these changes across the board.

So take the plunge. I lived. And you can too.

But seriously. Here is one more step to becoming clean and free and living green.

"Turtles All the Way Down" Book Review

I’ve read most of John Green’s books. Some have been good (Paper Towns), some not bad (Fault in our Stars), but others, not so great. This is the case with Turtles All the Way Down. Let’s start with the good items. Green’s depictions were decent, the inner monologues decent, but this is a story, not a random journal. And though I nod at his attempt to put a voice to teenage mental disorders, touching on topics that aren’t covered well today, his overall plot, characters and perspective are just not working. After finding out that it took him six years to write this, I was even more disappointed.

Six years and the biggest plot of the story, minus Aza’s battle with her disorder, was a disappearing father? This spurred the encounter between Aza and Davis. An encounter that seems a little far-fetched for a character like Aza. I mean, what normal kid says, “Hey, let’s trespass to look at some camera footage”, let alone someone with the mental battles that Aza faces? I was required to take a long jump with that one. Then the money ordeal between Davis and Aza is another story. In the end, I was required to make too many jumps. So many that I really wanted to stay in one place and give up.

In terms of character development, this felt more like a creative writing class assignment than a 6 novel writer. Green more or less went down a writing checklist. Give characters distinct characteristics. Check.

Though I don’t mind male authors writing from the female perspective, I do feel that some of the nuances of our minds are lost. I mean, they really can’t understand us since they aren’t in there. This was a big problem with Turtles All the Way Down. Multiple times I struggled with the inner workings of Aza’s mind. Some moments made me question whether she was actually a gay teenage boy. I personally prefer Green’s stories told from the male perspective.

Let’s talk about that climax. Another reason that the storyline of a disappearing father was not mixing well. The ending felt rushed and thrown together, more like Green just wanted to hurry and have it over with. Instead of using the dad as a side story and having Aza’s mental disorder as the main story, it pulled so much attention that, I as the reader, couldn’t just focus on what the main topic really should have been, Aza’s life with the disorder. If Green’s plan was to have Aza’s mental disorder be the main story, it didn’t come across that way.

And if the missing dad, boyfriend, mental disorders, and dead parents weren’t enough, let’s discuss the topic of economic differences. Really? The story was already a hot mess of hodgepodge storylines, why do you want to add another totally different topic? I think that Green wanted to show that even if your life seems like hell, there might be another soul out there that thinks it’s heaven. Still, this was just too much to handle on top of everything else that was thrown at us. We all ready had the kitchen sink, we didn’t need the recycling as well.

I promise this is my final rant about this book. But seriously… that fan fiction…? Sorry but that doesn’t make your story hipper or up with the times. Instead, it annoyed everyone else (if by everyone else, I mean me). Let’s not reference anymore to the new Star Wars franchise. And is Aza really that shallow to have never read a single one of her friend’s stories? Another large jump that I was forced to endure.

So if you haven’t noticed, I’m not a fan. I did give it a solid 3 stars on GoodReads. Green’s attempt to broach an important topic is what saved him. I just wanted to like it more for the effort that he put into it.

"Wonder Woman: Warbringer" Book Review

I want to preface this entire review with *if you haven’t read Six of Crows yet, then you need to get right on that now.* The sequel was also really good, but I like the first one more, contrary to a lot of people’s opinions.

Queue Wonder Woman: Warbringer. Wow, girl. You did it again. Leigh Bardugo has swept me off my feet. I haven’t come down yet. I’m reading a new book, but all I can think about is Warbringer. I want to cry because it’s over. I want to scream and shout. I guess I’m just going to have to start the Grisha Verse Trilogy now.

I was worried about this one. Worried and fearful that she wouldn’t be able to pull it off. I mean, how much leeway does one have with a pop culture icon? We’re talking about Wonder Woman here, not just some made up character we’ve let percolate in the nether regions of our imagination. But there are no worries with this one. Get past the initial introduction of the character and landscape and away you will go. What Bardugo might have lacked in Wonder Woman she made up whole heartedly with her other characters. And yet still, somehow, put her own twist on a character that we’ve come to know and love.

But seriously, this one is amazing (and sorry if I use this word too much. I seriously can’t find another one…. marvelous…. stupendous… mind blowing…. out of this world….). A fantastical adventure. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, especially since the movie came out recently. Would this be a continuation, a prequel, or something else entirely? I’m still not sure where it fits in since I’m not too much of a religious comic book fan, and I really don’t care. What I did care about was the superb writing of Burdago and the thought out meticulous character development. Welp, I wasn’t disappointed.

I won’t debate on whether this plot is original or not. We are dealing with an already existing storyline. But, the quest was compelling and fantastical, the current day New York believable and enjoyable, and the beautiful descriptions of Themyscira absorbing. I’m also a major nitpicker when it comes to actions scenes. Most writers lose the reader, getting lost in the shuffle by jumping and hopping around too much. Bardugo kept me engrossed the entire time. I was given a 360 view without losing a single moment.

Back to the characters and I think the main reason I felt broken hearted when it was all over. To say goodbye to Nim and Theo, well it was a sad day. Though just supporting characters, they went above and beyond to make this story as crisp, real, and humorous as it was. As my writing teacher always said, let every character think they are the protagonist, and boy did these two try to steal the show every second. The characters were witty, humorous, and definitely compelling for the current day and age. I want a story with just those two, or come on, at least give me a sequel. Yet even with those two strong-minded souls, Bardugo never lost the original care and essence of the two main characters, Diana and Alia.

The twist was a pleasant surprise. (I never give spoilers, so you are free to move about the rest of this review). I knew that something wasn’t entirely right, I think most readers will, but I never guessed what was going to happen, something that I’ll admit I’m horribly accused of always doing. There could be two reasons; one, the twist was nicely disguised without too much foreshadowing, or two, I was loving the story so much that I didn’t have the mental room or desire to attempt a guess. The story was really just that good.

And with the call for diverse characters stronger every day, I want to make note of Bardugo’s attempt to add dark-skinned characters to her book. I won’t attempt to say whether she did a good job or not, especially because I’m not dark skinned and wouldn’t know what a life living dark skinned might be like, I was happy to read something new. Her addition lent to the storyline and was not a publicity stunt. Her writing, as always, let me picture each character in their own unique glory.

Hands down my favorite book so far this year and I would say that it would be staying this way if I didn’t have three more of her books to read.

So again, read this book. If you are not a superhero, Wonder Woman fan, I would still say that this is a great fantasy read. If you didn’t guess already, my first 5 star rating on Goodreads this year.

Happy Reading Everyone!

"The Good Girl" Book Review

With the awards this book has been nominated for, and the constant mentions to Gone Girl, I thought hey, this might actually be a good thriller. I’ve read a few thrillers lately - this is a new genre for me - so I was excited to try another one out. The problem for me, because I can’t just go along for the ride, I tend to guess the ending way too early. Sometimes I don’t mind this because I end up going on a whirlwind trip trying to see if my guess is correct. But most of the time, the story is poorly done, or the writing is off, or the characters are just downright boring that the rest of the read is the same. Well, queue The Good Girl.

Let me start by saying that this ending was given away too early. I mean seriously, leave us in suspense a little bit longer. Even the big reveal in the epilogue, the only time that we hear from Mia herself, comes as no surprise. I was not taken on a joyride. And I hate to sound so mean, but the writing itself was boring. At about 50 pages in, I already wanted to put the book down. Sadly, I have this thing where I must finish every book that I start. And I don’t know what is worse, the fact that I had to finish the book or that my book club is reading a different Mary Kubica book next month.

There was one thing that I found interesting and I want to give it kudos. I recently took a writing class. One week, the professor had us sit down and write a short synopsis of our three main characters, their wants and ultimately, what might change about them during the story. We then sat in groups, reading aloud and the other students would vote for the character they wanted to tell the story. I feel this was a huge high-five to Kubica. Most authors probably would have told the story from Mia’s point of view. There is plenty of great stuff to work with there. But instead, she decided to tell it through the eyes of Mia’s captor, mother, and the detective searching for her. Excellent decision and I think the only reason that saved this book from getting a 1 star on Goodreads.

With the amount of time I have, and the fact that I have a lot of books to get through this year, I really regret wasting my time with this one. Ugh, those impulse grabs in the library. I should know not to grab one from that front display unless it’s on my list. I think that I have officially learned my lesson with this one.

Happy reading everyone!

Feeding Strays

The world had ended It was as simple as that. No elaborate story or neat little bow to tie it all together. At least that was how Cat liked to look at the situation. Her name was like the world, simple and definite. She was never gifted with a last name since her mother couldn’t see the point. But it worked, a little too well.

Hunger was Cat’s calling card. It was what drove her to keep moving. If one place ran dry then there had to be another. But, since the world had ended, those others were becoming harder to find. Who would have guessed the end of the world would be like this?

Cat was on another day. Food had stopped coming at their last home so they just left. No blame on the owners. They needed to take care of themselves first. It was a comfortable home. Well kept even with the world ending and the owners had been so kind, opening doors wide and letting all of them in. Cat had hated to leave. She could see the signs. The couple were sleeping more and forgetting simple items. Cat and everyone else could move more easily, 80 year-olds not so much.

The sun was setting. The cold felt colder since they had been inside for the change of seasons. Most of the houses they had passed had been dark, lonely and abandoned, all the scraps removed or eaten by other wondering parties. Cat pushed everyone on quickly from those spots. There was no point wallowing and getting discouraged.

One advantage of the dark was you could spot occupied houses much easier. And that was exactly what Cat saw a hundred yards ahead, a brightly lit bungalow. Food.Cat signaled to the others. A quiet nod of her head was all that was needed. A dozen pair of eyes trained on their new destination. Moments later they had arrived.     

The smell of food was apparent. It seemed to cover every surface. Cat felt the group ready to pounce, but they needed to play their cards right. One wrong step and they would get nothing. First, a volunteer would need to go to the door and get the owner's attention, explain the situation. Then one by one, with no signs of aggression, they would walk up.

A quick vote. Cat was picked. Each of them was supposed to take a turn but Cat felt her always came a little too quickly. It was probably because she was the cutest, the one least likely to get shooed away. One of the last few girls in the group too, yet the bravest.

With caution, she moved stealthily. No point in drawing attention till she was sure these people were checked out. There was no crazy blood on the ground or screams. Not like the house before they found their last place. Sam hadn’t survived. By the time they realized the owners were maniac killers, Sam had been snatched. Cat hated to leave him behind but they needed to look out for themselves.

Cat felt safe. Maybe she wasn’t, but the food was getting overwhelming. She made a commotion, soft scratches at the door. It was dead silent. Was there really anyone in the house? Were they too scared to even check the door? Then they were very stupid to set the house ablaze with all the light.

It felt like forever but soon footsteps echoed off the floor. Young feet with a sure step. This was good, Cat thought. Competent hunters to feed them. The door squeaked open. Cat saw the well-oiled leather of upkept boots.

“Well, what have we here?” The voice was husky from years of smoking. “Becka, I think we have a guest for dinner.”

A young woman poked her head into view. She seemed kind. At the sight of Cat her face distorted into a fully defined smile.

“Oh goodness. Exactly what we need to brighten up this place. Bring it in and let me see if Luke is up.”

Cat felt the floor give way to air. She wasn't sure if she was upset from being called it or being picked up.

“What shall we call…” there was a pause as the man carefully inspected Cat’s underside, “her?” He followed Becka into an old farmhouse style kitchen. Becka was reaching into a large box, pulling out a sleepy-eyed boy of about one year old. Cat squirmed, digging nails into flesh. She hoped her friends would her her cries and leave. This was not a home. It was a nightmare.

"The Chemist" Book Review

*Enter Sarcasm*    

Stephanie Meyer did it again. She created a love story where an abnormally talented creature/human falls in love with an average damsel in distress. This time she just switched the sexes and tied it up with a spy novel bow.

*Exit Sarcasm*

Ok, but seriously. I had such hope, showing this book off at my book club, claiming that at 130 or so pages in, there was yet a love interest. This isn’t a love story guys. She is branching out. Boy was I wrong, as I sit hanging my head in same. Nope, it was all a lie. Again, Meyers fell back on what she does best except that this time, it was really poorly executed.

I was hoping for something different, or at least well executed. Twilight was great and I can ignore the less to be desired writing skill. Meyers was new to the scene, first novel jitters. Well, that card was played and is gone. For the number of books to her name, the skill needs to be upped. Instead, my belief is that this is the worse one she has written to date.

A basic item, characters felt flat. I couldn’t really get behind Alex and I hate to admit that the dog was the best one of the lot. After the 130 pages, when the love interest came in, I got bored. There was nothing holding my attention. I ended up reading two others books before I eventually put my adult pants on and got down to finishing this book. It was a real struggle.

Honestly, the only thing that saved this book was the fact that it was a spy novel, though I’m not one to actually say whether it hit the mark there either. I don’t read a lot of spy novels, so for me, it was new and fresh. I did want to find out what would happen.

So in the end, girl loves the boy. The boy loves the girl. Some crazy special events happen and the end. No vampires included this time. My vote is a 2 out of 5 stars.

Magical Glasses

I was walking down the sidewalk one day - it was your average weekday kind of jaunt - when I felt a pang upon my head followed by a clattering of metal on concrete. Looking down I beheld a curious sight of gold-rimmed spectacles with tinted glass. As any person would suspect to do, I looked around and around for the source of this suspicious appropriation. No buildings stood above me to warrant a casual drop or fling from such heights, nor was there a soul around me. What was one to assume but that these spectacles came from God? Sure that I was to be the next prophet and these were to be like the arc or burning bush, my own grand talisman of power, I quickly scooped them from their resting place.

For something supposedly coming from God, I expected them to be much heavier. Why were they not pure gold? All biblical stories spoke of great wealth and craftsmanship in God’s objects. I felt gypped of my moment. These glasses could have been purchased from Target, with their cheap gold colored painted scrap metal and plastic lenses. There was no way that I would accept this as my prophetic calling card. But, because I’m a quality neighbor and a fine resident of this city, I tucked those glasses into my jacket pocket with intentions of swiftly dropping them in the next garbage pail that I came upon.

Oh but the story doesn’t stop there. I dare say, I wish it had, for not two steps along the business of my walk, I walked head first - and in a very painful manner, I have the lump to prove it - into the air. When my doctor asked later the cause of my accident - I had to make sure that I wasn’t concussed you see - he didn’t believe that I had simply walked into air. But I tell you I did. When I went to move forward once again, I smashed right into that darn air. Now, I still to this day have no clue how the thought of putting those spectacles on popped into my head, but it sure did. Sometimes I wonder if that was God’s way of saying, “No Sir, you can’t die this day.” So I reached into my pocket and put on those cheap things, but oh, they weren’t cheap anymore, I tell you. Those very spectacles saved my life.

That wasn’t air before me. No. It was this grotesque creature and in his hand was this club that he planned to bludgeon me with. I am not ashamed to admit that I yelped and scurried right out of the way of that flying club and right down the street. I don’t know what God’s intentions are with these here spectacles - now, no you cannot touch them and I won’t be passing them around - but I plan on carrying them with me everywhere. Oh, is it time now. Well good evening to you all. I guess it’s time for my medication.

A white clothed nurse came forward and wheeled the old man from his spot by the window. His imaginary audience stood up as well and shuffled on their way. Once the man and his aid had left the common room, another door from the opposite corner opened. Stooping to clear the door frame, a grey scaled creature walked in, club dragging behind him.     

"Lilac Girls" Book review

*WARNING: Spoilers ahead*

From the moment I saw this book and read the description, I had such hopes and then I read the first sentence; chills went down my back. This was going to be the best seven hours of reading. But, when I got past that, there was serious buyer’s remorse. I wanted with all my heart for this book to be good, wishing it with every word that I read, but, I’m sorry to admit, it didn’t hold up. My first response would be that I was sorely disappointed.

Let me begin by saying that the best part of the whole book was the author’s note at the very end. Wow. That little side note of explanation told a better story of Caroline and what she did for the girls of Ravensbruck, not the 487 pages of actual story. Martha Hall Kelly took this amazing woman, who is supposedly the inspiration for writing the book, and turned her into a shallow, soul exasperating person with a fictional love interest that in my opinion brought the whole story to just above daytime soap opera. And, I will add, that this love interest was never fully wrapped up in the end.

This story begins right before WWII. Since Caroline is considered a war hero, I assumed that her actual heroism would occur during WWII. No, in fact, it actually occurs about 12 years after the war has ended. Something that is not alluded to till you read that part about 2/3rds in. Kelly did nothing to dissuade this and I feel many times played into that thought process by adding in certain facts in addition to including characters such as Herta and Kasia. A backstory is extremely important, but did we have to go through every detail of what occurred and then only spend a bare minimum on the heroism of getting the survives help?

And I also ask why was Herta included? Seeing a different point of view was interesting, but there was no Schindler’s List ending. Herta ended up being the same evil person feeling no remorse for her part in the experiments. For myself, and a few others, we expected Herta to turn around at some point and help save the girls. She went from having a conscience about killing to, oh look now, I can do this without a second thought. In essence, the character felt like two different people.

Kelly also included too many topics for each one to be fully developed. She touches on motherhood, mother-daughter relationships, mental illness, WWII which has enough material, concentration camps, politics, women’s rights, marriage and so on. Characters also felt thrown in. Major characters that had larger roles were left hanging. In my opinion, Kelly took on too large of a task. This could have been broken down, one POV, and multiple books. One book about the sisters and one book about Caroline.

One of the most intriguing characters was Kasia’s mother. With so much potential of even her own story, this character was in essence left hanging. She had such a chunk of the story she almost felt like a main character. For Kelly to only spend a few lines at the end to explain what happened to her was so sad. Instead of having Herta explain to Kasia what happened at the end, since Herta supposedly saw it, Kelly could have used the old teacher's adage of show don’t tell. If Kelly wrote a book about the mother, I would give her a second chance.

And my final mark against this book is the writing itself. What started as elegant prose that was sweeping me through the streets of New York and Lublin, turned into an annoying list of she did this and he did that. The description and sweeping melodies were lost about halfway in. It became dry and downright boring. No more getting into the character’s mind and experiencing how they felt and saw things. I continued to read only because I wanted to see how it all turned out.

In truth, though I had hoped for so much more, this book felt like a waste of my time. I will give it a 2 out of 5 stars. I’m glad that the Ravensbruck girls have had their story told. I had such better hopes for Caroline though.

It's Ok

It’s Ok

Come here, my sweet boy. Be safe and warm in my embrace. Let the silent tears fall down your face. It’s ok.

Let them be your sound. Let them show your hollowed soul and empty heart. It’s ok.

Relax the hands clamped in your hair. It will not help to rip out the pain you feel in your gut. That pain will not budge. It’s ok.

My love, this is normal. This is life. It’s ok.

You are feeling life. The ebb and flow of emotions as we experience all the different facets of existence. It’s ok.

There is nothing wrong with you. As time keeps moving forward, the pain will change again. It’s ok. 

Never hide this side of yourself. Show it to the world. Let them know how you feel. It doesn’t make you less. It’s ok.  

You are braver than a knight. Without walls or armor, you’ll stand upon a field saying, “Look at me, this is who I am”. It’s ok.

You will be loyal, empathetic, loving, strong, courageous, and wise. It’s ok.    

The very men that have walked before you will lay a box at your feet. You will look upon that box, scuff at its four walls, its small cramped interior, and its lid that will shut too tight. It’s ok.

Instead, standing tall, you’ll bare your soul to the world and stand proud. It’s ok.

Know that the souls that follow you will never see that box. Will never be forced to stand on that field and decide between that horrid confinement to the shame, exclusion, and ridicule that you will brave for them. It’s ok.

I’m sorry that you must forge this path. But you are my son. The very first of its kind.

You will always be loved.

And when the day comes and my arms are no longer here to climb into, just know that your heart will always be protected by the shielding of my love.

My Father's Hands

My father’s hands are worn and aging. They can tell the stories of his life. The stories of a father, husband, son, lawbreaker, veteran, student, mechanic, surfer, caretaker, builder, friend, brother, and abuser. I have seen many of these hands; in warm strong embraces from visits too far apart, claps on the back when I achieve greatness, bloody torn versions from so many projects, and anger filled rages leaving holes in walls. As much as they can be gentle they can also be strong, shoving my face into the ground as I hear the horrid words of my disgraceful existence. Then the same hands folded in a begging plea to be forgiven. Today, I cannot hate these hands. These old, worn hands that have loved, brought me into this world, and will one day hold my children. There is fear that they will turn again into those weapons of damage. But they have grown still, flowing through each day grasping, grabbing, expressing, and making new stories. It is said that every seven years our entire bodies are replaced with new cells. I hope that like our bodies, my father’s hands have become replaced. Yes, there are scars and fears but I have grown and found what true love is. My father’s hands have taught me that.

"The Hearts We Sold" Book Review

What would you trade for an arm or a leg? What would you trade for a heart? These are the questions asked in the novel The Hearts We Sold by Emily Lloyd-Jones. A unique twist to fairytales and demons, the story takes you on the journey of Dee who has decided how much her heart is worth.

I don't regret reading this book. So many times I bore from the constant storyline, we have a hero and the hero must learn about him/herself before saving the world. It feels that if sci-fi or fantasy is the theme, this is the typical plot. Just look at Harry Potter and Hunger Games, exact duplicates except for the big difference; their stories are super unique. We are given distinct characters, descriptive worlds, and something that we can sink our teeth into. Now, I’m not saying that this book is as good as those classics, but I was given something that swept me along the journey.

As the protagonist, Dee was believable. Lloyd-Jones’ description of Dee’s home life was extremely accurate and made Dee’s desire in making a deal with a demon something the reader could get behind. The addition of the secondary characters added color and flavor for the in-betweens. James was someone we could all love and we mourned the loss of others. Lloyd-Jones took moments in the story to develop intricate backstories to enhance the complex construction of her characters. In addition, the twist of possible sci-fi aliens in the mix was a fun take to your traditional fairy tales.

Some areas were less than believable. I wouldn’t say plot holes but areas where it took some effort to take what Lloyd-Jones was dishing out. I won’t go into details because it would give the story away. Sadly, you’ll just have to read the story and fall into the holes like the rest of us.

My final rating would probably be a 3.5 stars out of 5. Not something that I swoon for but definitely a good use of my reading time.

Love

And I looked upon the water asking, "Mother Earth, what can I do for you?"

She lapped her waves upon the shore contemplating what I had asked. "Child," she answered, "no one has paused to ask me question. You can teach your children how to grow, because if they can see something bloom then maybe they won't want to destroy it. You can teach them resilience, because when I have been sucked dry, they will have to find new ways to live. But most of all, you can teach your children and your children's children to love. For if they know what love is, they can surely love me." 

Decisions

Slap.

Heads turn and eyes look to the flat hand pressing against the shellacked tabletop. No one dares to voice their concerns over Derek's sudden outburst, but all question his motives, except for Sandy. She stares at him with the same ferociousness that had just brought his hand down. 

"I don't give a damn what the boss wants, but I sure as hell ain't walking out that door. Let the old man face his own fate. I ain't fighting his battles no more." Derek ends his rant with a grab of his half-filled stein and slowly empties it, keeping his hazel eyes locked with Sandy's blue ones. 

Sandy watches this, not moving even an inch, just taking in every movement that her brother makes. She has experienced this anger before, never backing down, and she isn't going to make this one an exception. 

"Fine. If that's how it's going to be." Her words are icy and they have a small effect on Derek. He lowers his stein softly to the table, his face changing ever so slightly with her words. He was expecting more of a fight. Something that would reveal she was struggle with the decisions too. It wasn't fair that they had to make the choice and change the future. He liked it the way it had been the last thirty years. 

"I'm telling the doctor to take dad off the life support tomorrow." Sandy grabs her jacket off the back of the chair and leaves the bar to make good on her words. 

Smelling in Color

Smelling in Color

What is a word but a collection of sounds.

Hello sounds.

You convey meaning.

What is meaning?

Emotions? Feelings? 

The essence of life itself?

Life, Hope, Love, Passion

*Crying*

The strong emotional sharing of our inner desires.

Overpowering, Overwhelming

Breaking into my inner mind.

Talking over my own thoughts.

Cars, Wind, Neighbors

The tiny breath of my four legged son.

How to list words when I wish we could display in sound.

Better, Stronger, Connection.

Smell.

Smell awakens a part of our consciousness rarely let free.

It's bottled like the very smell itself. 

Have you flown?

I fly from every smell that raises to my faculties.

But not every scent.

We crave the smells of our souls.

If the world smelled pretty would wars end?

I hear this argument outside.

All I sense is shame. 

More shame, judgmental. 

What would that smell like?

Garbage, coal, rank air.

*Pauses to grasp the conscious soul pounding in these words.*

I crave the silence of acres.

Of peace.

Quiet smells like fresh air.

Cool crisp breezes, fresh fruit ripening.

But not flowers.

Those are reserved for something else.

Smells can be anything.

Molded in our minds to be sweet remeberances.