Sweet Surrender

No, I didn't give in and spend the week at the bottom of a bag of cookies or elbow deep in a tub of ice cream.  Not that that wouldn't have been a perfectly lovely way to spend time.  Until the scale reared its ugly head of course.  The sweet surrender I'm talking about here refers to one of my life's greatest passions -- reading.  I know, I just lost a bunch of you.  Reading? Like, seriously?  Like, yeah.  I bet a lot more of you get that than don't.

So big whoop you're probably thinking.  And yeah really, big whoop, I read a book.  But ya wanna know how I typically read?  There's the obligatory get in bed and read a bit before -- or while -- falling asleep.  Not very satisfying when you have to go back and reread what you read while dozing off.  But my main reading comes as reward.  If I clean the bathroom, I can read for 15 minutes or x number of chapters, whichever comes first.  Walk the dog. Read a chapter.  Run errands.  Read until I finish eating lunch.  I dole it out in bite size little chunks.  I'm like Pavlov's dog -- I start salivating when my chore is done.

But this week?  Oh, this week was glorious.  I had in my hot little hands, Finders Keepers, the second of a Stephen King trilogy.  And y'all know how I feel about Steve.  There was no way I was going to fit Steve in between weeding the veggie garden and hanging the laundry on the line.  Nope, no way, no how.  I gave Steve four solid afternoons of doing nothing but reading.  Morning was for dog walking, working out, and whatever else had to be done.  But the afternoons were for me and Steve, guilt free.

And we had a fabulous time together.  Met some new friends, was reacquainted with old ones from Mr. Mercedes.  All of my expectations were met.  Steve's thrillers are every bit as good as his horror novels and definitely better than some.  The only negative?  They end.  I get the book, want to devour it totally, then have to sit back while withdrawal sets in after it's over. Sigh...

My single best reading experience ever?  July 21, 2007.  I was at the store at 8:00 a.m. to pick up my copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.  I opted not to go to the bookstore at midnight to buy it knowing I wouldn't be able to not read it, and I didn't want the aforementioned fall asleep while reading situation to mar the experience.  On the way home I picked up coffee and donuts from Timmy's and then I literally spent the next 15 hours reading. My mother even made dinner for me and delivered it to my house so I wouldn't have to stop to feed myself.  No, I didn't get it finished in that first day.  It took the next morning as well.  But there was something about the luxury of allowing myself to read it uninterrupted that has stayed with me ever since.

The simple pleasures of life don't get any simpler than that.


Book Review:  The only thing I'll add about Finders Keepers is this -- you definitely have to read Mr. Mercedes first.

   

Thank You, John Lennon

I'm restless.  There are always a million and one things that I could or should be doing.  But when I'm feeling antsy like I have been these past few days, the could be's and the should be's just don't hold any appeal.  So I pick away at things.  And end up doing a whole lot of nothing.  Now there's nothing wrong with doing nothing -- if that's what you decide to set out to do. But deciding to do nothing feels a whole lot better to your psyche than trying to do something and ending up doing nothing.  To those of you who've been there, done that this will make perfect sense.  To those of you scratching your heads wondering just what the hell I'm talking about, I envy you your steady sense of purpose.

I've been thinking a lot lately of all the things I want to do, all the things gradually making their way onto my Bucket List (and silently bemoaning all the money I'm about to spend on shit -- the septic, remember?)  Because let's face it -- if it's on your Bucket List there's a pretty good chance it's going to cost a few bucks.

And then today, as I was busy doing nothing, I got to thinking about one of my favourite sayings -- Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans.  This quote is usually attributed to John Lennon as a line from his song Beautiful Boy, but it's been around a whole lot longer than that.  But I like John, so he gets the credit here.  And really, when you stop and think about it, truer words were never spoken.  Most people, if they're lucky and so inclined, get to do something fabulous once, maybe twice a year.  An awesome trip somewhere.  A kick ass concert or sporting event. Whatever floats your boat.  And so for a few weeks every year we are living, I mean really living.  And the rest of the time?  While you wait for the big moment?  That's your life.  And it's not all about the fun stuff.  There's a lot of gotta do's in there with the wanna do's.  It's all about finding your definition of happiness in the stuff of everyday.  Something, I'll admit, I have been neglecting to do of late.

Last year I participated in the 100HappyDays challenge on Facebook along with my friend and good and faithful blog reader, Katrina.  It was pretty simple -- every day we had to post one photo of something that made us happy that day.  Sometimes it was a bit of a stretch finding something in a pretty typical ordinary day.  Or worse, in a crappy day.  I mean one day my happy thing was bacon.  But the point being, by stopping to examine your day from a happy thing mindset, you ended up looking for the good and ignoring the not so good.

So here's what I'm challenging myself to do here on Green Jar Adventures, until the next adventure starts to take shape.  A weekly roundup of life is what happens.  I'll be looking for the stuff that makes my life pretty damn good.

I'll try to make it more interesting than bacon.


Book Reviews:  Our June selection for my book club was Orange Is The New Black by Piper Kerman.  Now I have not seen the Netflix show, but from the comments I've heard about it I expect it can be pretty sexually graphic and physically violent.  And maybe that's why the book disappointed me.  It all seemed a little tame.  Or maybe it's because I come from a law enforcement background and didn't find anything new.  All in all I found it kind of boring.  Sorry.

Until the Night by Canadian writer Giles Blunt is the 6th in his John Cardinal mystery series.  I've read them all.  Enjoyed the first four, wasn't jazzed by the fifth, but he seems back to form in this instalment which was written a couple of years ago.  They are set in the fictional northern Ontario town of Algonquin Bay and winter typically plays a big role.  As long as he keeps writing them, I'll keep reading.

Pines by Blake Crouch is the first of a trilogy.  It is currently being aired as a ten part series called Wayward Pines.  I'm watching and reading at the same time.  When I've finished both, I'll let you know what I think.

You've Got Mail

Remember how exciting it used to be to get something in the mail, besides bills and flyers?  It doesn't matter how far technology advances, getting actual physical mail beats out anything electronic any day of the year.  It was a good week for me at the mailbox.

First up, a card (yes, a real physical card) from a friend containing two fantastically thoughtful gifts.  Number one was a metal luggage tag complete with photos commemorating my Camino.  The reason I can actually photograph the back and front at the same time is because I actually got two.  Fearing the first lost in the mail, the company she ordered it from reissued it and lo and behold, Canada Post came through with both.  Now I have one for my suitcase and one for my backpack.

Thoughtful gift number two was a bookmark.  To a book lover, nothing beats a cool, new bookmark (other than a book, of course.)  This one came all the way from the U. K. and lists 50 of the Best Horror Novels. It opens and has magnets on the inside so it can clip to your page.  The 50 books are listed front, inside, and back.  I've only read 10 on the list so apparently I have some reading to do.  Look for more horror entries into my Book Reviews.  I'll be sure to tag the ones from the list.


The second piece of mail came from The Giving Keys in Los Angeles, California courtesy of my kid down under.  Here's the background: The Giving Keys repurposes old keys into pendants (and other stuff).  You chose the word you want stamped on your key, words like Believe, or Create, or Hope.  Before she went away the kid got one for herself.  She chose the word Courage.  Now here's the deal, this is what it says on their card...Pay It Forward. When you get this key you must give it away at some point to a person you feel needs the message.  Then blog your story at:  TheGivingKeys.com.  We employ those who are transitioning out of homelessness.  It's win win all around.  Check them out.

The word my kid chose to put on the key she gave to me?  Strength.

Sometimes it takes a little time, a lot of distance, and a key to find out what your kid thinks of you.

Book Reviews:  Th1rteen R3asons Why by Jay Asher is a YA novel about a girl who commits suicide.  I didn't expect to have the reaction I did to this book and I'm not sure it was the one the author was after.  Before committing suicide a girl sends a set of cassette tapes to the first person on her list that she blamed for contributing to her decision.  Each person must then forward them on to the next person.  If they don't, she has entrusted a second set to someone to have them made public.  Hopefully I won't be giving too much away to say the reaction I had was anger -- at the girl who killed herself.  I would be very curious to find out how someone in the target age group responded to this novel.

The Light Between Oceans by M.L. Stedman was set just after the first world war at a lighthouse station on an island west of Australia.  This was our book club selection for May and I give it a ten out of ten and two thumbs up.  I had empathy for every single one of the characters even if I didn't agree with their actions or choices.  And for those of you (and you know who you are!) who like their books neatly wrapped up at the end, this one is delivered to you with a great big bow on it!

Not that I've ever watched it, but I would equate reading Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty to watching an episode of The Real Housewives of Wherever. But I have to admit, it was such a guilty pleasure.  Loved the characters. Loved the little snippets from the minor players that ended each chapter. The book did deal with some heavy themes -- rape, domestic abuse, infidelity -- but there was also an edge of humour in some of those previously mentioned snippets.  What can I say?  I liked it.  And oh yeah, it's a murder mystery.

A Wise Investment

So what's up next for the Green Jar?  Before the Camino, that was the only thing on my "Bucket List." But crossing that one off has apparently opened the flood gates.  I have so many 'wanna do's' and 'gotta do's' and 'would love to do's' on my list that I'm either going to have to rob a bank or win a lottery. Instead, I'm investing in shit.  Literally.  And it's a sad use of good travel money.

Here's what's happening...

My house is about 37, 38 years old.  Home ownership is all about upkeep. And nothing lasts forever.  Things break down, need repairing or replacing.  I started with my trees.  The cedars I planted to replace a fallen fir did not grow into the cedar hedge I was promised.  They're frigging behemoths and had gradually gone from shade for the back deck to overtaking said deck. They needed thinning and my fir trees needed a little limbing up away from the house.  Not a job I could do myself.  Hire tree guy.  Cha Ching.

Next up, the fence.  It was put up when I bought the house 24 years ago.  It's one of those cedar plank things with the lattice top.  Twenty four years is a good run for a fence but it's end has come.  Actually the end came a couple of years ago but I tend to put these things off.  But I could no longer ignore the fact that it was falling to pieces.  I'm pretty sure I can save a few bucks doing it myself.  And it's amazing what you can accomplish with a hammer and a couple of screwdrivers.  Fence down.  I'm only replacing some of it -- the part surrounding the deck and the part between me and one of my neighbours.  You know what they say about fences making good neighbours.  Well in this case it'll take a little more than a fence but for now it's all I got.  I bought new panels -- Cha Ching -- and they've been drying out in the garage for a couple of weeks.  Today I started staining them.  There are fourteen panels.  It takes an hour to stain one side.  You do the math.  Four hours later, two down...

And here's where we get to the shitty part.  I tried -- I really did try -- to ignore that growing wet spot in my yard that started last year.  But it had to be done.  I called in a guy with a bobcat to dig.  Please, please, please, oh please tell me there's only a broken pipe in my septic system. What's that?  No broken pipe?  My entire septic field has out lived its usefulness and needs to be replaced?  What do you mean there are new rules?  Having the tanks under the garage is not allowed anymore?  I have to replace them too if I ever plan to sell the house? And with that Bobcat Guy filled in the massive hole in the yard and with a wave and dollar signs in his eyes told me he'd see me in August or September when the ground dried out.  Cha Ching.

Shit.


Book Review:  If you picked up a book called The Enchanted with golden horses on the cover what kind of book would you expect to be reading? Something fantasy?  Would you expect the story to take place on death row in some horribly run down prison?  Yeah, me neither, although I probably knew that from reading reviews back when I ordered the book from my library many months ago and just plain forgot.  Thoroughly enjoyed this beautifully written novel by Rene Denfeld and I really have no idea why.  The scenes of prison rapes and the violent crimes that put the prisoners there were hinted at but never described in any detail.  I think that made it a little more horrifying.  Not that this was a horrifying novel.  Quite the contrary.  It's kind of hard to explain.  But this is a recommended read.

A Few Final Thoughts

The only regret I now have about my Camino is that I did not take an iPad with me to blog as I went. Contrary to what I was told, the wifi was amazing, even in the smallest of towns.  Especially in the smallest of towns.  There were only a handful of places where it was non-existent and they were usually at the higher elevations.  Note to self:  do not take advice from technologically challenged people -- yeah, you know who you are!  So it's time to wrap up my post-Camino reports.  Oh I may throw the odd one out there if circumstances warrant it, but for now here are a few final thoughts.

Eating on the Camino was definitely not one of the highlights.  Oh I'm sure there is some fabulous cuisine to be had in Spain.  Just not on The Way.  As in most European countries locals eat late.  'Real' restaurants open about 9:00; albergues have a 10:00 curfew.  The two don't jive.  So most places, especially the small towns with one place to eat, offer a pilgrim menu.  And let me tell you, some of those meals put the "grim" in "pilgrim."  But the price was right, typically about 9E for a starter, main course, dessert, plus wine or water.  And by wine I mean 1/2 bottle per person.  Most times the starter was a choice between a mixed salad or a pasta in some kind of weak tomato sauce.  Main was usually roast chicken, pork chops, or fish.  Served with fries.  Every time.  Every single time.  Dessert -- fruit (an apple), yogurt, or ice cream.  The kind in the little plastic cup that used to come with a flat wooden spoon.  You ate to fill a hole and to load up on carbs.  But every now and then you'd hit on something different.

This dessert came at the end of a pretty decent 6E pilgrim meal and it was even better than it looked.  Thin layers of real chocolate in between vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce.  I'm drooling just writing this....

And then there was the drink...the wine, the beer, the brandy.  I consumed some mighty fine red wines and some of the biggest, cheapest, coldest mugs of beer on the planet.  But it was the jug of Sangria at a small, private albergue in Sansol that stands out in my mind. The bartender made it on the spot:  red wine, fresh cut fruit, orange Fanta, and, what I'm sure was the key ingredient that made it stand out from any other sangria I've ever tasted -- Cointreau!  That it came at the end of a very hot, long day of walking enhanced the taste I'm sure.  That I got to drink it while soaking my feet in a brilliantly cold foot pool, well, that's just heaven on earth.

Did I lose any weight on this journey?  The scale said no.  Mind you there were two weeks of eating, drinking, and not walking 30 km/day in Italy tacked on to the end.  But my clothes said yes.  I could take my shorts off at the end without having to undo them.  I'm kind of happy I didn't come home ten pounds lighter because there would be no way to sustain that.  As much as I enjoy walking, in the real world I just don't have time to walk six or seven hours every day.  But I sure do miss my more toned Camino body.

I had every intention of writing a book about my experience when I returned home.  But it's not going to happen.  I went alone because it was a personal journey.  The best part of the journey, the absolute very best part, was all of the people that I met.  Some I walked with for a few days, some just a few hours.  But I found the people I was meant to be with and we covered much of the journey together.  So the Camino is not my story alone to tell.  As I would never post their photos without their permission, nor would I tell their tales.  So other than the few tidbits that I do share, the journey will remain very much personal.

Did I have any great epiphanies as I walked?  Well, I learned that I don't know the lyrics to very many songs.  Many people walk the Camino while they consider life changing decisions.  I think the big thing I came away with was this:  I've got my shit together and my life is pretty damn good.  You can't ask for more than that.

Unless it's a hamburger the size of your head.  Or a fountain that dispenses wine as well as water.

To all who follow, I wish you a Buen Camino.  May the sunrise always be at your back.

    

Because if it's not, you're going the wrong way.


Book Reviews:  I picked A Sudden Light by Garth Stein because I totally loved his previous novel The Art of Racing in the Rain.  This one, not so much.  A tale of family redemption wrapped in a ghost story.  I'm not a fan of books that impart huge chunks of info during dream sequences.  It was just a so-so read for me.

Laline Paull must have done a huge amount of research to write The Bees, a fictionalized account of life in a beehive.  Her depiction of their actions and behaviours was fascinating.  I'll never be able to look at bees again in the same way, or wasps and spiders for that matter.  Well done.

Show Me The Way

I'm directionally challenged.  If you're giving me directions I need left or right. North, south, east, west?  Means nothing to me.  I don't do too bad in familiar places -- as long as the place is small, I can relate to landmarks. Where I live the river is to the west so everything is in relation to the river. But put me somewhere I've never been and I have no idea which direction I'm facing. Unless it's sunrise or sunset.  At high noon, I'm hopeless.  So how did a directionally challenged girl hope to walk across northern Spain?

Getting off the bus in St Jean Pied de Port, France, I simply followed the rest of the back packs to the pilgrim office.  And for the first part of the Camino that was all I had to do.  There was always a steady stream of pilgrims to assure me I was going the right way.  But as the days passed and the pilgrims started to spread out it wasn't unusual to spend many hours walking without seeing a single other person.  But I'm happy and proud to report that I didn't get lost once, not even a teeny little bit.  Oh, one morning in the total darkness I headed off on my own and decided after about a kilometre that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't on the right path.  I started walking back the way I came until I saw the approaching head lamps confirming I was on the right track after all.

It's really quite impressive how well the Way is marked.  Sure, there are lots of sections where getting lost is simply not an option.  I mean, if this is the view in front and behind you, just where exactly are you going to make a wrong turn?










Big cities were a bit tricky.  You had to keep your eyes down and watch for the brass shells...

There were a lot of "official" markers.  Some old...

...some new...

...and sometimes enterprising pilgrims took matters into their own hands.

But it was the yellow arrow that brought comfort and relief just when you were thinking you must have screwed up somewhere...

The most amazing thing about the yellow arrows?  Someone has to maintain them, make sure they are visible, repainted as needed.  Who does this?  And consider this -- pilgrims rely on these arrows to make their way to Santiago de Compostela.  What's to stop marauding bands of vandals armed with yellow spray paint from wrecking havoc?  I mean, seriously -- what could be more entertaining than watching unsuspecting pilgrims wandering in circles? Ending up in Madrid or Barcelona.

That this doesn't happen, speaks volumes.

Book Review:  I'm sure there is no one, in the reading population at least, who does not know that Robert Galbraith is the pseudonym for JK Rowling of Harry Potter fame.  Being a huge fan of all things Potter, it was a no-brainer that I would read whatever came next.  After being disappointed with The Cuckoo's Calling, the first in the Cormoran Strike series, I was a bit reluctant to read number two, The Silkworm.  But I have to say I enjoyed it much more than the first and Strike is starting to grow on me.  I like that Galbraith has given him a huge handicap to deal with, his having lost a leg in Afghanistan. But the head hopping between the main characters -- sometimes within the same paragraph -- drives me nuts.  And when he/she slips into the omniscient narrator voice?  Well, don't get me started.  

The Last One

I walked right on by the big beautiful cathedrals in Burgos, Leon and Astorga...

I was saving myself for the grand finale.  The church in Redecilla ruined me for anything that would follow.  I wanted that jaw dropping moment when I entered through that simple wooden door to be my defining church experience on the Camino.  So I only went into two others.  One was in the sad little town of San Juan de Ortego.

There was nothing special about this church to draw me in except for the fact that SJdO boasted a population of twenty and there was little else to do there.  No wait, "little else" is a gross exaggeration.  There was nothing else to do there.

The next was the Knights Templar Church of Santa Maria in Villalcazar de Sirga.  Partly because of the history and mystery surrounding the Knights Templar.  And partly because my guide book stated, "If visiting churches along the way is not your 'thing' make an exception for this one."  I made an exception.  I even broke my own cardinal rule about not paying to go into churches and shelled out a euro.  It was worth the euro.


And that was it until the grand finale, the end of the line -- the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela.  But first, a word about scaffolding.  Yeah, scaffolding.  When I visited New York City back in the early 80's the Statue of Liberty was totally encased in it.  When I visited the Sphinx in Egypt? Scaffolding.  The Parthenon in Greece?  Scaffolding.  You see where I'm going with this?  So it was no great surprise to walk into the square in Santiago after thirty-one days walking 800 kms to find the cathedral behind a facade of scaffolding.  Oh and those printed panels that are supposed to fool you into thinking you're seeing the real thing.

Oh well.  It held no religious significance for me.  I was a pilgrim in name only.  I'm not among the many who believe that the bones of the apostle St. James are housed there (although I did go and take a peek at the box that allegedly holds someone's bones.  Sorry no photos allowed.)    And even I have to admit, it was pretty cool inside -- once you got past all the scaffolding that was in there too.






First the mullion.  (Yeah, I googled that.)  Behind barricades.  No touchy.  Hundreds of years of pilgrim's hands have left their mark.  Damn, I really wanted to fit my fingers into those grooves.

There was a bunch of other cool stuff...

And the piece de resistance -- the Botafumeiro.  Filled with charcoal and incense and originally swung through the air to mask the smell of a bunch of stinkin' pilgrims. Confession time (we are in church after all) -- I didn't get to see the botafumeiro swing.  Not that I didn't have the opportunity.  I waited with the hundreds of others packed like sardines in the cathedral.  It was hot, the smell of smoke from previous swingings was nauseatingly heavy in the air. I lasted through a good part of the pilgrim mass, slowly working my way to a back wall to lean against and finally to sit against.  Then I had to admit defeat and bail.  You see, my stomach was feeling a little, shall we say, delicate.  Too much "yay, I made it to Santiago" celebrating the night before.

Perhaps I should have stopped here on my way out.

Book Reviews:  What I Was Doing While You Were Breeding, a memoir by TV writer Kristen Newman, starts out like this -- I am not a slut in the United States of America -- or words to that effect.  She then details how she is a slut when she is traveling everywhere else in the world.  Mildly entertaining.

Our April book club selection was Harvest by Jim Crace.  Yawn...zzzz...

Joseph Finder has written a bunch of books, like ten or something. Bestselling mysteries.  Suspicion was an okay read.  Nothing to jump up and down about but entertaining.  I may try another.

If you picked up a book written by a French speaking novelist who lives in Geneva, Switzerland, where would you expect that story to take place?  If you guessed New Hampshire you'd be right.  I didn't.  The Truth About The Harry Quebert Affair by Joel Dicker was a translation from the French and maybe it lost a little something in translation.  Highly touted in Europe, it was a mystery with what I think was supposed to be comedic dialogue.  Fell kind of flat for me.  And it was a little too long with one twist too many.  Okay, maybe about five twists too many. Yeah, that kind of book.