This Train's Year in Books 2012

I've been suffering from writer's laryngitis lately.  While outwardly be-bopping along in typical fashion, my blogging soul has gone temporarily voiceless for reasons that are hard to pinpoint and have been even harder to cure.  Like laryngitis, I haven't exactly been sick (with writer's block or anything nearly as dramatic.)  Just a little weary, a little wavering and more or less voiceless.

That is going to change in 2013.

Why? Well, to start,  I have a whole list of book recommendations, an injection of hot tea and lemon for the ailing literary nerd's soul.  2012 has been a humdinger of a year for books, with delightful new additions to genres far and wide.  I've also been far and wide in 2012, landing back in the Bay Area after four years of nomadic wandering.  As my 94-year-old grandmother says every time she sees me, "You are back where you belong." If both travel and teaching have taught me anything, it is that there are many ways to belong, and that life works a lot better when you can find as many of those ways as possible.

So, in honor of my grandmother, who has seen more of life than anyone I know, I'm hereby declaring 2013 "The Year of Belonging In More Ways Than One."  As the new year dawns, may you find yourself ever rooted in belonging. I, for one, am grateful beyond measure for the sense of belonging you bring me by reading these words and (with any luck!) discovering profound enjoyment from the following books. (As always, this annual odyssey recounts the month I read the book, not when it was released.)    

January--Cleopatra, a Life by Stacy Stiff

Cleopatra VII of Egypt is someone we've all heard of and know nothing about.  Was she really a snake-wielding femme fatale, lover of Julius Caeser, downfall of Mark Antony, who sold the independence of her kingdom for misguided passion?  Not surprisingly, the historical record, putty in Schiff's masterful hands, tells quite a different story, both about Cleopatra's physical appearance (she was much more charismatic than hot) and the way she led Egypt through the sad inevitability of Roman rule.  What stayed with me throughout 2012 was the lasting sense of how brightly historical inaccuracy can shine through the dim fog of time and how aptly Schiff shifted my perspective.  So much of what we think we know about Cleopatra is wrong (and it's not exclusively Shakespeare's fault), yet the truth is equally dysfunctional and captivating.

February--The King's Gold (and all the Captain Alatriste books, starting with Captain Alatriste) by Arturo Perez-Reverte

Run--don't walk--to your book vendor of choice and check out this wonderful series by Arturo Perez-Reverte.  The author's name may ring a bell.  He won some fame about 10 years ago for his intricate literary thriller The Club Dumas.  While ably done, The Club Dumas doesn't hold a candle to Reverte's swashbuckling tales featuring Captain Alatriste, a rough-hewn Spanish soldier with a heart of gold, and his faithful sidekick/surrogate son Inigo.  The adventure novel is falling out of favor (oh, but why?), yet Reverte keeps it alive and kicking in these sparkling gems of the genre. There are villains, beautiful, faithless ladies, crooked clerics, bold thieves, innocent pawns and, of course, the Spanish Inquisition.  Set in the fading days of 17th century Iberian glory, Captain Alatriste holds honor dearer than fame or gold, and so will you after just a few chapters.

March--Stiff: The Curious Life of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach (along with Spook: Science Takes on the Afterlife and anything else you can find by Mary Roach)

Dedicate your body to science these days, and you could end up in a lot more places than a medical school lab table.  Mary Roach traces the 2,000-year history of how we've put human cadavers to work, from testing seat belts and weapons to solving crimes. With a perfect mix of humor and respect, her expert reporting also spotlights the people through the ages who have defied taboo to learn from the dead.  Roach, known for her quirky subjects, is laugh-out-loud funny but never glib.  I was most moved by a chapter about an anatomy course at UCSF medical school where students hold a memorial service to celebrate the lives of those whose bodies aid in the training of future healers.

April--The Outlaw Sea: a World of Freedom, Chaos and Crime by William Langewieche (Also highly recommended by this author: Sahara Unveiled)

Anarchy reigns on the open seas, and anyone who wants a peek into the darkest corner of lawless commerce on the planet need look no further than Langewieche's book.  The huge container ships we see docked at ports near home are likely floating death traps, sold down the supply chain from sparsely regulated European and American companies to never-regulated operations registered in nations where a few thousand dollars can buy any safety inspector's stamp.  In addition to the hazard to human life and the environment (these ships, huge as they are, can literally break apart and disappear without a trace in a northern Pacific storm), container vessels shuttle cargo from port to port at a volume that is impossible for even the most vigilant country to oversee.  It is estimated that only 2% of all containers are even opened for inspection worldwide, and most for just a cursory glance.  Langeweiche's reporting tracks ships from the building yard to the polluted beaches of southeast Asia where they are finally run aground and dismantled by hand by some of the world's most impoverished workers.  This stark investigation of the reality--and freedom--of the open seas will change the way you look at those tankers bobbing picturesquely in the Bay.

May--Inventing English: A Portable History of the Language by Seth Lerer

Books about the English language always get my literary nerd's heart pumping.  Lerer's masterpiece on the evolution of our fascinating tongue has been out for awhile but was recently released on Kindle.  Needless to say, I gobbled it right up, and it proved the best book I've read (and I've read more than my share) to explain why English spelling is so screwy (blame Old Norse!) and how the Great Vowel Shift  means that modern Americans sound more like Shakespeare than any current resident of Stratford-upon-Avon.  Long on fun facts and short on esoteric explanations of consonant clusters (though there are a few of those too), Inventing English is an excellent starter book for anyone who wants to learn more about the world's lingua franca.

June--Redshirts: A Novel with Three Codas by Jon Scalzi

This year's science fiction offering is not for everyone.  But it should be! A send-up of television space dramas (Star Trek in particular), it features denizens of a starship where ordinary crew members (uniformed in red) have noticed a disturbing trend: anyone who goes on a mission with a ranking officer is inevitably killed in the most grizzly way possible while the officer survives regardless of the odds. In an effort to save his skin, Ensign Andrew Dahl and a group of  fellow "red shirts" go in search of a legendary crew member who, it is rumored, holds the key to unlocking the mystery and stopping the carnage.  This story contains both "meta" and "physics" but never together.  Instead, Scalzi's writing is accessible and highly entertaining, even as he sends his characters on a inter-dimensional adventure through time, space and Burbank, California.  I maintain that anyone will appreciate both the fast-paced prose and sardonic, well-written characters who would be more at home on an episode of Seinfeld than Deep Space Nine.  But don't take my word for it: check it out for yourself.

July--The Violinist's Thumb and Other Tales of Love, War and Genius as Written in Our Genetic Code by Sam Kean

Sam Kean wrote The Disappearing Spoon, surely the best book ever written about the periodic table of elements.  He's back with a similarly far-ranging and readable look at the history of DNA and our search to understand why we look and act the way we do.  Kean starts the journey with a personal, ethical and practical discussion about DNA testing, then takes us on a romp through the history of DNA discovery and various genetic mutations, both amusing (ever wonder why some people seem a little too attached to their cats?) and grim. Kean is never one to pull his punches when commenting on historic events, and his quick-witted take on scientific personalities is a highlight of this book.  Those  put off by flashbacks of high school chemistry brought on by The Disappearing Spoon may find this book less intimidating but no less entertaining.

August--The Dog Stars by Peter Heller

If novelists mine the undercurrents of our culture, bringing to light truths that are hidden within the seams of daily life, then there are a lot of people out there with Armageddon on their minds.  The Dog Stars is the latest entry in the booming sub genre of literary post-apocalyptic fiction, following the likes of The Road and The Age of Miracles up the bestseller list.  While Heller's first novel is less grim than some, early reviews that hailed it as an "uplifting" view of the End of Days were taking things a little far.  True, Earth is not a wasteland: farming and fishing are still possible; resource gathering, while difficult and violent, has not devolved into a daily pitched battle.  But when we join our protagonist Hig 10 years after a plague wiped out 99% of the population, humanity is spread thin and lonely.  Heller writes lyrically of loss of life in every sense, not just of people dying but of the homes, communities and sense of belonging that is gone forever. The solitude is echoed brilliantly in the syntax, with periods cutting off thoughts mid-stream, and two-word sentences trying (and failing) to shore up the desolation.  In this apocalypse, Hig and his dog Jasper live in an old municipal airport, converted into a fortress and a convenient place to park Hig's Cessna, which he uses for supply runs and reconnaissance. With them is Bagley, a volatile survivalist who stands in contrast to Hig's more introspective (read: depressive) mien. The men and dog do just fine until another death and a faint signal picked up on the Cessna's radio set a series of events into motion that lead to new connections in a world where most connections have dissolved in disease and distrust.  This is surely what reviewers meant by "uplifting."

This was my favorite work of fiction this year.  In fact, after finishing The Dog Stars, I spend at least 90 minutes curled under my bedcovers.  Heller's spare prose painted such a stark picture of the fallen world that I could almost see the San Francisco skyline replaced by smoldering hulks; the cranes of the Port of Oakland bent and broken; the abandoned rumble of the Cal campus a few blocks away.  Hig cannot escape what humanity had wrought. None of us can, if it comes to that.  The sliver of hope offered at the end of the book just throw this possible truth into even sharper relief.  It's a powerful technique, one that Heller and other writers of the literary apocalypse use to great effect, in a world that may or may not be slipping ever closer to the edge.

September--How Children Succeed: Grit, Curiosity and the Hidden Power of Character by Paul Tough

Who should develop the parts of our personalities that make up our character?  Traditionally, 'character' has fallen under the purview of families, communities and religious institutions.  But the near-universal consensus these days is that it should be something taught in school.  While touching briefly on character education's sparse history (which never moved far from consistent enforcement of the Golden Rule), Tough spends much of the book making a case for why developing character is crucial, especially for children of poverty.  He shows again and again how school achievement, college completion and other indicators of adult success have more to do with tenacity and teamwork than raw IQ or early exposure to math or reading. Much of the book focuses on two experienced educators and the different ways they approach character development with their students.  One of the educators, Dave Levin, is a founder of the KIPP charter network, who just stepped down as superintendent of the 11 KIPP schools in New York City.  The other, Dominic Randolph, is the headmaster of Riverside School, one of the city's most elite private schools.  Through a  series of conversations, Levin and Randolph developed two different approaches to developing character in their students, focusing particular on self-control, perseverance, optimism, curiosity and how to work successfully with others.  Levin developed a detailed rubric that lists behaviors students display when they are mastering each trait.  Randolph's version is less exacting, based on push-back he got from his staff.  Most teachers believed kids who go to Riverside don't "need" the kind of explicit character development that disadvantaged students do. This, for me, was when the book got most interesting--and a bit frustrating.  Tough stops short of offering a critical class analysis of who "needs" character development and who doesn't, but (to his credit), he makes it crystal clear that all children--regardless of background--will benefit from character education that teaches them how to press through difficult situations and pick themselves up when they fail. Tough also offers an astute and welcome critique of the ways education reform has replaced a broader spectrum of social welfare programs designed to get low-income families on their feet.  Helping students build the character tools they need to succeed in life starts in early childhood with interventions geared to reducing stressful family relationships. Poverty, Tough reminds us, cannot be eradicated by schools alone.

October--A Plague of Lies by Judith Rock,
The Beautiful Mystery by Louise Penny, 
The Case of the Deadly Butter Chicken by Tarquin Hall

October is mystery month, and what a month it was!  From 17th century France to modern day New Delhi, the genre had something for everyone in 2012.  The month began with the third Charles du Luc mystery from Judith Rock (aka: my godmother)!  This time, Charles must navigate the intrigue of Versailles, complete with poisonings, vicious rumors and a rebellious princess of the blood royal.  Rock has hit her stride as a novelist, and this is her best one yet.  As always, the story is full of finely researched details and features some real historical figures, even as Rock crafts masterful fictional plots for them to play in. The map detail at the front of the book was drawn by my godfather, Jay!

The characters in Louise Penny's books are so vividly written that my literary nerd's soul aches every time she beautifully details their every mistake. While the mystery at the center of this latest book stands alone, as all of her novels do, the relationships between the characters span the whole series.  In A Beautiful Mystery, the hubris of the murderer mirrors that of several regulars, resulting in plot twists that will leave you both satisfied, grief-stricken and longing for the next installment.  (Read Louise Penny's novels in order, starting with Still Life.)

I've recommended Tarquin Hall's mysteries set in modern New Delhi before, and this year's offering is no different.  Punjai detective Vish Puri might write earnest letters to the Times of India and wear a deer stalker hat (a la Sherlock Holmes), but his knowledge of New Delhi's underbelly and savvy use of a stable of creatively nicknamed sidekicks makes him (and Hall's plots) more cagey and sophisticated than they first appear.  The Case of the Deadly Butter Chicken features the familiar cast of characters, though several are granted more depth, especially the ever-enigmatic Mama-ji, Vish's aged mother and an expert at teasing out complex family relationships, Indian-Pakistani politics and what it means to truly go home.

November--The Signal and the Noise by Nate Silver

We all need more gay quants in our lives.  I mention Nate Silver's sexual orientation because I think it's important to point out how this author personifies the primary aspect of his "quant-ness" (i.e.: the ability to make a noticeably higher percentage of accurate predications.)  Silver promotes the theory of "probabilistic" prediction making, meaning that a prediction can and should change as circumstances change.  A situation that may appear likely from one angle proves ridiculous from another.  And often forecasters will make predictions based on personal biases they are not willing to even acknowledge, much less incorporate consciously into the prognosis at hand.  So, for example, many people might say the likelihood of the guy who designed a system for forecasting a professional baseball player's performance and made a quasi-living playing online poker before starting a political forecasting blog named after the number of votes in the Electoral College being gay would be slim to none.  And they would be wrong.  Nate Silver as a writer and statistician defies stereotypes, societal pigeonholes and any attempt to shove him into a single category, which would please him greatly, I think, since he devotes so much time in The Signal and the Noise exhorting us to avoid these very blunders.

For the record, Nate Silver doesn't talk about being gay explicitly even once in the book's 544 pages. What you will discover instead is Silver's self-deprecating humor, engaging writing style and insightful critique of the systems that perpetuate our addiction to inaccurate forecasting in all its forms.  It's one of the few books I read this year that I want to read again soon--not just because it was fun, but because it contains crucial information that all of us should know.

December--Hell-bent: Obsession, Pain and the Search for Something Like Transcendence in Competitive Yoga by Benjamin Lorr

We began this year with a biography, so we'll end with a memoir.  I rarely read either genre, but am enthusiastically recommending Lorr's story of his experience as a competitive practitioner and teacher of Bikram yoga.  And not just because I, too, practice Bikram yoga and will gladly talk your ear off about it if given the opportunity.  Not that I'm at Lorr's level or want to be. And while I appreciated learning some fascinating medical facts about the effect of exercising in 105 degree heat (perfectly fine as long as we stay hydrated), I most enjoyed hearing about Lorr's journey to better health and the way his example rubbed off on his friends (not always in the way you'd think). Lorr has something many memoir writers lack: an awareness of which parts of his story will be interesting to an audience.  So, he is able to step out of the spotlight when necessary and let other subjects take center stage, including the ever-controversial Bikram himself, and Bikram's yogic opposite, a former disciple turned guru in his own right.  It is this guru who ends the book on the note of transcendence mentioned in the title, and a moving reminder that yoga is an ancient, compelling, surreal, non-Western practice that means something different to everyone.

And, as always, this book list will mean something different to everyone, too.  Please feel free to add your own comments/recommendations below.  When I mentioned that 2013 will be different in terms of blogging what I meant was this: you can expect at least one blog post per month (if not more!) this year, a resolution I have now stated publicly and plan to keep.

Let the Year of Belonging in More Ways Than One begin!

The meaning of service

In honor of the Independence Day, I'd like to dedicate this post to the Americorps program, which you may have heard of but am betting know almost nothing about.  Over the past few weeks, I've discovered every single thing I thought I knew about Americorps was wrong.  Every single thing.  Now in place of all that misinformation, I'm armed with facts that have left me blown away by the depth of commitment, dedication and grit displayed by the over 80,000 Americans (many of them college age or recent college grads) who are serving our country in this way.

Before we get into the particulars, please know this: Americorps, like public libraries and national parks, is one of those 100% good things your tax dollars pay for; something that costs a paltry $550 million per year and pays big dividends in places many of us would rather ignore.  The reading intervention nonprofit I now work for employs Americorps members to staff reading centers in public schools nationwide.  It will be part of my job to train and manage a group of them, something I'm now bursting with excitement about doing.  Keep reading to see why...

Unlike, say, the Peace Corps or Teach for America, Americorps is not an organization that people apply and are accepted to as such.  Instead, a person applies for an Americorps position at nonprofit organization.  Once hired, members are trained on the job and receive health insurance, the promise of an education grant at the end of their service and a living allowance that is almost no money. Seriously.  No money. Unlike the Peace Corps, Americorps members are not living in the developing world (where you can live pretty well on almost no money).  Unlike Teach for America, which is a wonderful organization but not a service program, Americorps members don't earn a full-time professional salary.  Instead Americorps members do full-time, often professional-level work essentially for free. By choice.  They qualify for (and definitely use) food stamps. By choice. In the Bay Area, the stipend is well under $20,000.  I'm still not sure how they live, but they do because service is what they are about in every sense of the word.  I served in the Peace Corps, but it was different than the Americorps process I just described.  For one thing, I was taken care of every step of the way.  Sure, I lived and worked in a small village in Africa for two years, but I didn't have to find my own job or figure out how to pay rent.  Now, I'm not saying Peace Corps service isn't worthy or challenging.  It is. But Americorps, though it's often called "the domestic Peace Corps," demands an added level of social consciousness worth mentioning, since Americorps members choose a life below the poverty line along with their year(s) of service.  In Cameroon, the $200/month living allowance made me downright well off, especially since I only had to support myself.  I could enjoy all the country had to offer, not to mention the inherent privilege of being an American overseas.  Americorps members serve without those perks, even as they collectively log over 65 million hours every year for organizations like the Red Cross, Habitat for Humanity and the Boys & Girls Club.

So this 4th of July, raise a sparkler, a glass and an American flag to a government-sponsored program we can all be proud of, and the members throughout the country who are dedicating a year or more of their lives to helping make this land (from California to the New York islands, from the redwood forest to the Gulfstream waters) a better place.

Let's end with the Americorps pledge. Check it out!

I will get things done for America -
to make our people safer,
smarter, and healthier.

I will bring Americans together
to strengthen our communities.

Faced with apathy,
I will take action.

Faced with conflict,
I will seek common ground.

Faced with adversity,
I will persevere.

I will carry this commitment
with me this year and beyond.

I am an AmeriCorps member,
and I will get things done.

Now Voyager

The Voyager 1 probe is about to leave the solar system, according to a recent spate of publicity.  It will be the first human-made object to do so on its own power with the ability to transmit data back to Earth.  No one knows how long the Voyager crafts will continue to function after they clear the heliopause, that invisible boundary where the solar wind finally dies down and the final frontier begins.  Both Voyager 1 and 2 with their 1970s-era technology and now-primitive radio transmitters have exceeded their shelf life by decades as they've hurtled through the outer solar system, snapping pictures of Jupiter's moons and Saturn's rings.  I love the thought all that analog technology lasting so long--its staying power flying in the face of NASA's perpetual critics.  In my perfect world, well-informed curmudgeons from America's heartland would straighten their John Deere caps reverently at the news of the Voyagers' mechanical prowess rather than roll their eyes at operating budgets and taxpayer dollars. 'Yep,' one would say to the assembled crew, leaning in for effect. 'They sure don't make interstellar spaceships like they used to.'

I've re-developed a minor obsession with Voyager recently, ever since hearing about its upcoming break out of the solar system on NPR's Radiolab program (Find a link to the potentially life-changing podcast here) I say re-developed because as a young astronomy buff growing up in the 80s, I followed the Voyager mission as closely as a school kid could in the days before the Internet.  My mom even took my sister, friend and me down to the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena (Voyager mission control to this day) where we toured their small museum, viewed ethereal color snapshots of the gas giants that revolutionized space science and saw a replica of Voyager 1, complete with its golden record (more on that later).

While my sister gawked appreciatively, and my friend (a math prodigy) quizzed the scientist on call in the museum, I wandered around in a poetic daze, my head full of the half-formed musings of a literary nerd-in-training. Primed by the lush language of kid-friendly astronomy books and countless Star Trek re-runs, I embraced outer space for its metaphors: the mystery, possibility and triumph of the human spirit.  The Voyager mission was a beeping, spinning embodiment of hope and optimism (humans reaching ever outward!) along with the melancholy of our loneliness (two little probes so far from home)

Turns out, my feelings haven't changed much in 26 years...

I listened to the Radiolab program while driving a U-Haul truck from Austin to Berkeley and re-entered that 12-year-old daze of awe and admiration.  The world has changed so much since the Voyagers set off in 1977, but in a way, everything that's happened almost doesn't matter.  In astronomical terms, these 35 years have been a mere blink of an eye as Voyager has spanned the tiniest fraction of the immensity surrounding us.  As I thought about my own life--the transitions, triumphs, failures and mundane day-to-day--I added another metaphor to Voyager's list: perspective.  The poets of space science, the late-great Carl Sagan among them, write about our place in the cosmos in a way that makes, say, the end of a relationship, an interstate move and the start of a new career trajectory (all in just three weeks) seem a little less significant.  As I drove through the Arizona high desert listening to Voyager's rendering of the whoosh of solar wind 9 billion miles from home, I found my transition angst lifting somewhat.  When I heard about "The Pale Blue Dot," it lifted almost entirely.

"The Pale Blue Dot" is the last photograph (to date) that Voyager 1 has taken.  It is also a book by Carl Sagan, who was the main advocate for the picture in the first place.  The Voyagers' cameras are no longer on to save power.  But before NASA turned them off in 1990, scientists turned Voyager 1 around and pointed its camera back at Earth.  The resulting photo is called "The Pale Blue Dot" because it shows Earth as a tiny half-pixel of blue light, captured in the slanted light of the distant Sun against a black field of outer space.

Then Carl Sagan wrote, as only Carl Sagan could: 

"Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam." 

Yeah...that kind of puts my little problems into a lot of perspective.

But for those of you tempted to resort to nihilistic shrugging, the Voyagers also offer hope, ridiculous, wonderful, galaxy-sized hope.  That's where the golden record comes in.  Each Voyager probe has a gold record attached to its side--you may have heard of them.  These records encapsulate the very best of the human spirit, and not just because they contain greetings in 55 different languages and 116 sounds and images from our planet, including music by Mozart and Chuck Berry.  Etched on the records are pictures of human beings and an interstellar map to Earth, using big astronomical landmarks like pulsars to guide the way.  It didn't matter to the people who made the golden record that it will take Voyager 1 about 40,000 years to reach the next star.  It didn't matter that the chances of an alien race 1) encountering a tiny craft in the vast expanse of space and 2) being able to play a record, for the love of Pete, are beyond miniscule.  We humans slapped those messages into our spaceship bottles and tossed them into the largest sea in existence because that's how we roll here on Earth.  We screw up all the time.  We're petty and self-important.  We poison our oceans and trash our forests.  We're mean to each other based on all sorts of nonsensical prejudices and assumptions.  Yet when it comes down to it, we have this hope in a future that spans all time, and we'd like to believe we're not alone out here on our pale blue dot.  We don't mean much, but we mean something, and we reach out--to each other and to the universe.  As long as we keep reaching out, I think we'll be OK.  We might even be here in 40,000 years when our new alien friends come calling, even if by then absolutely no one knows what a 'record' is.

Ode to the Lone Star State

"That's right; you're not from Texas.
But Texas wants you anyway." --Lyle Lovett

As I prepare to leave Texas for California (another state that believes it should be its own country), I feel moved to record here all that I've learned and loved about the Lone Star State. As you may recall, the decision to land here two years raised quite a few eyebrows among my Left Coast nearest and dearest.

"Texas," they said. "Texas..." 

And in that emphasis-not-mine was captured George W, the deep-red politics embodied by wacky presidential hopeful and current governor Rick Perry, big hair and an obsession with competitive sports.  Even in the liberal heart of Austin, there was suspicion that the capital city would merely be Texas Lite, blue-state around the gills, but still decidedly ten-gallon and big-belt-buckled.

I'm pleased to report that Texas and Austin have exceeded my expectations on every occasion.  Although, it's true I have not found a permanent home here, I have found much to love.  Texas deserves much of its reputation. (No one here has forgotten the Alamo!) And, as always, there is more to any place than its list of stereotypes and cliches.

 

What I love about Texas and Austin

People who are honest-to-goodness, unabashedly friendly.  And chatty.

I will miss the socializing that a trip to supermarket in Austin always entailed.  I'd be inspecting a label or waiting at the check-out and inevitably a perfect stranger would strike up a conversation. We'd discuss any number of topics: the items in our carts, the weather, upcoming events or the celebrity scandals in the magazines, just to name a few greatest hits.  Conversations happened other places too. Invariably whenever I'd wear my Northwestern t-shirt between September and December someone would ask me how the football team was doing--and never seemed to care I didn't know.  When a friend from New York came to visit, I warned her about this phenomenon, but she didn't believe me--until we were standing in line at Whole Foods.  "This is unbelievable," she said, tapping her foot Manhattan-style as the man in front of us chatted away with the checker.  "There are people waiting in line."  (i.e.: us)  While I was less of a New York toe-tapper, it also took me awhile to adjust.  I was accustom to my urban bubble-of-personal-space being respected.  When the first Texan burst it my second evening in Austin, I hardly knew what to do.  But now I'll miss it.  There's something to be said about breaching that urban bubble and leaving the store with a smile, more often than not.  I haven't turned into an extrovert in this most extroverted of places, but I've come to appreciate that unapologetic friendliness.

West Texas around Big Bend

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.  Tabled buttes, painted-desert rocks, jagged peaks, big sky...this area of Texas is stunning, nary a tumbleweed in sight.  It is also home to the McDonald Observatory, which transmits Star Date on your local public radio station; the artist haven of Marfa and Guadalupe Peak, the tallest mountain in the state. 

Amazing Bikram yoga studios

If you ever find yourself in Austin and have a chance to take a class at any of Pure Bikram Yoga's four studios, don't hesitate for a minute!  This is the cream-of-the-crop as far as Bikram studios go and nowhere I've practiced anywhere in the world comes close. What makes an amazing Bikram studio?  Excellent teachers, high-ceiled rooms, super-grip carpet and a less-than-pervasive sweaty smell.  (It's Bikram, so you can't eliminate it completely, but Pure Bikram does a good job...)  It's been my home-away-from-home here in Austin.  I'm sad to be leaving right when almost every teacher knows my name.   

Whole Foods flagship store

From the beginning my second home-away-from-home has been the vast Whole Foods flagship on North Lamar.  While the super-pricey supermarket has gone corporate since its humble start in 1980, the flagship store drew me in with its free wi-fi, plentiful cafe-style seating, unbeatable people watching and endless selection of food to eat while working.  Which I did almost every Sunday morning (and some Saturdays) for two years.  I only recently started doing occasional grocery shopping there, preferring instead to treat it as a dining-out location.  The price tag for breakfast or dinner certainly matched any restaurant around. 


The cost of living

First of all, Texas has no state income tax.  'Nuf said.  Second of all, it's possible to get out of a fairly nice restaurant with alcohol and dessert for less than $60.  Not kidding.  Third of all, I paid $735/month during my first year for a two-bedroom apartment.  Seriously.  Fourth of all, gas is currently $3.38/gallon.  Yup.  Lastly, my car insurance is under $1,000/year.  Sigh.  I love that California is my home, and I truly cannot wait to move back.  I still wish it were a little more affordable.

The weather

I've been cleaning out my closets after two years in Austin (and two years before that in Abu Dhabi) and I don't think I've quite come to terms with how inadequately I'm wardrobed for a return to the Bay Area.  Fortunately, this year I've been given or have acquired enough wool/outerwear to keep me going until I can re-acclimate (plus, the gorgeous, unseasonably warm winter/spring has me hopeful). I am relieved to be living in the East Bay, where the sun shines warmer and with more frequency.  But as I listen to the Austin weather report every morning on my way to work, it has slowly dawned on me that Austin's low this time of year (@ 75 F) would be a heatwave where I'm heading.

Buddha's Brew cranberry kombucha, Texas barbecue and breakfast tacos

The cuisine of Texas is as distinct as the state itself.  While I've enjoyed my share of Tex-Mex, I've actually spent more time longing for a real California burrito (virtually non-existent here) than digging into enchiladas, tamales or bowl of queso (which means cheese in Spanish, but melted cheese product here).  The Austin foods I will miss most are not replicable anywhere else in the world.  I haven't even left yet, but the cravings have already begun.

Buddha's Brew is a local brand and their cranberry flavor will forever be synonymous with kombucha.  (For those of you who don't know, kombucha is wonderful slightly fermented, though non-alcoholic, yeast-based pro-biotic drink that, I promise, is a lot more appetizing than it sounds.)  Cranberry is the best flavor by far, and I would import it to the Bay Area if I could.  Instead, I'll make it my mission to find a California equivalent.

I'm not the first, nor will I be the last to extol the virtues of smokey, saucy Texas barbecue, so different than its cousins farther and deeper South.  From brisket to ribs to the accompanying stacks of squishy white bread and pickles, Texas barbecue is hard to describe but impossible to forget.  Shout out to both Franklin's and The Salt Lick.  If you are ever in Austin, don't miss either spot.

Before I moved to Austin, a friend sent me a New York Times article about the breakfast taco phenomenon.  Allow me to say, this town has lived up to the hype, so much so that I can hardly conceive of a breakfast now that does not involve a tortilla.  Breakfast tacos are available everywhere here, from the whole-wheat-and-avocado veggie variety to the mound of potatoes, bacon and eggs as big as your head at local restaurant favorite Juan in a Million.  Add a little salsa, and you're set for the day.

As excited I am to be heading home, I will never regret the two years I spent in Texas, and I don't plan to make a secret of the fact to anyone in the Golden State who'd like to throw down with me about it.  Apparently, it's taken living in one of the most conservative states in the union to make me more open-minded--just another example of the paradox Texas offers, whether it means to or not.  I'm definitely looking forward to returning for a visit.  After all, I never did see it...

Instant cure for the transitional blues

Mom and baby elephant in the Serengeti

I've been dying to write about baby elephants.  Now seems to be the right time.  Is there a wrong to write about baby elephants, you may reasonably ask?  Of course not.  However, now is also when the school year is winding down accompanied by typical short tempers, final testing days and  alternate-schedule stress.  There's also a "lame duck" transitional vibe, the middle school version of "senioritis" when the next grade seems close enough to touch--and yet so far away.   Teachers could get rich if we had a dollar for every time we asked, a little more wearily with each repetition, for focus, attention and quiet.  It's no mistake that Teacher of the Year awards are handed out before May.

Add this to personal transitions like, say, moving back to California, just to name one, and you have a perfect storm of stress with an 80% chance of full-blown angst by evening.

So, now is the perfect time to write about baby elephants.

As baby animals go, baby elephants wouldn't rank on a scale of pure cuteness.  They are not fluffier, softer or more dew-eyed versions of the adult model.  In fact, they look remarkably like the adult model, only miniature, right down to their miniature wrinkles, sags and head bristles. But baby elephants have something that other baby animals don't, namely a really big brain and a personality to match.  There is tons of research out there that shows elephants are among the most intelligent of animals, complete with their own  language and a complex social structure.  Baby elephants gestate longer than any other mammal. (Elephant moms are pregnant for 22 months!) That, combined with the fact that most female elephants are fertile only a few days a year, makes the arrival of a baby elephant a very big deal in the herd.

I've been lucky to observe elephants in the wild, once in Cameroon and several times in Tanzania.  Each occasion has been a memory of such unmitigated joy that I call it up anytime it feels like the world is ending. Which is why I want to share them with you.   Baby elephants absolutely shine with intelligence and carefree exuberance, as any youngster would who is long-awaited and lovingly nurtured.  And they spread that joy to anyone watching them.

The twins in the flowers

Two memories come to mind, and they happened within minutes of each other in Tarangere National Park in Tanzania.  The first involved two baby elephants who looked about two or three.  They were playing in a field of white flowers that stood about five-feet tall (just over their heads).  The guide said they were twins, rarer and more special than even a solo baby. These two were a long way from full grown, but big enough to not need constant supervision--and they were making the most of it.  Using their trunks, they would bat down the white flowers then--I'm not making this up--squeak adorably when the flowers bounced  back into position, usually smacking them on the forehead.  They did this tirelessly, as kids do, sometimes bopping each other, sometimes bopping themselves.  At one point I swear they both collapsed with laughter, falling onto the ground and rolling over, crushing the plants and knocking into each other.  Then they bounded up and started again. It was so delightful I forgot to take a picture until the very end. 

The second memory I don't have a picture of. It happened just down the road from where the twins were playing, perhaps sent away to amuse themselves so the following scene could take place. Five or six full-grown elephants stood in a circle, facing out on the banks of a small river.  I didn't understand why they were hanging around like until I saw what they were surrounding.  There in the center of the circle was a very small elephant, no more than a few months.  Now, grown elephants in the wild have almost nothing to worry about as far as predators are concerned.  (We humans are their biggest threat by far.) But babies, especially when they are very young, are vulnerable.  So, for example, when the baby takes a bath in the river, then wants to roll around in the mud (who wouldn't?), the adults indulgently form a barrier while the kid is defenseless on its back.

This baby was going to town, kicking up small puffs of dust as it squirmed with delight.  It was also squeaking preciously as it bounced up and flopped back down.  Finally, one of the adults (mom?) nudged it a little (time to go...).  It bounced up, but before the circle could break up, it tumbled back down again for another round of adorable wiggling, causing one or two other elephants to exhale pointedly.  Another nudge got it on its feet, then the herd formed up in a line with the tiny baby in the middle.  (And, btw, you might be surprised to learn that a herd of elephants (I've witnessed one as large as 40 in Cameroon) travel in absolute silence, demolishing the "loud as a herd of elephants" cliche. If you closed your eyes, you wouldn't know they were there.)

It's no surprise elephants symbolize wisdom and memory.  In children's literature, they are often the smartest, most community oriented characters, solid in their beliefs and ready to offer support. (Horton Hears a Who by Dr. Seuss!  Babar!)  If you ever get a chance to observe them in the wild, take it.  (Not that you need convincing...)  You will feel immeasurably happier and grounded for the experience.  As for me, I'm keeping my elephant memories extra close these days, knowing they'll last well beyond the May blues...

Only connect

Stuff has been on my mind lately.  My Stuff and our collective Stuff that is currently cluttering our homes and apartments. This weekend, I started packing for my move back to the Bay Area, which will occur in a terrifyingly short amount of time.  I have reserved a U-haul and am psyching myself up to drive said truck with my car hitched to the back. (Stay off I-40 during the weekend of June 8.  Just saying...)  I'm sorting my closet and packing my books. (Thank you, Kindle!  The 115 books I've acquired in the past two years weigh less than a pound and all fit into my purse!) This is what we do when we move.  We pay money to transport our Stuff from one place to the other.  We sort and purge--and keep only what is "necessary."  Yet we still find ourselves becoming a hazard to road-trip vacationers everywhere driving a truck we have no business operating, not to mention the hitch trailing behind.

My relationship with Stuff has been always been somewhat aloof, more so in the past than now.  For an unusually long time as an adult, I owned hardly a stick of furniture and could (and did) move across the world with a couple boxes and suitcases.  I liked it that way.  I now find myself in possession of a couch, table-and-chairs, bed, dresser and various smaller accoutrement like end tables and Ikea lamps.  I've thought about leaving it all in Austin and starting fresh in Berkeley, but I'm not going to.  Abandoning this load will only mean I have to acquire another set, which leaves me just as cold.  Moving or not, we own Stuff.  When people come to my apartment, they will expect to have a place to sit, vessels to drink out of, a table to rest their plate on--and I, as their host, want to provide this for them.  This is a perfectly reasonable expectation, but it is one that requires advanced planning and an outlay of funds in a way we hardly think about (or at least until we have to pack it all up and move it somewhere else).  

Someone has thought about it, though.  His name is Daniel Suelo, and journalist Mark Sundeen has written a book about him called The Man Who Quit Money.  Suelo is neither homeless nor possession-less, yet he doesn't use money in any way. Consciously.  On purpose.  When he's not house-sitting for friends, he lives in a cave on federal land within walking distance of Moab, Utah. He dumpster dives, works in a community garden, forages and volunteers.  He doesn't accept any assistance (like food stamps/welfare) or handouts.  At this point, he doesn't even carry an I.D. Yet his life, as recounted by Sundeen, is abundant in a way that is hard for us to imagine.  For example, people visiting his cave don't expect to have somewhere to sit, but they find places. He eats well from discarded food and garden produce.  Found items like sleeping bags, clothing and tarps keep him warm.  Like the hunter-gatherers of old (and some tribes in the Kalahari to this day), he has plenty of free time after his foraging is finished for the day (or week).  He isn't a hermit, and he doesn't have a political agenda.  (He's not on a "money strike" like a hunger strike to make a point.)  He has chosen to live outside the economy because it aligns with his carefully reasoned ideals and allows him to do the work he chooses.  Not surprisingly, his life is centered on doing good, in the tradition of Buddhist sadhus. He is certainly not the only person in the world who considers the current flavor of American hyper-capitalism to be spiritually bankrupt and soul-crushing.  But his solution is remarkably unassuming and totally non-violent in every sense of that word.  According to Sundeen's account, Suelo is deeply content and at peace, and the way he fully lives his beliefs brings a sense of peace to those he encounters. It's wonderful to read about. 

What's most striking about the book is actually not the fact that Suelo lives without money (but like any good journalist, Sundeen knows a good hook when he sees it).  I mean, the whole book could be about the mechanics of not having a dime in your pocket (This guy uses no money! OMG! How does he do it?!).  The most striking thing about the book--the thing that makes it a literal page turner--is the difficult and fascinating journey Suelo took to arrive where he is today.  Hint: it involves a lot more than closing a checking account.  It touches on so many aspects of life that we all struggle with: identity, relationships, family expectations/influence, the meaning of work, the meaning of money, developed world vs. developing world, religious ideals vs. religious dogma, the list goes on and on.  I have a feeling that anyone who reads Sundeen's book will take something different away from it. 

So what are you waiting for?  Seriously, go read it now.

What has stayed with me most is the way we all remain connected under the surface of our fractured, pay-for-services-rendered modern world. Time and time again, Suelo recounts acts of generosity and community by complete strangers from all backgrounds and walks of life.  When the things that keep us apart--and money is a big divider--are subverted, as Suelo has done, it doesn't take long for these connections to become visible. They have not been gobbled up by partisan politics, Great Recessions, housing crises, the 1% or the bugaboo of the moment.  They are there, just waiting to emerge when the artificial barriers we create are broken down. Suelo is a living, breathing subverter of one of these barriers.  When he refuses payment or direct handouts and instead gives away his found bounty rather than return it to the dumpster as so many of us do, he interrupts the system.  What takes its place is stunning in its genuine depth.  When you can't pay someone, what do you do?  You thank them sincerely.  You smile.  You feel lighter and freer.  They smile back.  You establish a connection that would not have existed otherwise, even if it is short-lived. Exposing and building these connections is the way Suelo lives--all the time.  Living without money allows him to do it. 

It is a profoundly hopeful message, and it is so important to keep in mind, whether you are living in a cave or moving from Austin to Berkeley in a few weeks.  It has made me start looking for other ways to subvert the system in personal, meaningful ways, to break down what divides us and allow all that humanity to come to light. 

Hey girl...

When I first came across pictures from the blog Hey Girl, all I did was giggle appreciatively.  The site, managed ostensibly by a nameless student teacher, features alluring stock photos of celebrities (Ryan Gosling is a particular favorite) with homemade captions praising any aspect of the teaching profession you can think of.  From IEPs to writing portfolios; intervention groups to late-night lesson-planning, the hard work of teachers is extolled by Hollywood's most beautiful.  Most captions begin "Hey girl..." though there are plenty of photos to meet the self-esteem needs of teachers of any gender and orientation.

As time went on, however, and more posts started turning up on friends' Facebooks, I stopped giggling and started pondering.  After I found the site myself (rather than just hitting "like") and read more of the submissions, I actually got a little choked up.  The pictures are silly, yet they fill a pretty gaping void.  Simple, unconditional praise is a rare commodity in education these days, especially where teachers are concerned.  Much more common is the "black coffee in a pretty cup" as we say here in Austin.  Or the sh%$ sandwich as my friend MW used to call it.  It goes something like this: Well, that lesson was very effective but how could you have reached all learners? Sure, those kids might have aced the quiz, but was it really rigorous enough? Oh, and have you planned your next field trip/unit/intervention yet?

To be fair, we teachers are always hardest on ourselves, throwing out the "pretty cup" altogether in favor of a strong dose of unadulterated critique.  When the school year is in full swing, there is rarely time to think of anything other than the next 20 minutes.  Reflection of any kind, but especially the "expendable" positive kind, is the first to go.

Which is why it's oddly moving to have the most dashing, dazzling of our cultural icons dishing out specific, teacher-related compliments with the knowledge of a 25-year classroom veteran and the sex appeal of, well, Ryan Gosling.  Or Natalie Portman.  Or Rachel McAdams.  Or Orlando Bloom.  It's the specificity of the praise that I find the most touching.  It's not the vapid oh-I-admire-you-so-much-not-that-I'd-ever-do-that of strangers. It's the creative, photoshopped fantasy of people who know exactly what we're all going through: beautifully prepared coffee just the way you like it AND the pretty cup.   Check it out at Hey Girl Teacher!


(This one, I'm pretty sure, was written just for me.)