Summer Reading 2015: What I Read on My Summer Vacation

When I was kid, my older sister Maggi and I spent our summer days hanging out at the public library in South Miami. It was our ad hoc clubhouse. The building, constructed from large blocks of coral rock, was an oasis of cool inside the thick walls--a welcome respite from the pushing South Florida heat.

Every year the library held a summer reading program and contest for the kids with a big chart on the wall that showed how many books everyone read. In order to get your star you had to sit down with one of the librarians and tell him or her about the book you read. My sister and I read so much they put us on the honor system and had us write up the book reports ourselves.

Then, a month into the program, the head librarian told our mother we were making the other kids feel bad and that we should scale back. WHAAAT?!? {Cue sound of needle scratching across record.}

I was not about to curtail my reading to spare some other kids feelings. But for the rest of that summer we only got one star for every three books we read. My sister just stopped keeping track. I kept reading and submitting my reports, but I never quite got over the unfairness and ridiculous charade of that incident. I went on to win the prize for most books read that year, a plaid book satchel with real leather straps on the flap. I gave it to my sister.

This year in memory of my sister, and as a way to deal with the lingering grief, I decided to re-connect to those lazy carefree days we spent reading for sheer pleasure. I started my own summer reading program beginning on Memorial Day and ending on Labor Day. I read at the beach, in the park, in airports and on planes, trains and busses.

I spent the past three months with a book and glass of wine as often as possible and it was the best summer I’ve had in years. My final tally came to seventeen books read over fifteen weeks. Now where’s my book bag? ;-)

So, what did you read this summer? 

Here’s what I read:

The Vacationers by Emma Straub-- I’m always game for a family dysfunction pop-sociological modern manners tale. I was expecting something like the pitch perfect Where’d You Go Bernadette, but this did not deliver for me in the same way. *

The Wallcreeper by Nell Zink-- Fascinating and weird and utterly compelling. This story had an odd trajectory careening past several topics including birds, working in corporations, and environmental political acts but it all came together for me within a structure that was almost no structure at all. I know several people who throughly disliked this book, but I quite enjoyed it. ***

All My Puny Sorrows by Miriam Toews-- Stunning, deeply moving, and chock through with Toews complicated and piercing humor. I am still thinking about this months later. Toews story of grappling with the bi-polar illness of a talented sibiling hit close to home for me. I found it both uplifting and devastating at the same time. I read it in small chunks so as not to ovewhelm myself and then could barely cope with it coming to an end. I kept wanting to call my sister and say- “You gotta read this!” (Sigh.) *****

What Comes Next and How to Like It by Abigial Thomas -- Loved this. I found it flawless and timely. A meditation on life and loss, enduring friendships and the inevitable encroachment of time. Presented in sparse yet richly flowing chapters. Thomas can say more in one sentence than many do in an entire book. *****

On the Move by Oliver Sacks -- What life! Motorcycled obsessed, travel junkie, (drug junkie too) fitness fanatic and plagued in his early years by unrequited love, Sacks tells his story with great honesty, humor and alacrity. A glimpse into one of the most curious minds of our time. Insightful and tinged with a wistful nostalgia. I finished this just a few days before Sacks died in August. ****

Panic in a Suitcase by Yelena Akhtiorskaya--I was expecting this story of a Russian emigrant family’s experience moving from Odessa to New York to be something similar in nature to Gary Shteyngart’s books. It was and it wasn’t. While it was very funny at times with vivid and descriptive passages that gave a true sense of place, it was also rather uneven.  But I did admire greatly, the construction of the prose. ***

Mastering the Art of Soviet Cooking: A Memoir of Food and Longing by Anya Von Bremzen - Entertaining account of the authors relationship to food and family (particularly her grandmother and mother) with a large dollop of soviet history that gives weight and depth to what might otherwise be just another immigrant memoir with recipes. ***

This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage by Ann Patchett-- I started reading this and it felt very deja vu and then I realized I’d already read several of the essays in the collection. But the stories about the writing life and opening her bookstore were most interesting to me. ***

Barbarian Days, A Surfing Life by William Finnegan-- This was not the deep meditation on surfing as deliverance that I expected after reading a pre-publication excerpt. Still it was an absorbing dip in to a world and sport well outside my experience, and I learned a lot about the component parts of a wave and the mechanics and dynamics that make it surf worthy. It is a lengthy book and many parts dragged considerably, but I enjoyed the travelogue aspects as the author pinged about from California to Hawaii to South Africa, Bali, Australia, Portugal (Madeira), Singapore and other locales in search of surf. **

A Brief History of Seven Killings by Marlon James-- I had to switch to audio book format on this epic tome with so many characters I could not keep track. The story spans several decades starting in Kingston Jamaica in the late ’70’s to tell the story of a gritty, violent and turbulent time of uprisings and power struggles predicated by the attempted killing of Bob Marley. At 26 hours the audio book is quite a time commitment but worth very minute. ****

Confessions of the Lioness by Mia Couto-- Timely read given the Cecil and the Dentist headlines. A story about a hunter hired by a small village to kill a lion that is stalking the villagers and the relationships that develop. A fable like narrative based on real events. While I found the story worthwhile the narrative felt overworked and at times flat. **

Killing Monica by Candace Bushnell--Bleh, if this is not a thinly veiled take down of SJP, I don’t know what is. But I read it in the spirit and tradition of the trashy Beach Read. *

Another Great Day At Sea, Life Aboard the USS George H.W. Bush by Geoff Dyer-- When I’m reading Dyer I always have the odd sensation that he has hacked my email or has been observing me from afar, for I know of no writer that captures the same weird self-conscious, ODC, crazy-ass thoughts I have, as well as he does. It’s uncanny. I read this on a flight to New York and was laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes and the flight attendant asked me if I was okay.
Note: For bonus laughs check out the angry comments on the Amazon page by readers who thought Another Great Day at Sea was going to be an ode to the military. Hilarious.  *****

The Anthropology of Turquoise: Reflections on Desert, Sea, Stone, and Sky by Ellen Meloy-- Gorgeous tone poem like narrative that made me want to take a road trip to the Southwest and watch the light move across the desert plain. ****

Around the World in 50 Years: My Adventure to Every Country on Earth by Albert Podell-- I loved the idea of this book and Albert has indeed traveled far and wide. The early part of the book when he and his pals head out to set a record for the longest automobile journey ever made around the world is the most interesting part. He captures a moment in time, the sheer naiveté of that epic journey certainly could not be attempted today. And the insights in regard to sponsored travel and the strings attached, still hold. But the way he wrote about his many female companions was grating and the boastful accounts of his playboy ways grew tiresome. **

Driving Hungry, a Memior by Layne Mosler--Mosley recounts her time in Brazil, New York and Berlin. I thought there would be more food in this blog to book memoir. But the parts about how to get a taxi license and what it is like to drive a cab for hire were intriguing. I was oddly distracted by how many times the author mentioned wiping sweat from her brow--but then again she was frequently in hot situations. I wonder if this was pitched as Tango, Taxi, Love as comp to EPL? ***

Everybody Rise by Stephanie Clifford--I finished this just before Labor Day, to make it the end-cap to my summer of reading. Everybody Rise was like a mash-up of The Devil Wears Prada meets The Social Network at The Great Gastby’s house party. A modern manners tale that serves up class dynamics on a silver platter and depicts social climbing as a blood sport. But for me it got strained at the half way point and by the final third and I just stopped caring about the characters. I absolutely loved the fabulous cover design, but unfortunately the story did not rise up to same level. *

Rating Key:

Meh *
Okay **
Good ***
Very Good ****
Most Excellent *****

Harvest Epiphany

Or A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again (with apologies to David Foster Wallace for the title) Note: Just posting this now since my hands finally have feeling in them again.

Here’s some advice: If you ever get a late night tweet from Dr. David Horowitz, Marketing Professor at Sonoma State, inviting you to participate in a “fun, fun, fun” grape harvest be very careful before you reply in the affirmative. I did say "Yes" and the next thing I know, Dr. Dave was at my door at 5:00am to whisk me off to Ketcham winery to pick Pinot Noir grapes. I brought water, gloves, clippers, hat, sunscreen, and my own 5-gallon bucket—a brand new super sturdy high grade PVC bucket that I have a feeling I will never see again.

When we arrived the vineyard was shrouded in fog and I could hear the soft muffled “flump” of the grapes being tossed into buckets between the vines. We got a quick tutorial on what to look for in the grapes-- clean full clusters-- good. Moldy, mostly raisins, or bird pecked clusters-- not so good. Then we were set loose to start harvesting. Oh the thrill of it all. For the first hour or so it was rather meditative and relaxing. (Probably due to the fact I was not yet awake)

I said very little and focused on my cutting skills While the others chatted away. Most of the people at the harvest had gone to high school or college together so they had a very familiar sensibility and manner with each other that involved calling one another douche bags and other such terms of endearment at the crack of dawn.

I was hazy on the details on who and what this harvest was for, but the gist of it as follows: The guys in charge of the harvest were all members of something called the "20-30 Club", which I think, judging by the conversations I overheard, is a club for guys in their 30’s with at least 20 moving violations or something like that. I’m guessing the wine was going to be made and then sold as part of their “get out jail” bail bond charity. But I'm just sayin'.

The solitude of the harvest

The main problem of the day seemed to be lack of bodies to cut the grapes. An all points bulletin had been put out to get people to work that morning but not many took up the offer. One of the guys claimed two Canadian girls he met at a bar the night before would be arriving any minute. What a pick up line must have been!—“Hey! Wanna come back to my place and pick grapes? It’ll be hot! Really!”— Heck, a Canadian may just fall for that line. But the girls never showed.

By the third hour the thrill of it all began to wear off and I was in serious need of more than water. But being around all those grapes was not calling me to have wine. No. Beer was the siren song in my head. Strange thing how that works.

By the fourth hour I was starting to wonder if Dr. Dave even knows what the word fun means since he used it so liberally to entice me to the harvest. But then again he is Marketing Professor so it’s all part of the con job. If something is called fun more than once, it means you are in for some hard labor. To maintain my focus and waning energy I tried to imagine I was in Spain or Chile or France or Italy paying for this experience. This is just the type of activity people with more money than sense would pay dearly for. Would I pay $5000 for the chance to pick grapes in France and stay in a Relais & Chateau property like this? I just might. Of course we gringos are not very good at sustained labor. Our pasty white skin burns quickly and our pudgy hands callous fast and we never shut-up or stop complaining. We like the idea of hard work way more than the doing of it. So we need to pampered all along the way to get us to think we are doing something authentic, meaningful, and fun.

By the fifth hour, the fog was long gone, the sun directly overhead, and any illusions I had that the work was fun had been burned to a crisp. I began plotting revenge schemes in my head to get back at Dr. Dave for getting me into this chain gang.

Right about the time I was about to lose all my will to carry on, the ubiquitous Sparkel Farkel aka Shana Ray aka @sharayray showed up to make me laugh. She managed to pick some grapes, tweet about it, and answer her email all at the same time without so much as mussing her hair. You can read her take on the whole thing here.

It's a big logistical undertaking to harvest grapes and get everything where it needs to be in a timely manner. The grapes we picked were going Cahill winery for the sorting and crushing. And although all the "20-30" guys in charge of the harvest were very nice, I’d hate to be out to sea with them, as I’m afraid the boat might run aground or capsize while they argued about the best way to sail the ship. Just kidding, sort of.

Despite my whining, I have to admit there is something about intense shared labor that is very bonding and I did manage to have some fun. Plus I learned a few very important things along the way:

1. I am the perfect height for picking grapes. 5’1” is the magic metric if you want to avoid breaking your back bending over to reach the grapes.

2. The fun of harvest decreases exponentially with the declination of the sun. Fog = Good. Direct Overhead Sun = Not So Good. It’s all fun and games till the fog burns off.

3. The professional grape harvesters (the Mexicans) are amazing to watch, poetry in motion with speed and efficiency. {The four professional laborers picked more in 2 hours than all the rest of us did in 6 hours. Talk about skilled!}

4. No matter when you ask the grape boss or harvest master (or whatever you call the person in charge) how much longer to go, they will always reply—“Just one more bin to go. Keep picking!”

5. Cutting off the finger of a person on the opposite side of the vine from you is considered to be very bad form. Not to mention life altering for the other person.

6. I am very much like the Pinot Grape itself: fair, thin-skinned and weather sensitive. With the sun directly overhead, I was close to slipping into a grape induced coma and ready to be crushed.

I think my six hours of grape harvest experience may just last me a lifetime.

Thank you to the "20-30" boys and Dr. Dave for all the fun. Really, Thank you.

This is Domonic. He seemed to be the one everyone loved to rag on and generally disparage the most. But hey, that’s what friends are for.

The cutest little wine baby ever made an appearance.

Dr. Dave and his laundry basket bustin' a move on the vines.

Pairing Nuts with Wine

Why I’m compelled to share this story all over again I don’t know, but it still makes me laugh every time I think about it and since it is concert and picnic season at many wineries, I thought it might be fitting.

Several years ago I went see Diana Krall at an outdoor concert series at a winery that shall remain nameless. Anyway, before the show, along with several wines, there was a huge dinner buffet with lots of fancy food set up under white canopies. A guy in line in front of me was going crazy piling stuff on his plate as if he'd just been released from prison or something.  At one food station there were all kinds of salads and a huge bowl of candied caramelized pecans, almonds, and walnuts that were piping hot. And the guy says "Oh man, I love hot nuts!" and mounds them on his plate. And I'm thinking—this guy really needs to pace himself—there was lots of food yet to come.

At the end of the buffet line there were chicken breasts and prime rib and ratatouille and garlic mashed potatoes. The woman behind the chafing dish of mashed potatoes says to the guy--"Could you push your nuts aside for me or you want me to put the mashed potatoes right on them?" So this of course this sets me into giggles. And the guy says "Oh just put the mashed potatoes right on my nuts, it'll keep 'em hot."  At that point I lost it completely and doubled over laughing, and in the process I dropped my ratatouille on his flip-flops, which made me laugh even harder and I fell to the ground gasping for breath with tears streaming down my face and that prompted the mashed potato lady to call security because she thought I was having a seizure.

When the EMT and security folks arrived all I could do was bleat out the words "nuts" "hot nuts" between gasps for breath, and that made the medic think I was having a nut related allergic reaction and he pulled out a needle to give me a shot of god knows what. The sight of the needle sobered me up quick and I finally pulled it together long enough to explain that I was just laughing because the guy said "keep my nuts hot" and they all looked at me with expressions of such utter disgust that I felt like a pathetic creature acting out some absurd Beavis and Butthead moment. Then after much deliberation they decided I was not a threat to myself, or others, and they let me go.

The moral of it all: Nuts and wine do NOT pair well together. 

Reinventing the Past

Are we hard-wired to remember tragic events over the good? It seems that way. Maybe it's just me. Sure, I’ve had peak high days of utter joy but they don’t have the same razor sharp clarity as the bad events. It’s as if the emotional muscle memory can't let go. Those moments in time that just hang there like fossils preserved in Lucite. The words etched in your memory: Dad died.  Your brother is dead.  Mom is gone. There is no turning back certain days, or pressing delete on the calls that defined them. 

So today, in honor of my brother, I'm starting a new tradition to change the energy around this tragic milestone. I’ve decided to turn it into a mini celebration and try to access the joy division of his life. 

Lucky for me Traverso’s  the Italian Deli in Santa Rosa is having a moving sale so I was able to get all the “ode to a good life” supplies at 25% off. 

Since my family background is Italian I thought it fitting to do this with an Italian theme. I love Traverso’s; the array of Italian products, the special cheeses and meats remind me of my childhood, but without all the angst and screaming. (Hey, Italians can be a bit overwrought you know.) But food and wine makes it all better. 

I filled my cart with items to create a classic Italian antipasti spread. Along with some cheese from the Dolomites and salami, I got Filetti di Acciughe--Anchovies with capers, Flott Tuna (the worlds' greatest tuna IMO), and a few different types of Sicilian Caponata.  Caponota is a Sicilian dish made of eggplant and olives and capers, tomatoes, celery, peppers and vinegar and it’s just the most fantastic thing in the world. It’s my go to de-stress food. The food I find most comfort in. It’s like Italian Valium to me. My Mother and Grandmother were master caponata makers. Once we spent the whole day making enormous vats of it for me to take back to school and in the process burned out the element on my mom’s electric stove. I went back to school with three huge jars and hid them from my roommates. It's not that I'm not into sharing, but this stuff was like high grade smack and equally addictive. I did not want to be responsible for creating any new caponota addicts with my antipasto gateway drug.  

In the wine department I found two of my favorite wines from Sardegna the Argiolas Costamolino Vermentino and the Argiolas Costera made of Cannonau grapes which I recently discovered is the same grape as Grenache. These wines are easy drinkers and a great value at under $20. I’ve been drinking these wines for years but I noticed they have been sort of discovered lately and I even saw the Vermentino was mentioned in Wine Spectator, so the price has been creeping up. I also grabbed bottle of Cinque Terre Vendemmia a very delicate dry white wine that I have never seen outside of the Cinque Terre. Probably with good reason as I don’t think this wine travels all that well. But what the heck, it's most excellent paired with something like Acchugie with capers. So I got a bottle of that too. 

Tonight I as I lay out this Traverso repast, I'll raise a glass to my brother and try to hold on to the better memories now and in the future. –Ciao ciao