Writers Plot

Say "au revoir" but not "Good-bye"

posted by Jeanne Munn Bracken    

This is it, folks. The final Writer's Plot blog. Finito. Done. Or not...

Writing a weekly blog was a lot like writing a weekly column, which I did for 22 1/2 years. So the past not-quite-three years was like Old Home Day for me, except on Wednesday night instead of Thursday or, when I was really pushing the deadline envelope, Sunday night.

It does seem, though, appropriate, that I get the last word, because 2010 is probably going to be a transitional year for the Brackens. I plan to retire next summer and kick back, relax, sleep late, and write the projects I've been researching for years. And besides that, I have other plans:

• finish two quilts I started (including a "quilt-in-a-day" quilt)
• make quilts using the bundles of fabric I bought in Alaska and Hawaii
• knit lots
• find a volunteer job rocking babies (since no grandchildren are on the horizon)
• clean the clutter and downsize (yeah, we've heard that before)
• Write write write write
• do oral history interviews with elderly folks
• volunteer at the Library of Congress
• volunteer at the Women's History Museum
• spend more time with friends and family, including cousins all over the place
• visit Iceland, Prague, England, Australia, Germany, and Alaska again
• go to concerts and plays
• write write write write write with my writing partner Nancy "Coop" Cooper
• learn to play my keyboard
• join a choir or chorus
• learn to play a hammered dulcimer
• volunteer at my alma mater the University of New Hampshire
• grow a mound of nasturtiums and put a flower on my summer salads
• drink enough Guinness or white zinfandel to sing "Proud Mary" at a karaoke bar
• read read read read read
• find or develop a group of friends to play cards (not bridge!) or board games
• read The Gulag Archipelago, all thousands of pages of it
• take up jigsaw puzzles and do crossword puzzles to my heart's content
• drive across Canada and visit all the states in the northwest I have missed (6 in all from North Dakota to Nevada)
• get another dog
• read a daily newspaper the day it's printed
• write write write write write with my friend Margie Hilton
• join a health club and actually go, swimming every day

Since I have not yet run out of opinions to share, I will continue blogging; my new website has a blog feature I will figure out and use. (www.jeannemunnbracken.com if you're keeping score)

Happy New Year to All, and to all a Good Blog.
 

Hey, this mess is a place!

posted by Jeanne Munn Bracken

I feel sorry for my friends who don't have cable television. I mean, for the mere price of one night at a mid-range hotel room, we have an entire month's worth of access to hundreds of shows. Okay, a lot of those shows are...well, lame, or boring, or just plain dumb.

Really--how many times can we watch reruns of "The King of Queens" before we can recite the dialog along with Doug and Carrie and Arthur? And I never got the charm of Seinfeld, although I do love "The New Adventures of Old Christine" (but would somebody please explain to me--did Richard marry Barb or didn't he? I get so confused...)

"30 Rock" used to be pretty good, but this season, not so much. My husband is easily satisfied--if there is a World War II documentary on, he's all good. Sheesh!

My new favorites, though, are the cleaning shows. I used to watch a British one where the cleaning ladies ask, "How Clean is Your House?" The answer, invariably, is "not very" before the show stars tackle things, clean up what seemed like horrible filth even to me, and reform the slobs into neatniks--for at least as long as the cameras are running.

I liked "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," too, where the five fellows cleaned up and redecorated some bachelor's pad, taught him how to dress, groom himself, and cook, all in an hour. Pretty impressive.  

My new favorite, though, is "Hoarders." A screen shot at the beginning of each episode notes that hoarding is a mental illness and no laughing matter. The cleanup team includes a therapist, some family members, and professional junk collectors. The houses, though--defy description. Some of the homes look pretty normal from the outside; (this, admittedly, from a woman who had an old toilet sitting in the yard for so long there was talk of using it as a planter. Don't ask. Please.)

I mean, I used to joke all the time that we were going to clean out one kid's room with a shovel. But this is what the cleaners have to do on "Hoarders." These homes are so far gone that relationships are foundering, usually the health board is lurking in the wings, and foreclosure is often threatened. Interestingly, the homeowners are often well-educated, thoughtful and forthcoming. The ages have ranged from an elementary school boy to elderly men and women.

"Hoarders" is a show I watch with jaw dropping and eyes bugging. Our house is no "House Beautiful" spread, but at least it's reasonably healthy. It doesn't take much for the clutter to get out of hand, but there comes a point when even I can't stand it any more and tackle the mess (while family members and pets head for the hills, since my mood at that point is usually pure poison.)

Yeah, "Hoarders" makes me look good. I spent hours last spring cleaning up my office until it was totally neat and organized. Then the kids moved out and took my bookcases. (I let them. What was I thinking?) So the little room, about 9 by 9, is now a maze of piled books and papers. I can whip it back into shape in a short time, but the bookcase I'll need is filled at the moment with manuscript papers and research materials from The Cancer Book From Hell.  All I need is time. Hah.

Besides, we are trying to clean out Mom's house. She lived there for 40 years, and guess where I learned my Yankee-thrift-don't-throw-away-anything-that-might-be-useful-some-day? Yep, from Mom.  We are having to sort through not only her stuff, but also stuff that belonged to her mother, as well as two mothers-in-law...you get the picture.

On the plus side, unlike "Hoarders", there are no goats chewing their way through the wall or cats multiplying madly in the corners. The only animal carcasses here are the dearly departed mice that Mongo, a/k/a Killer, leaves for us to find.

Still, there but for the grace of God... How sad.

Some Asian cultures clean their houses in preparation for the New Year. Sounds like a good plan to me. If only I had six months to get it done.

So Merry Christmas, if that is your choice, and for heaven's sake, don't hang on to the used wrapping paper and boxes.

A Very German Christmas

posted by Jeanne Munn Bracken

Many of our beloved Christmas customs originated in Germany--the carols, the decorated tree, and everybody who went to my school in the 1950s knows the story of Hans Gruber and the mice in the organ and how "Silent Night" got written.

Although I love traditional family Christmas "stuff", I have always been drawn to Germany. When I had to research and write about a country in 6th grade, I chose Germany. That was before the two sectors were walled apart. I would never have remembered this, but my mother kept that report and gave it back to me when I was packing to go to Germany for my junior year from the University of New Hampshire. (Yeah, Mom kept stuff, but it's not like she was a candidate for "Hoarders" or anything.)

I spent that junior year in the old city of Marburg an der Lahn, about 90 kilometers north of Frankfurt. It was before the days of email and cell phones and instant communications, and since I was a scholarship student, I couldn't fly home for the holidays. Some of my fellow UNH group also stayed in town for Christmas and we decided to make the best of it.

We planned a special meal for Christmas eve, forgetting that everything would have to be prepared on a hotplate. I was astounded that one of my friends, albeit not known for her culinary skills, managed to screw up the add-water-and-make-cream-sauce frozen peas and onions.

I bought a little live Christmas tree and had to get it across the city to a friend's room. It rains a lot in Germany, and Christmas Eve afternoon was no exception. It absolutely poured. (I used to quip that the cities were built on hills to facilitate runoff from the torrents.) I also didn't realize that the buses would stop running, so I was lucky to get on one of the last ones with my tree. The Germans never could figure out what to make of us Americans, and that evening was no exception.

We all managed to gather, set up the little tree and decorate it with a few ornaments and, in the German tradition, with little candles that clipped to the branches. We put a few gifts under the tree and finally found enough courage to light the candles. Painfully aware of the fire danger, we admired the lovely sight for maybe twelve seconds, took some pictures, and (I swear I could hear a little crackling noise) blew out the candles before we caused a conflagration.

After dinner and our tree ritual, we went to a midnight service in a medieval church in the old city, up on the hill. The rain had stopped and as we passed a wing of the castle, we watched a man decorating a huge tree in his living room, and a light snow began to frost everything.

It was magic.

Breaking the rules (Blush)

posted by Jeanne Munn Bracken

I am stepping a little out of line today and I’m going to violate one of the Writers’ Plot cardinal rules: limit BSP. I have probably mentioned here before that one of my “claims to fame” is the term BSP, or Blatant Self Promotion, coined on the DorothyL mystery lovers list quite a few years ago. I was noting in a post there that I am not a mystery author but I didn’t mind reading about others’ new books, because unless we support them, we were all in the soup and wouldn’t have anything good to read.

Didn’t know that about me, did you?

It’s also possible that you don’t know I have also written books. The Cancer Book From Hell that I’ve been complaining about for the entire life of this blog will be published next year. I promise. Finally! It is a title that will help families in distress, but I really, really hope none of you will ever have to consult Children with Cancer: A Reference Guide for Parents (Oxford University Press , 1986; rev ed 2010)

Still. About that BSP.  I was also an award-winning columnist for the Littleton Independent for over 20 years, which was a lot like having a weekly blog, although the geographic  reach was a bit smaller (Littleton, Massachusetts and environs vs. The World. Yep, smaller.)

But what I wrote was universal, because I was (and am) Every Suburban Woman. House, husband, kids, pets, balky cars—as Zorba would say, “The Full Catastrophe!”

I could have cried about a lot of things: my daughter’s cancer diagnosis, career challenges, dysfunctional childhood… Instead, I became a humorist, most of the time. Laughter is really good for your body and your soul. My readers laughed for over a thousand columns, and folks from my church helped me figure out which ones to include and which to deep six and hope nobody ever saw again.

For example.

At one family reunion a cousin’s spouse missed dinner because he was in the emergency room with (ahem) hemorrhoids “the size of Rhode Island,” to quote his loving wife—thereby insuring he would be the “butt” of our jokes for reunions to come.

Other people’s kids come home from McDonald’s with leftover fries. My kids brought a cat. A female cat. A pregnant female cat.

When offered a gift hamster, at least stop to think why the donor is so eager to get rid of it. Hamsters have more accessories than Barbie, and they don’t mingle well with resident cats. ‘Nuff said.

So. Let me help you laugh. (See BSP comment above.) A few years ago I collected some of my columns in a book. You will probably not be shocked to learn that I still have several boxes of this self-published book in my garage. I’m not a shy and retiring type, but I really, really suck at BSP. Totally.

Certainly some of you have bought my book and I appreciate it. Your support means a lot to me, and I happen to think you got your money’s worth of good reading. Thank you.

Anyway, for everyone else, here goes the BSP: I collected some of my award-winning columns in Someday We’ll Laugh About This, some 60 essays on imperfect families, vacationing with vehicles of questionable trustworthiness, raising daughters and coping with dozens of pets from huge goldfish to hamsters to newborn kittens.  The book was put together with the help of friends from church, but don’t let that scare you off. Not to worry—it’s not a “religious” book. In the case of the few columns that mention the church, feel free to substitute “aerobics class” or “PTA meeting” for the nursery care disaster.

It’s a funny book. One fellow said he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe. So yeah, it might be hazardous to your health in that respect, but you can probably read each essay in five minutes, so if you can hold your breath that long, you should be ok.

So. Buy my book. Email me at jmbracken@verizon.net, mention this blog, and I’ll give you a deal. Rather than $15.95 plus shipping and handling, I will sell you the book for $13 flat and eat the tax, bubble envelope and mailing costs. I’ll extend that to 2 for $25.

It’s the holiday season. This book makes a great gift for family and friends, teachers, other relatives, neighbors, day  care center staff, bus drivers, Yankee swap….use your imagination. But please: give it only to people with imperfect families; others will not be able to identify.

Read my book.  Whew! That didn’t hurt too much.

While I'm on a roll: Also check out my new website: www.jeannemunnbracken.com

Most Influential Books?

posted by Jeanne Munn Bracken

My friend Betty stopped by my desk the other day and reported that NPR was airing a program about the most influential books... Sounded interesting even if I didn't know who was influencing whom. I tried to find the information on the NPR website, but no luck.

But it got me to thinking. There are lists and lists and lists of books that are the most important ones of the 20th century, the most important since the invention of the printed (or monk-inscribed) word, the most important to different groups (Jim Huang has done a couple of nifty ones about mystery writers).

So I dutifully scan the lists and, except in the case of Jim Huang's books, I realize I have, at best, read a very small minority of the titles. I mean, we're talking seriously behind the times. A person who has never read Great Expectations, Moby Dick, Jane Eyre for heaven's sake. Really really behind.

But I have still turned into a relatively fine human being, and my lack of literary acumen has not prevented my library career (where I only have to know where to find things) and my writing. I mean, Merchant of Venice doesn't have a whole lot to do with childhood cancer, and raising (and writing about) my family with good humor has not been adversely affected by my never having read The Divine Comedy, either in the original or translation.

So we agree I'm no intellectual. But I have read a whole lot of books, and these are the ones that have influenced me.

I loved David Hackett Fischer's Paul Revere's Ride for its very readable history of the beginning of our country's independence. I recommend this book all the time to readers looking for a good read, and nobody has come back and hit me with it.

It's been decades since I read Men to Match My Mountains, Irving Stone's wonderful tales of the opening of the American West, and forgive the sexist title, since it was published in the pre-feminist 1950s. This is another book I recommend, although it's getting harder to find it in libraries, where current books often elbow older ones off the shelf.

Pretty much anything by Bill Bryson tops my list of influential books. I guess A Walk in the Woods is highest in this category, with its humor, its easy style, and its tale of a journey. Another book in this genre is John Steinbeck's Travels with Charley, which I read at least four decades ago and again--there is humor, there is style, there is a journey.

Other memorable books that have nudged me towards writing nonfiction are John Ransome's Andersonville Diary, a jaw-dropping memoir of survival under terrible conditions; Civil War prisons have been an interest of mine since I read MacKinlay Kantor's fictional Andersonville in high school. (We won't even think about how long ago that was!) Another, less well-known book that I loved and recommend is Coming Out of the Ice, the biography of Victor Herman,  a young American athlete trapped in Stalinist Russia and sent to the gulag. Again--survival.

I could never talk about excellent nonfiction without adding Walter Lord's A Night to Remember, which jump-started a fascination with all things Titanic.

I have read thousands of book over the past decades but few have stayed with me as much as Trapped! The Story of the Struggle to Rescue Floyd Collins from a Kentucky Cave in 1925 by Robert K. Murray and Roger W. Brucker. That tragedy seems ripped from the headlines over the past week and I can't think of spelunking without a shudder and gasping for breath. I cannot imagine many fates worse than being stuck underground. The writing in the book is good,  the story is timeless.

I see that all those books are nonfiction, and they inspire me and make me want to write as well on topics as gripping in a style as compelling. Of course, I read a lot of fiction, too; the two novels that have most influenced me were the iconic Gone with the Wind, a tale of survival as well, and Sharyn McCrumb's She Walks These Hills. GWTW needs no annotation from me. If you have somehow missed McCrumb's Ballad series, set in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina and Tennessee, I suggest you rush right out and get your hands on this lovely novel, with its layers of storytelling, its humor, its pathos, and its deft shifts in historic time.

What else has influenced me? The poets Frost and Sandburg feature prominently on my bookshelves, but I think the book of verse that I treasure most is A. E. Housman's A Shropshire Lad.  "When I was one and twenty..." indeed.

You will never see most of these books on anybody else's list of The Best Books of the Year, the Century, the Millennium. But they all contributed to make me the reader--and writer--I am today.

What about you?

The other white meat

posted by Jeanne Munn Bracken

I did something a couple of days ago that I have never done before in my life. I bought shallots and fresh jalapeno peppers.

In my quest to learn how to cook for two, I came across a recipe for "Cider vinegar & molasses glazed pork chops." I found it in the Eatingwell Serves Two cookbook, although it is also on their web site, which gives me hope that it's okay to share the recipe with you.

At any rate, this being Thanksgiving and all, I was thinking of the progression of the holiday turkey. There will only be four of us here this year, but my daughter bought a 19 pound turkey to be sure there will be leftovers. Oh, no doubt about that. Here's what will happen:

• Thanksgiving dinner with the fixin's.
• Turkey and gravy with leftover stuffing
• Hot turkey sandwiches
• Turkey with dumplings
• Turkey soup with stock from the carcass

The problem is, Ray isn't crazy about turkey leftovers, and he really only eats the white meat. That works fine, actually, since there are only two drumsticks on the bird and the rest of the family fights over them. (Very genteely, to be sure.)

But before the Big Meal That Lasts A Week, I made him pork chops. The recipe calls for thin sliced boneless pork chops. Miracle of miracles, in the freezer stocked by Mr. "Bring on the Beef," I found frozen burger patties, bulk ground beef with varying degrees of fat, a couple of roasts--and a package of six thin sliced boneless pork chops.

The rest of the ingredients were at hand--vinegar, molasses, olive oil, low sodium soy sauce. Except for the shallot and the jalapeno pepper. So I went to the grocery store, bought them, and made the recipe for Sunday dinner. It actually was delicious. Even Mr. "Bring on the Beef" thought so. It didn't hurt that I served it with rice, which he likes.

Of course, I doubled the recipe and had leftovers for supper the next night.

So I'm getting the hang of cooking for two. Problem is, I haven't learned to shop for two. I bought three shallots and two jalapeno peppers; I have one of each left.

Now I have to find another recipe that will use them up. Because I am now out of thin sliced boneless pork chops.

When you're tired of turkey, try this out:

Cider Vinegar-&-Molasses-Glazed Pork Chops

• 1 tsp. extra-virgin olive oil
• 2 thin-cut boneless pork chops (8 oz), trimmed of fat
• 1 shallot, finely chopped
• 1/2 jalapeno papper, seeded and finely chopped
• 1 clove garlic, finely chopped
• 2 tbsp. molasses
• 2 tbsp. cider vinegar
• 1 tbsp. Dijon mustard
• 1 tsp. reduced-sodium soy sauce

1. Heat oil over medium-high heat in a medium skillet. Add pork, and cook until browned and no longer pink in the middle, 1 to 2 minutes per side. Transfer to a plate and cover with foil to keep warm.

2. Add shallot, jalapeno and garlic; cook, stirring often, until slightly softened, 2 to 3 minutes. Add molasses, vinegar, mustard and soy sauce and bring to a simmer. Reduce heat to maintain a simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, unti thickened, 2 to 4 minutes. Return the pork and any accumulated juices to the pan and turn to coat with sauce. Serve the pork with the sauce.                                                                                                

Lots to be thankful for

posted by Jeanne Munn Bracken

Now that the New England mystery conference Crime Bake is over, it's time to get into the holidays. I have admitted already that I've bought a few gifts, including some when I was on vacation. (Souvenirs R Us). But before we go into Christmas Crazy Mode (and I plead guilty as a carrier of that disorder), let's give thanks for what we have.

It's a tough year for a lot of people, and as suggested in other posts here at the Writers' Plot, I plan to be generous both to the food pantry and the local police department's collection of toys for kids. I also have a stack of mailings from favorite charities, and at the end of the year I try to send them checks. Childhood cancer, Make a Wish, Salvation Army, the humane society, the nascent National Women's History Museum, among others. Tells you what I care about: kids, dogs, women's history.

The number of people around our Thanksgiving table can vary widely from year to year. We have had so many family and friends here that we had two tables and no space to move around the room at all, once everybody was seated. (That's about 15 people, for us.) On occasion we have invited folks who would otherwise be alone for the holiday. More recently we have spent Thanksgiving with our good friends the Smiths.

Sometimes we had dinner here and sometimes at their house. We had a varying number of our kids at the table, and recently their grandchildren in highchairs. One year we celebrated at a restaurant on Cape Cod, where we had taken condos for a few days' respite. (That was the year that our daughters and the Smith daughter entertained us with stories of their escapades, most of which included teaching bad habits to the younger sister.)

This year, the Smiths have moved to North Carolina. It's the end of an era. We could probably go to my sister's for dinner, since she was drafted as Chief Chef, but we weren't actually invited, and besides, the drive to their rural area is time-consuming and often hair-raising in wintry weather.

So. This year, it's the four Brackens, and for the first time, the daughters will be arriving from their own homes. Mollie has already brought a turkey, making sure it was large enough so there would be leftovers to take home. Lisa will make the mashed potatoes. I'll do the rest, and I don't mind.

I make the stuffing from scratch the night before. I'll cheat and use the bread machine to make the dough for rolls. I'll make creamed onions (which only two of us eat, but which make a great next-day treat with leftover peas). I've ordered a pie from the high school fundraiser.

And I will not repeat earlier Thanksgiving goofs. The year when Ray and I were dating, I made dinner while he watched football on TV. I was rather naive, though: when the food was ready, he said there were just 15 minutes left in the game and could we wait. I didn't know that 15 minutes in football is about eleven innings in baseball, an analogy I could understand.

So the carmelized sweet potatoes were rather more charred, and we had to carve the bird with the only knife I had that was big enough: a bread knife. A few years ago, when we were having our kitchen remodeled (once and never again!), I tried to make the sweet potatoes in a crock pot. (Note to self: crock pots do not carmelize. They glop.)

Cranberry orange relish from Mom's recipe is already in the fridge. My stepfather refused to eat anything that had rind in it--until, after a number of years, he actually tasted it.

So, I want to wish you all a great Thanksgiving spent with loved ones. May all your teams win. Whatever game they're playing.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Posted by Jeanne Munn Bracken

I went to a meeting this morning and the people who had stopped at the nearby Starbucks were sipping cups of caffeine. Nothing notable there. But the cups--ah, the cups! They were red and festooned with mittens and snowflakes and other tree ornaments. They smelled like morning but they looked a whole lot like Christmas. The Starbucks customers assured me that holiday music was playing to get everybody in the mood. Imagine -- seven weeks of Christmas carols and "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas." Yikes!

Not that this should surprise me. As I write this, there are 44 days 'til Christmas 2009. That's 1062 hours and counting til Santa comes down the chimney (if he can navigate through the wood stove set on the hearth) and fill our stockings with joy.

I realize there is a recession and the stores are worried that they won't make enough money from frugal buyers. They feel they have to ramp up the holiday cheer to get us all in the mood. But sheesh--they started in September. I know this because I was in one of those dollar stores and was able to snap up rolls of Christmas wrapping paper for a buck each. I still have a handsome supply of wrapping paper in a closet upstairs, along with bows and the like, but I cannot resist a bah-gin, as we say in New England.

Of course the stores had to start decorating early because they had finished up with the back-to-school sales by the Fourth of July and the summer clearance sales ran in late July.

I admit I'm addicted to the local chain of Christmas Tree Shops, and no month is complete without a foray into the aisles to see what's on sale. Even those iconic stores don't decorate for Christmas until Halloween is over. Thanksgiving apparently doesn't have enough cachet to hold a place in retailers' hearts. Just turkey and pies. Ho hum, not jingle jingle in the pockets.

So--have you got your shopping done? Gifts wrapped and stashed? Cards addressed? Not me. Most years I do some Christmas shopping while I'm on vacation, so family can expect some gift from Hawaii or Alaska or wherever we have traveled during the year.

This year we got as far as upstate New York, and sure enough, I did pick up a few things there. But it's not a good idea to wrap them and hide them in closets or under the beds, because I will certainly forget them--either where I put them, what's in the brightly wrapped packages, or even that I ever bought them to begin with. Many years I am surprised around Easter to come across some gifts I have absolutely no recollection of buying. Lists are helpful, but too often I lose the lists, too.

But I actually love Christmas and look forward to the season every year--the cold snap that brightens my cheeks, the store clerks before they burn out from dealing with the public, the twinkly lights, and my annual humming-along with "The Messiah" (only in the comfort of my own home, of course).  So I agree with the sentiment--"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas."

If only they weren't singing it in July.

Our most beloved

posted by Jeanne Munn Bracken

As "mentioned" here in the past, my kids have moved out. For some reason the cable bill hasn't gone down much, but the electric bill is cut in half. I never knew TVs and DVD players used so much "juice".

The kids took both bookcases from my office. That was ok. They took the dining room table. That was ok. They took the living room couch. That was so OK that I paid a mover to haul it over there. They took the big mixer from the kitchen counter, which has to be ok, since I gave it to a daughter for Christmas a year or two ago.

They have also, at various times, "borrowed" the good vacuum, both step stools, my bread machine, and of course, money. That was all ok, since I expect to get it all back. But in the light of day, one daughter snagged my Betty Crocker picture cookbook from 1961.

That. Is. Not. Acceptable. I missed it right away and had to call her to find out how long to steam snow peas. Of course she didn't answer. I found out later that she heard the call but didn't bother to pick up because I could "google it." Sigh.

Which is why I found my trusty old cookbook on my desk the other morning at work. Returned while I wasn't looking. Smart kids. It turns out that in 1961 Betty Crocker didn't know from steaming any veggies, let alone snow peas. I made it up as I went along, and they were fine.

But I was bemused to see the ratty, grease-stained, dough-encrusted, missing-the-spine cookbook among the pretty new library books on my desk.  I tucked it in my tote bag, out of sight, and when I mentioned later to a friend how battered the book is, she nodded.

"Oh, it's a Velveteen Rabbit," she said.

Of course it is. I have always love that story and can't finish it without crying, which is why I don't read it aloud to visiting kiddies. And why I bought my very own stuffed Velveteen Rabbit last Easter.  My BFF confided that the book was banned from her childhood home, since she grew so hysterical it took hours to calm her down. I totally get that.

And I got to thinking. What other of my books are so well-loved and so battered? None come even close. My Bartlett's Familiar Quotations is well-used but unbloodied and unbowed. My books of poetry, ditto. I don't re-read novels much, although when I do, I have almost always forgotten how the story turned out, so it's a whole new experience each time. Except with Gone with the Wind, which is one of my all-time faves, although nothing can recapture the angst I felt and the rare tears I shed when I first read it at the age of 13, the summer my parents ripped me away from everything familiar and moved the family to a small town in New Hampshire, where we were sort of the local aliens.

The only book that comes close to the Betty Crocker's condition is my King James Bible, the Masonic one that belonged to my father, who died suddenly when I was four. I have hauled that Bible from church camp to church camp, women's retreat to women's retreat, youth group meeting to youth group meeting. I'm not a holy roller by any means, but I do love the KJV. I might not understand what the heck those prophets were saying, but I loved the words they used.

So...do you have favorites? What's your Velveteen Rabbit?

Age hath murdered sleep

Posted by Jeanne Munn Bracken

I rarely have trouble sleeping. Or at least, getting to sleep to begin with. I just park myself in bed, set the alarm, and pick up a good book, which I read until Morpheus catches up with me. I often fall asleep with my glasses on my nose and the light blazing. Sometimes, in a reversal of roles, my kids would quietly remove my glasses and turn off the lamp.

Over the years my husband and I have shared our bed with three different dogs (all large and space-hogging) and occasional cats brave enough to stalk across the pages of whatever great books we're reading.

When we got married, the toughest thing to get used to was sleeping with a World Class Snorer. He would alternately gurgle, snort, smack, and roar, except when he stopped breathing for a while. Not a long while, but still.

I got used to it, more or less.

I asked him to get tested for sleep apnea. He didn't. Finally, a few years ago, he stopped smoking and the noise level in our bedroom dropped precipitously. The cats got braver. (Our pets tend to snore, too. Go figure.)

A few weeks ago, when he complained to our doctor that he was always tired and napped a lot in the daytime, she sent him for a sleep study. I was surprised to learn that he actually still does have mild sleep apnea. So she prescribed a CPAP machine, which is supposed to provide a better air supply, allowing him to sleep through the night and awake refreshed and ready to rock.

Uh huh. The company called and made an appointment to come to the house and set him up.

Uh oh again, we thought. Our bedroom was pretty messy, with clothes strewn about, baskets of laundry (clean and otherwise), and more than a few dust bunnies.

We spent the weekend straightening the place out, gathering armfuls of clothes to donate to a worthy charity, clearing off the dressers and the chairs. I wasn't home when the fellow came yesterday, but I was bemused to learn that he had not left the living room. Which fortunately was pretty neat.

At bedtime, my husband went upstairs and set up the machine on his side of the bed. I finished cleaning the kitchen and some other minor chores, so when I got up there, he was asleep. He was wearing the mask and the machine was quietly pulsing away.

He rolled over and I swear the man looked like he was going snorkeling. Which, trust me, he would never do. (I would, but that's a whole different blog.)

I'd like to say the night passed uneventfully, a fine sleep was had by all, and we both awoke rarin' to go. I'd be lying.

In the first place, I was awakened several times by leg and foot cramps. I have had these for a while now. At one point I was given quinine to relieve them. It worked, sort of, so I was dismayed when the doctor said it had been pulled from the market because of side effects. People dying, or some such glitch.

So I eat bananas and potatoes for the potassium. Doesn't work. My friend said to quaff a sports drink at bedtime for the electrolytes. I hate that stuff. I bought some leg cramp cream to apply after the cramps have started, which defeats the whole idea.

Another friend said to put a cake of Ivory soap under the sheet at the foot end of the bed. Didn't work either.

So I was awake with leg cramps and saw my husband disconnect the machine and go back to bed without it.

Back to the drawing board. I can live with his mild snoring, as he has learned to live with mine. But I sure could use some advice about preventing these wretched cramps. Anybody? Help?