Glass Castle Gratitude

Her earliest memory was of being on fire.  She was three years old.  In The Glass Castle, Jeannette Wall describes her dysfunctional childhood that seems all too insane to be real.  Her non-conformist parents, Rex and Rose, focused on selfish pleasures rather than the provision of their 4 children.  As a result, the children took care of themselves in every way.  The family lived like nomads, 'skedaddling' from desert to desert and eventually, to West Virginia, where all of their problems multiplied.  For most of Jeannette's life, she dealt with a severely alcoholic father, wore tattered clothes, and had to scavenge food from trash bins.  Despite her family's extreme poverty, Jeannette never gave up on her dream of becoming a New York City journalist.  The odds were certainly against her, but her resilience could not be broken.  Eventually, all four kids made it out of Welch to New York.  Jeannette's perseverance, work ethic, and zest for life are overwhelmingly inspiring.  If she can make her dreams come true, so can I.  So can you.  She started from the bottom now she here.

Some people are born to be story tellers.  Jeannette Wall is one of those people.  Unlike some memoirs about unhappy childhoods, you'll never hear Wall whining about her upbringing.  Her ability to share her story while retaining compassion and grace for her parents is incredibly beautiful.  If you are into survival stories, do yourself a favor and read The Glass Castle.

But seriously...before they develop it into a movie starring Jennifer Lawrence.

_________________________

After finishing this novel, I was reminded that I have so many things to be grateful for:

Parents who love and support me.

My car.

A place to call home.

My health.

Stability.

My education.

Never going hungry.

My bed.  

[Jeannette slept in a cardboard box]

Fabulous clothes & shoes.

My computer that allows me to write this blog.

What are you grateful for?  

xx,

E

Lit

I am fairly easy to please in general.  Even the cheesiest of jokes will have me crying tears of joy.  I've loved almost every movie I've seen and will eat just about anything with pleasure.  The same concept applies to books.  However, my patience was severely tested while reading A Passage To India by E.M. Forster over the past couple weeks.  I picked it up again and again but could not get into it.  Le sigh.  Written in 1924, A Passage To India is considered one of the greatest novels of the twentieth century.  I just wasn't feeling it.  Reading shouldn't feel like 11th grade English class.  Listen up:  Don't rid yourself of pleasure by forcing yourself to read a few hundred pages of blah.  Maybe I'll return to it later but until then, I will be reading Lit, a memoir by Mary Karr.  Memoirs never disappoint.  In fact, when I knew that I had to abort A Passage To India, I speedily drove to Barnes and Nobles and raced straight to the Biography section.  I thumbed through book after book, searching for the most dysfunctional memoir I could find.  I thoroughly enjoy reading about people who have overcome incredible obstacles, troubling as they may be.  I've read about rape, foster care, divorce, alcoholism, murder, eating disorders, abortion, you name it.  Non-memoirs such as Requiem For A Dream get me too.  [I also read comedies and romance novels.  Calm down.]  What can I say?  I am intrigued by the relentless honesty of writers such as Augusten Burroughs, Alice Sebold, David Sedaris, and James Frey.  If only everyone could be that real, raw, and open.

xx,

E