Monthly Book Report: American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld

 

I have had this book on my to-be-read list forever and when I spied it at the Library a few weeks back, I impulsively brought it home.  I am so glad that I finally sat down to read it.  Though I’ve read her essays and heard her on "This American Life" on many occasions, I’ve never read any of Sittenfeld’s fiction.  Based on this book, I’ll be back for more. 

American Wife is the story of Alice, a middle class young woman from Wisconsin who marries the son of a political family and finds herself thrust in the limelight of American politics.  Alice is not naive when she meets Charlie Blackwell - quite the reverse.  She’s single and in her early 30s, happy with her life as a librarian, not sure if she’ll ever fall in love, and not willing to settle into a relationship without love just to be a married woman.  Given that the title of the novel includes the word “wife”, the reader knows how things will work out for Alice and Charlie, so I was surprised I found the story so powerful.  

It’s in Alice’s thoughts about her life before her marriage that the novel really spoke to me.  Though she is in her early 30s when she and Charlie meet, and I am in my mid-50s, I could see myself in Alice’s fulfilling life as a single woman.  As I sort out my life here, in this space that I never expected to be, I’ve found enormous satisfaction in my ability to be true to what I want and what I need.  It feels like a really long time since I have been able to do that.  I find comfort in this place, both because it is comfortable and because I think that’s where life will land me in the end.  I am not the sort of person too long for an outcome that is not likely to be available to me.  It’s not always easy - most of my friendships are with people who are comfortably (and, I think, happily) married.  I’m often the only single woman in a group of people.  That can be really hard.  I especially miss a companion with whom I can talk about the small concerns of my world; in that circumstance is where I experience my greatest sense of being solitary.  

In the novel, there’s a scene early in her relationship with Charlie when they are at the grocery store in line to buy food for a meal they will make together and a now-coupled Alice sees her single self in the woman behind her in line.  She’s glad to be with Charlie but not in a way that makes her feel sorry for the single woman.  Instead, Sittenfeld’s Alice thinks, “It’s good on the other side, but it’s good on your side, too.  Enjoy it there. The loneliness is harder, and the loneliness is the biggest part; but some things are easier.” 

For a generally outgoing and bold person, I’m surprisingly private in other ways, so I am rarely lonely.  But I knew what Alice meant.  When you aren’t part of a couple you have a protective shell of sorts; you have to or your sense of vulnerability could overwhelm you.  It’s not loneliness, per se, but it can feel lonely.  The compensation is that there is also plenty of space to be true to yourself in a way that is an incredible comfort.  I think that Alice understood that and I liked her very much for it.

New Jersey Pays Dividends

Today - Friday - with morning temperatures cresting 80 at 7 am, I felt that an iced coffee treat was in order.  It’s hot and sticky with humidity, I’ve worked every day this week, and I have a massive poison ivy rash on my chest, creeping up my neck in an alarming fashion.  I think we can all agree that I deserve an iced coffee to go with the prednisone I scored to treat the rash.  

The Dunkin’ Donuts nearest my house had a line out to the street and no space to turn in, park, and actually walk outside.  I took a pass.  Lest you fret, there are no less than three Dunkin’ Donuts along the path of my 8 mile drive to work.  Dunkin’ number 2 was also crazy busy.  Dunkin’ number 3 isn’t a drive-thru (I’m from California and I believe that a drive-thru is among my Constitutionally guaranteed rights), but it does have a giant parking lot.  The 3 miles to it gave me the time to consider whether my need was so great that I would actually exit the vehicle.  

It was.  

Reader, there was no line inside.  It was as if the New Jersey Gods were smiling upon me.

Summer Days

Our Summer started off rather cool in June and only heated up at the start of July.  The heat was briefly blistering before rains set in to keep lawns green.  It’s pretty hot and humid this week but I’ve not yet tired of the ease of Summer weather, which allows me to slip outside without worry.  The days seem relaxing as they fade into one another.  I thought about the pace of Summer as I enjoyed the shade at Colonial Park the other day. 

We’ve reached the point when Summer Break is halfway over and I’ve begun to think about the return to school in September.  It’s far enough away that I know there is still time to enjoy the relaxed pace of sunny Summer days.  But it’s also close enough that I’ve begun to regret that Summer will come to a halt.  It’s been a really nice Summer, far more relaxing than last Summer and filled with the promise of a busy but happy Fall to come.  The familiar gardens and paths of Colonial Park have provided me with plenty of pleasant strolls and more than a few quiet moments in the shade.  I am grateful for this Summer and I want to say it out loud; to mark my gratitude.  As I stroll the rose garden and smell the flowers I often feel at peace and that's awfully nice.  

They Are All My Fingers

There is a story about my high school graduation that my mom loves to tell.  In my small town, the district superintendent, a man beloved by the community, joined the stage to shake the hands with all the graduates.  I accepted my diploma but forgot to shake his hand and walked right off the stage with my diploma.  My mom was horrified but Dr. Buchanan graciously excused my action, telling my mom, “she had places to go, Carol.”  

Tellingly, I don’t remember forgetting to shake his hand.  What I do remember is the red dress I proudly wore to graduation.  It was a dress my mom didn’t care for;  I’d had to assert myself to have and wear it.  I loved it and felt bold and new in it.  It was a sign of things to come.  

After graduation, I used some of my graduation gift money to buy myself a ring that I designed.  I choose a large - more than two carat - emerald cut blue topaz and had it plainly set in gold, with a traditional presentation.  It was big and bold and I loved it.  At the time, I was 17 years old and determined to start my next chapter of life no longer afraid to take up space and be myself.  I think that people who knew me in high school would perhaps be surprised by that idea as I was often outspoken in those days.  But my boldly presented self was not always accompanied by steady internal confidence.  That ring, which I wore on my left middle finger, was a talisman to remind me to step forward and be myself without apology.  It served that purpose very well. I wore it for years.  

I quit wearing it when JT’s other mother surprised me with an art deco antique ring set with gold and platinum that I wore on my left hand ring finger.  It wasn’t nearly as bold as the blue topaz but it represented both a new chapter and a more genuinely confident me.  Beyond that, it was a sign that I was loved.  I adored it.  The topaz went to my jewelry box where it stayed.  I would sometimes try it on and admire it, but I didn’t wear it very often.  

When JT’s other mother and I broke up, I put aside the antique ring and my left ring finger went without a ring.  It was a hard transition as that empty finger made me feel like the whole world knew I was unwanted and alone. I toyed with wearing the topaz again.  But by then, I liked silver better than gold and over the years, I acquired some silver rings that I wore on my fingers, placing them on whatever finger I wanted, including my left ring finger.  A few years after we met, T and I bought matching sterling silver rings that we each wore on our left ring finger.  By then, I had discovered that I liked to have a ring on my left ring finger.  It was a quiet signal to the world that I was loved; that I belonged to someone.  

When that turned out not to be true, I took off the ring that T had given me.  I briefly considered letting my left ring finger sit empty.  I am not married - I never have been - and nor am I loved by another person in the way that constitutes a commitment.  But an empty ring finger on my 55 year old hand didn’t sit right with me.  I chose some of my stacking rings and wore them instead.  That had the effect of making my status as a part of a couple no one’s business but mine.  It’s not easy to be a single woman in a coupled world, a fact I know all too well.  The rings I've worn on my left ring finger since last November are about me; as I claim myself to love. People could make whatever assumptions they liked.  I knew my truth.  

Daily, I would open my jewelry box and see my blue topaz.  It always made me smile and, even if I didn’t wear it, I was reminded of all that it had symbolized.  A few weeks ago, I gathered some old gold and silver jewelry and my blue topaz and carried them to a local jeweler.  I sold the old jewelry and the gold setting for the topaz and used the proceeds to have my familiar blue topaz stone set in silver.  The stone’s orientation has been shifted, which seems especially fitting all these years later.  All these years later, I am no longer afraid to be myself and take up space.  I considered my options and chose for this ring to be fitted to my left ring finger.  I am all-too-aware that for most people a ring on the left ring finger is a symbol of a commitment that does not exist in my life.  But I have never quite lived by the rules of society and at 55, that’s not going to change.   I don’t know if I will wear the topaz every day or every once in a while but I am glad to have it in this renewed form, ready to be worn.  It’s a guiding light of who I was, who I am, and who I aspire to be.  

Cooking Journal: The Pleasures of Outdoor Dining

Since the weather became warm enough to eat outside, JT and I always have supper on the back deck.  Summer suppers are cooked on the grill or are salads and sandwiches that come together easily.  Most evenings, we don’t eat until after 7, when the fiercest heat has begun to fade.  We soak up the twilight, the growing zinnia and canna blooms, some music, and the time to relax.  We share details about our days and enjoy one another’s company. Even when JT is away for the night, I eat outside, with a book and music to keep me company. Al fresco supper has become one of the nicest parts of the Summer and that’s happy.

Finding Myself, Again

When I became a single mama who had to turn over her beloved child to his other mother for a weekly vacation with her in the Summer, I knew enough to understand that a weekend without him was one thing but that a week would stretch far too long.  So I began to sign up for teacher’s workshops.  They’d last 5 days or so and I could be there and focus on myself, learning and meeting new people, and not needing to complete mama chores.  It was freeing in a way: I was having fun and he was having fun and that was important since we weren’t able to be together.  Usually, the classes were small - 20-30 people - and the group developed a camaraderie as we navigated the class and shared lesson ideas.  I have fond memories of workshops on Mark Twain, George Washington, and an amazing Civics class taught by Sandra Day O’Conner.  

When T and I parted ways last November, I turned to this tried-and-true formula to fuel an adventure about me.  I signed up for a class.  I’ve just finished the class and - as expected - the history was great.  But the camaraderie was not as expected.  For starters, there were 7 workshops, each with nearly 50 participants, more than 350 teachers in total.  We sat in lecture halls, not around seminar rooms, and so there was a lot more listening than sharing.   I  love a lecture but it doesn’t build much community (side note:  that is for sure a teaching lesson I will remember).  Many people came with teachers from their district or school and so their social network was already set up.  I met people but I would not say that I bonded with anyone.  It was a teacher crowd and so there was a whole lot of husband and partner talk and that often makes me feel a little left out, for obvious reasons.  By the end of the week, I grew weary of having to ask to join a table and so on the last night, I took my supper to a table in the outdoor shade and read my book.  There wasn’t a lot of evening hanging out so I took walks and spent some time reading Cup of Jo comments, which provided a welcome sense of community.  I am proud of myself for going to the class and taking the risk.  My mind is whirling with the things I learned and the lessons I will construct on the other side.  Going to the workshop alone was a trial run to see if I am up for single-gal travel and I think that I learned that I am.  

Zinnias!

This year, I planted zinnia seeds in pots on the back deck.  I planted in May, fertilized and watered, had to re-planted a smidge (damn the squirrels),  and I gave the seedlings daily pep talks as they grew into leggy branches. Last week, I could see the start of flower buds.  I got pretty excited.  This week, the payoff began. 

I have zinnias!  Bouquets will be in the future and I am best-pleased by this happy development.

Gratitude Journal: Music

A few years ago, JT gave me a little JBL portable speaker.  In the last 6 months, that little speaker has become my frequent companion.  I’ve got playlists-a-plenty and I’ve found myself enjoying a whole lot of familiar music - hello ’80s New Wave tunes - as well as music that JT has introduced me too - recent Red Hot Chili Peppers (I always enjoyed 1980s Chile Peppers), Goose, the Strokes, Billy Strings.  My tastes vary - they always have - but my enjoyment of music hasn’t.  It’s been nice to have music so easily in reach and when I wake up to a familiar song in my head, that’s even nicer.  

All About the Flowers

I love flowers.  At home, I grow zinnias, begonias, geraniums, and impatiens in the Summer.  On occasion, I’ve been known to indulge in a store-bought bouquet.  Most years, I threaten to buy myself an enormous Costco bouquet on my birthday, though I have actually done so only once.  A few times in my life, someone has brought me flowers and once or twice, I’ve been the recipient of a delivered bouquet.  Such treats feel especially extravagant.  

Of late, my flower admiration has happened in nearby gardens - the tulips at a local tulip farm, the daffodils, roses, hydrangeas, and magnolias blooms at Colonial Park.  There are two enormous magnolia trees in the park and I like to visit them and breathe in the scent of the flowers, which last late into July around here. The ivory blooms look almost artificial but they are velvety to the touch and the scent is heady.

In the rose garden, the hydrangeas are blousy and beautiful.  I have a hydrangea in my back yard but it blooms infrequently; I have never discovered the magic sauce for regular flowers so I admire those at the park instead. 

On Sunday, I happened through the rose garden after a rain storm. Many blooms were still wet from the rain, making for some splendid photos.  At least a few of these photos will make my bulletin board for the new school year, to keep me company in the months that do not feature fresh flowers.  

Style Journal: My Summer Shoe of Choice

 I love flip flops.  

I know that love is a big word and I mean every bit of it.  Between-the-toe flip flop sandals (known to me as “thongs” when I was a child...and that word is a story for another day) are literally a source of never-ending joy to me.  Everything about them is splendid - the way they are casual; the way that they ensure my feet get maximum sunlight and outdoor space; the fact that they are so easy to slip on, the way they stay on as because of the toe post…I could go on and on.  

I wear them all year, though in Winter I only wear them inside.  Come warmer weather - and for me that is any day forecast to bring temperatures over 60 - I wear them indoors and outdoors for as much time as possible.  In the Summer, they are my style of choice and my diverse collection ensures that I am have a pair that match every outfit I choose to wear.  And in my estimation, that is the very definition of happiness.   

Real Life Conversations with JT: The Art of Listening

The backstory: JT is training to run a 100 mile race and so nearly every day is a running day.  Some days, there is rain in the forecast and he’ll tie on his shoes and then stand on the porch and announce he doesn’t want to get wet.  Every single time, I respond, “Why? You aren’t made of sugar.  You won’t melt.”  It’s sensible and it’s true.  

Today, we went to Colonial Park so he could run and I could go for a walk.  We set off in the same direction and heard thunder in the distance.  

Me: I hope it doesn’t rain.  

JT (as he ran off): Why? You aren’t made of sugar.  You won’t melt.” 

I guess that he does hear me.

The Joys of Hand Lettering

When I was in 6th grade, I had a friend with the most splendid handwriting.  I've never forgotten her beautiful script and early in the pandemic, I took a class on hand lettering in an effort to have my own kind of lovely handwriting.  I enjoyed the class and then life returned to some kind of normal and I - mostly - forgot about hand lettering.  A few weeks ago, I read an article on fonts and thought about hand lettering and since then I’ve basically been obsessed.  I’ve written notes, made endless book marks (some of which I sneak into my library books when I return them), I practice for hours in my sketchbook.  It’s absolutely delightful.  I like to send hand-written notes and I pride myself on having nice handwriting so it’s no surprise that I love hand lettering.  I’m even toying with hosting an after school club for middle school kids come the Fall.  We’ll see if that materializes.  In the meantime, if you need a hand-lettered item, I’m your gal.

Among the Trees: On the Journey to This Moment

It’s no secret that the last year in my life has offered a seemingly steady stream of unexpected challenges.  I’ve found a core of resilience that I didn’t know that I had in me.  I’m proud of that strength and I continue to do the work to sustain it.  

Last week, I spent an afternoon in Colonial Park and had the time to reflect on how far life has come since last June, when my freshly-minted college-graduate son was struggling to sort out the meaning of his life.  It was a hard journey for me as a parent and far harder for him.  During those difficult weeks, JT and I spent a lot of time together, much of it in the rose garden, tucked under the wisteria wrestling with his demons.  

That difficult summer was before the end of my 11 year relationship with T and the passing of my father.  I won’t say that by now I am battle scarred, but I have arrived at a point where I don’t take anything good for granted.  Every day, I look for gratitude and from it I find grace.  I take the time to be grateful for the peace of that grace, no matter how small.  

My memory of the struggles of the last year made it all the more sweet last week when JT was offered a teaching job at a nearby school.  The position is a terrific opportunity, with a chance to do some things he knows he enjoys - coach middle school sports - as well as the prospect of trying something new - working as a third grade teaching assistant.  He’s excited and proud of himself.  I am so glad for him, perhaps as proud as I’ve ever been.  I know the work that got him here.  Last week, as I walked the paths of this familiar and beloved park and sat in the quiet shade of the wisteria to read my book, I thought of how far we’ve come.  I felt at peace in all the ways I've longed for over the last year.  I reflected on my blessings, all of them, but chiefly my immense gratitude that my boy is here to turn his beautiful face to the light and the sunshine. 

Let Freedom Ring

For most of my life, I’ve been the sort of person who reads the Declaration of Independence and gets teary-eyed at the ideas expressed by the preamble.  I’m aware that the founders fell far short of the notions being embraced; I know very well our history of slavery and vast inequality.  Still, the words - and their promise - have rung true to me as powerful aspirations that represent what the United States can become.

My belief in the words of the Declaration have made the last few years especially difficult.  A great deal of the problem seems to lie with the Supreme Court and their 2022 decision to cast aside 50 years of precedent and declare that bodily privacy was no longer protected by the Constitution.  It’s true that the Constitution did not explicitly declare body privacy.  It was document written in the 18th century, when such a notion did not exist.  But it’s equally clear that a group of men who would not house soldiers in their private property or permit a search of their homes without sworn warrants clearly understood the notion that a home was private.  The human body is the penultimate of home.  It houses our soul; the very core of our being.  That body should not be regulated by the government with no limits; it cannot be invaded.  It took women more than 140 years to gain the right to vote and that struggle is symptomatic of all that women endure in our aspiration for equality. Last year’s invalidation of the right to bodily privacy for women, a ruling that effectively denies certain kinds of medical care to half of the nation, is clearly a decision that puts men squarely back in the driver’s seat when it comes to women’s bodies.  It’s inexcusable.  I’ve spent the last year frustrated and angry, wondering what other rights marginalized groups might lose. 

Last week provided the answer.  On Thursday, a majority of the justices of the Supreme Court struck down affirmative action, the 50 year old effort by America’s colleges to correct some of the inequities and injustices wrought by our history of racism and exclusion.  That the majority opinion used the 14th Amendment’s guarantee of equal protection under the law to do so is especially appalling.  The 14th Amendment is one of three post-Civil War Amendments to the Constitution.  The 14th made former enslaved people into American citizens due the “equal protection of the law.”  It was added to the Constitution in 1868 but for many years equal protection was merely an unfulfilled promise, as Jim Crow laws and legal, social, and political inequality continued apace.  Not until 1954’s Brown v. Board of Education ruling was equal protection under the law applied to Black school children.  That opened the door to end the most aggressive forms of de jure inequality and segregation.  But de facto inequality continued apace.  Affirmative action began to be used in the late 1960s to ensure that historically excluded groups had the opportunity to have a seat at the table of power.  It benefitted white women more than it helped people of color and was an imperfect remedy to a nation whose original sin was the protection of slavery while claiming rights to liberty and equality it would not extend to everyone.  In her dissent to the ruling which invalidated affirmative action, Justice Kentanji Brown-Jackson said it best, “With let-them-eat-care obliviousness, today, the majority pulls the ripcord and announces “colorblindness for all” by legal fiat.  But deeming race irrelevant in law does not make it so in life.”  

A day later. the majority on the Supreme Court declared that business owners could discriminate against gay customers because of the business owner’s religious views.  This ruling turns a blind eye to state or federal laws which enshrine equal protection under the law as some state governments and the federal government seek to prevent overt discrimination against gay, lesbian, or trans Americans.  Coming as it did after the rulings on the right to privacy and affirmative action, it was no surprise.  

But that doesn’t mean it’s not a sucker punch…it is, especially in the midst of so many states bent on limiting the rights of trans people to freely live their truth.  It also makes it hard for me to get emotional or teary-eyed about the 4th of July and celebrations of independence.  Until we recognize that each and every one of us are created equal and are entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, none of us can truly be free.  That painful truth is evident every day, but especially today as we celebrate a national independence that is yet incomplete. 

July 1: Christmas (Cactus) in July

Nearly all of my houseplants are outside on the front porch for the Summer and that includes the tiny transplant from my Dad’s Christmas cactus.  It held its own after I returned from California in February, though it did not grow.  For obvious reasons, this particular plant is special to me, so I put it on the porch with some reluctance and in a spot where I would be sure to see it every day.  In mid-June, I saw red growth on the end of all four stems.  This is the first Christmas cactus I've grown and I wondered if the spots of red meant a bloom was coming.  Turns out that the red was the start of new growth.  

Those red buds buds grew into four new stems and then four more red buds followed.  I know now that means more stems are taking hold.  Huzzah!

I check in on the cactus every morning when I drink my coffee on the porch.  That the plant is an offshoot of my Dad’s is a source of comfort and peace to me.  The new growth feels like a message from him and I am best pleased to see it.