I love it when I get so sucked into a book that it becomes my memory of the day. Not in the sense of, what did you do today - I read this book; in the sense of remembering it as a happy, sad, bittersweet, eventful day when all you really did was read. The most recent book to do that to me is Louise Erdrich's The Master Buthchers Singing Club. Not surprisingly, it touches on several themes I've seen recurring in books that I love:
World War II. Oh, but that period of history is one that I keep struggling with. I've noticed, though, that the books that hit closest to home are the "hearth" versions of that time - Helen Dunsmore's The Siege, Ursula Hegi's Stones from the River.
Prairies. That one I don't get - I have no connection to the Great Plains. And yet, I get sucked into Willa Cather, Sandra Birdsell, Sinclair Ross, W.O. Mitchell, Margaret Laurence... The only explanations I have are that these books invariably focus on rural communities, agriculture, immigrants - three things I'm interested in. I've never felt it, my Prairie experiences being limited to a few weeks in Manitoba one year, but the imagery of the wind on the plains has come up so often, I could trick myself into remembering it.
Immigrants. Particularly central European immigrants moving to rural areas (see above). Most paricularly German-speaking immigrants moving to farming communities. Not exactly a strech, that one. But aside from the parallels to my own family, I think I like the underlying theme of land of opportunity, dashed hopes, building of strong lives regardless, homesickness, reconciliation. Or something like that.
Women. No doubt about it, I prefer books written by women, with female protagonists. I'm always pulled toward the familiar - part of the reason I liked Barbara Gowdy's The Romantic was the Toronto setting. Rural Ontario figures in Timothy Findley's The Piano Man's Daughter and pretty much all of Alice Munro's work. Northern Ontario comes out distinctly in Margaret Atwood's Cat's Eye. So, just like a location pulls me in, sharing a gender with the protagonist makes it more likely that I will find a common thread with her. Of course, it can backfire - I hated The Edible Woman, for example, because it touched on a subject that should have resonated with me - but failed to hit the right chord, what the character felt did not feel like what I knew.
And then there are the books that I loved that have nothing of the familiar in them - The Colony of Unrequited Dreams, for instance, or The Final Confession of Mabel Stark.
--
My new car, which is not a new car at all but the newest car I've ever owned (except I don't own it, the bank does!) makes me happier than a car should. I love everything about it. What I don't love is the realization that I'm a snob, when it comes to vehicle selection. There are the cars that I think are sensible, responsible, appropriate choices; there are the cars that are serviceable solutions to the unreliable car problem - and then there are the cars you buy because you make emotional decisions. You realize that buying yet another VW is probably not the best economic move you could have made, that you will likely get into the same trap of repairs again eventually, and that what you can afford is already five years old.
--
I love the lifestyle I've got right now, but I also feel like I've become boring. I miss the adventures. I miss being excited about the trip I'm taking on the weekend, I miss coming back all exhausted, I miss looking at a map and seeing all these possibilities. I miss having an adventure buddy. I was lucky there for a while.
I'm lucky in so many other ways these days, though.