Olive Kitteridge - Book Review

Olive Kitteridge: Fiction by Elizabeth Strout

In Olive Kitteridge, Strout presents thirteen vignettes so subtlety woven that a novel as complex, rich and multi-hued as any Kilim carpet emerges. Olive is a wife, mother, one time teacher, neighbor and townsperson. No one who has ever known Olive can remain ambivalent in their feelings about her, including her husband and son. Olive is a big woman, in size, stature and in personality. She is complex. bold and brash, often tactless. Olive is a dichotomy, smart and shrewd while also oblivious to others’ needs and perceptions of their relationships with her.

Olive’s husband Henry is the perfect foil for her bombastic mélange of emotions. Henry is calm, kind, patient and beloved by townspeople who wonder how in the world he ended up married to Olive. On the surface Henry adores Olive and suffers her abrasiveness stoically. Henry wrestles with demons of his own that are quietly presented as the novel progresses. If the reader snoozes, the reader loses pieces of the puzzle that is Henry.
Kitteridge's son, Christopher, is the sun around which the Kitteridge planets orbit. He is at once coddled and browbeaten, smothered with love and emotionally neglected. His choices in life as he matures reflect the emotional chaos that eddied about his childhood.

In various vignettes we meet former students of Olive’s, townspeople who are quirky, flawed and oh so very human. The human condition in its many guises is elegantly offered for our consumption, reflection and understanding. As we follow Olive and other residents of Cosby, Maine from the early years of her marriage to visits with her stroke ridden nursing home domiciled husband, stories of suicide, murder, anorexia, adultery, lost loves, found loves, hope and despair and most importantly, peace and acceptance, Strout holds a mirror to our eyes that reflects all that real life has to offer in human relationships.

The beauty of Strout’s exceptional writing and character development is that Olive and all of the novel’s characters are multi-faceted, just like real live human beings. We meet them warts and all. Olive reflected things I don’t like to admit I have seen in myself. She also reflected strengths I hope I have and the courage we all need in order to navigate the journey we call Life. There but for the grace and forgiveness and love of our fellow humans goes each of us. I think this is an expertly crafted book.

Where's the Beef?

It's here!  It's here!  I've got it!  Look!!!!

We live on the east coast of the state.  We've been on the west coast since December.  I am a loyal Publix shopper.  Publix exists on both coasts of Florida.  Today, out of curiosity, I decided to investigate Sweet Bay, a grocery chain that does not exist on the east coast.  Call me fickle.  Call me easy.  It's a lovely store, less expensive on many things I regularly purchase, has wonderful imported cheeses, a nice British food section, gourmet fish and meat counters and very nice artisian breads.

Here's the real thrill.  Look what I scored for our Easter dinner.  I have not seen this price for a standing rib roast in a long long time, years in fact.  If I were at home and not in the RV with such a small freezer, I would have bought the three of these they had in the case.  This will travel to my son's freezer in Orlando this weekend to gently snozze until Easter.  This find was a thrill (it doesn't take much at my age)...

Beautiful Brussels Sprouts

If you've ever had a mushy, smelly, dark, drab, olive green slimy Brussels Sprout, erase that experience from your memory banks.  Brussels Sprouts are THE vegetable of the decade.  Until this year I had not eaten a Brussels Sprout since 1968 or so.  If you must know why, please reread the first sentence above.  That's how my mother tried to serve sprouts.  It was a no go.  Even she spat them out.  Fast forward to now.  Brussels Sprouts are the darling of every well-known chef to hit food network.

The recipe below is mine.  It's construction is so simple that it isn't even a recipe, but more of a blue print.  These sprouts are crisp tender, flavorful and incredibly nutritious and healthy.  One cup of sprouts contains a  mere 60 calories and contains high amounts of vitamin C and vitamin K as well as smaller amounts of many other essential vitamins. 

Here is how I did our sprouts today. 

Ingredients:

3 slices bacon diced

About 12 or so sprouts, depending on size.  I used 12 large sprouts for 2 of us

a splash of lemon juice

salt and pepper

Method:

Rinse sprouts and dry with paper towel

Cut bottom off sprout and discard tough outer leaves that generally fall off when bottom is removed.  You want a nice looking little mini cabbage

Slice sprouts in half lengthwise

Sautee' bacon until not quite brown

Add sprouts halves

Kiss with the lemon juice, salt and pepper

Sautee' with the bacon until the bacon is crisp and the sprouts a bit sautee'd and becoming a nice color (see photo)

Add about 1/4 cup water, cover pan and steam sprouts until just crisp tender, NOT limp, not soggy, not olive green...just pretty, cooked but still a slight crunch.  You'll know it when you see it, sample an taste it...ENJOY

  

Things I Never Thought I'd Do

Rico has changed our lives.  There's just no way  to get around that fact.  In my younger years I could have never imagined having a fluffy little toy breed dog.  But here I am and here he is and he rules my heart. 

Taffy is a small dog, but she's a terrier.  She's bred to hunt small prey and go to ground, meaning a terrier will bravely dive into a badger hole or any entrance to an underground lair regardless of how dangerous for the dog it may be.  They are hard wired to be ever vigilant, ever quick to go after anything that moves.  Taffy is ummmmmmm busy, always busy.  If something moves, she's alert.  We can't watch TV if there are moving animals.  She attacks the TV screen jumping up a foot off the ground.  At first it was just dogs.  Now it's dogs, cats, horses, a racoon in a commercial that is always on, a baby elephant and last night, a cartoon with a dog chasing a cat.  The worst is when we fall asleep in bed with the TV on.  We're snoring away at 1 AM and all of a sudden all hell breaks loose as Taffy stands on the end of the bed going berserk at a giraffe.  She has us trained now.  As soon as a commercial begins and we know an animal is coming up, we change the channel for 1 minute.  Who is Pavlov's dog now?  To be perfectly honest, I love Taffy in spite of her "Taffy-ness", but she's not my kind of dog.  She's too much constant energy for me, too much drama, too much dog emotion...too much everything.  But John?  He adores her.  One day he said, "I hope Taffy outlives me."  I asked, "Why?"  "Because," he replied, "What would I do for affection if she died?"  OK, I'm not even going to ponder that one.  I see where I stand and I accept it.

Rico is bred as a companion dog.  He's a little black and white ball of fluff.  Havanese were bred to be companions for wealthy Cuban women and children.  He doesn't bark.  He doesn't chase anything.  He won't walk in a puddle.  He's very clingy, needing to be skin to skin with a warm human body at all times.  He's a baby wearing a fur coat.  I know Taffy loves me on some level, but Rico is IN love with me.  If I move, he moves.  If I sleep he sleeps until I say it's wake-up time.  He never watches TV.

He has some downside.  He is a true Havanese.  They all love to shred paper.  It's hard to believe but it's a genetic trait.  There is no roll of toilet paper safe from him.  He will steal a paper napkin right off you lap by sneaking under the table while you eat.  He needs constant grooming.  He has a delicate digestive system.  Every time John walks him, I need a "poop" repost...did he go?  how much? was it firm?  what color?  If everything isn't just right foodwise and poopwise, Rico gets dingleberries or Klingons, if you will.  Then I yell, if I'm the walker, upon my return, "John!  Klingons!" and he runs out with a wet paper towel or baby wipe and cleans the dog's bottom.  Hey, I have bad hands, remember?  Wink...Wink.  Sometimes I do it if I see that look in John's eye that indicates he's ready to snap.  I'm not stupid.

All this being said, I adore this dog.  He adores me.  He needs me.  He's calm.  He's funny.  He will never act like a real dog.  He'll never be more than a baby or at the very most, a very young toddler.  He's pretty.  He doesn't mind that we call him and Taffy "the Girlz" and doesn't know that he's a boy.  He has never lifted his leg.  He squats.  He doesn't mark territory.  Taffy does and she pees standing on three legs.  We have some gender confusion issues here.  When Taffy barks and goes berserk at other dogs when we are on our walks, Rico either sits down and looks up t the clouds or sniffs the weedy flowers in the grass.  I am letting the hair on his head grow long so I can braid it or put bows in it.  He won't mind.  He's the baby I've wanted for the last 30 years.  The nest is no longer empty.

This is how much I love him.  Most Hav owners only let their dogs chew on bully sticks.  This is because of their sensitive stomachs.  I had never heard of bully sticks but yesterday we dutifully went to the pet store and bought The Girlz each a bully stick.  They are really expensive, five dollars each for  small stick.  The Girlz went berserk over them, gnwing, gnawing, gnawing with a hypnotized unfocused look in their eyes.  After a short while being chewed, the bully sticks really began to put out an odor.  The odor was unpleasant and seemed vaguely familiar.  I just couldn't place it.  I googled bully strips.  Ahhhhh, I could then place that odor.  It's the same smell that overwhelmed us when we were in Texas and drove past miles and miles of slaughter house stockyards in El Paso.

I would have never ever believed that I'd spend my "golden years" cleaning a little dogs Klingons or paying an outrageous dollar amount for dried bull penis pieces.  Life is strange...

OK...I'm Back

OK...you win.  I'm back and for today at least, I am writing.  Seriously, I am touched by your emails asking if I'm OK, inquiring why I haven't written and generally making me feel not only missed, but appreciated.  This has been a very difficult winter for me.  It's been so cold.  We actually had frost over here.  Before you scoff and think, "You big Sissie, get real!" try a little tenderness.  I've been in south Florida for over eleven years.  I live in sushine and gentle breezes. We're living in the RV.  It's too cold for the beach, too cold for much of anything outside.

In between whining about the cold, we do a little exploring.   This is St. Petersburg Beach a few days ago.  You can see by the flag how windy it is.  You can also notice that there are no people and that all the shade cabana thingies are folded up.  We did take a lovely ride all the way along the gulf beaches and stopped for a wonderful late breakfast in Indian Beach.  We really love it on this side of the state.

I had to laugh the other day.  I was speaking to a friend from "the other coast, our coast" on the phone and said that we had gone to St. Petersburg.  She said she had never been there and then said, "But, I've heard there are a lot of old people there."  Helllllllllllloooooo...look in the mirror.  We're them, we're old.  I'm going to collect social security this year.  I mean, I will admit that sometimes I think I am surrounded by a bunch of white hairs but quickly realize there but for the grace of my hair stylist goes I.  I have vowed that I will die with red hair and have made John promise that before he nods at the nurse to pull the plug, he makes sure that I have no roots showing no matter how much it costs to get a colorist in to my hospital room.  All this presumes that he outlasts me.  If he kicks first, I need one of you to volunteer ...

OK...this is a new start...I'll try to rejoin the world now.