christmas confessions (it won’t be the same this year…)

~ GennaClaire ~ Leave a comment

As a general rule, I start listening to Christmas music each year around September 15th. That’s exactly 100 days before December 25th, and in my opinion, it’s totally fair game.

In all the places I’ve lived and worked, the people around me have taken note: this chick loves her some Christmastime. I deck the halls with dedication and purpose, send holiday greetings the good ol’ fashioned way, and am notorious for my extensive Christmas music expertise. You could call me the sommelier of sleigh-worthy songs.

I’m the one to whom my friends confess when they sneak a listen to few carols before Thanksgiving. I’m who they call when they’re blaring “Run Rudolph Run” when it’s 75 degrees and sunny.

Yes, I’m that girl.

And yet, this year, somehow I’m not.

It was this time last year—December 16—when I got the phone call. I was told that Mom is not okay. Her pneumonia is worse than we thought. There’s a 50% chance she won’t make it.

And it was five days from now—December 20—that we lost her.

It was two days after that—on the eve of Christmas Eve—when I sat in a black turtle neck dress on the front row of the United Methodist church in Pulaski, Tennessee at her funeral. Surrounded by advent wreaths and Poinsettias and manger scenes.

This year, I kept waiting to get the unmistakable, relentless urge to listen to Christmas music. September 15th rolled around and nothing happened. Halloween passed, and I still wasn’t ready. Then Thanksgiving—the day when the rest of the world starts feeling festive—came and went. And I just felt numb. And empty. And lost.

Even the first of December didn’t offer a magic spark. Instead, I felt nothing.

And I knew then that Christmas had changed for me.

One of my favorite Christmas albums growing up was Vince Gill’s Let There Be Peace on Earth. For reasons I could never explain, my favorite song on the album was titled “It Won’t Be the Same This Year.” Written as a tribute to Vince’s brother who died from a car crash, this melancholy tune showcases how at the core of the holiday season are the relationships and memories we have with the ones we love:

“It’s time to pack our bags and hit the highway.

And head on out for Christmas holiday.

I’ll fall apart when I pull in the driveway.

It’s my first time home since brother passed away.

His favorite time of year was always Christmas.

We’ll reminisce about the days gone by.

Oh, how I wish that he was still here with us.

My memories of him will never die.

Losin’ my big brother hurt so badly.

It’s helped me learn what Christmas really means.

There’s nothing more important than your family.

We’re all the children of the King of Kings.”

Now, approaching the first anniversary of Mom’s death, I understand the words of this song. The pain of this loss. The power of this sadness.

And despite those feelings, I’ve decided to turn on my Merry-mas playlist on my iPod. I listen every chance I get, even though I’m never quite in the mood. I’ve decided to decorate. My first tree at my new house–with many of Mom’s sweet, beautiful Christmas touches scattered throughout. I’ve decided to buy the presents, to splurge on the good wrapping paper with real ribbon, to send the cards, to bake the snickerdoodles, to watch The Grinch, and to embrace the joys of the season.

Because even if Christmas won’t be the same this year, I’ve decided I still can be.

when christmas comes

~ GennaClaire ~ 4 Comments

IMAG1051

(Because some feelings will only be processed in writing)
__

I tell myself I’ll be just fine,

When Christmas comes to pass.

I’ll wear a smile above my scarf—

With mulled wine in my glass.

__

I’ll play the songs I love the most,

But there’s one I’ll dread to hear.

The one with words I know too well:

“It won’t be the same this year.”

__

I’ll wrap the presents up in bows,

String lights around the tree.

I’ll hang the stockings in a row,

Place the nativity.

__

But as the day looms closer still,

My thoughts will linger on.

It was 12/16 I got the call,

And in five days, you were gone.

__

My toenails, they were sparkly green

At your funeral last year.

I looked down with misplaced shame

At their burst of Christmas cheer.

__

Now coldness taps the windows.

Winter looms in sight.

And I’m not sure how I’ll manage

On this year’s Silent Night.

__

If you were here beside me—

Avoiding all that’s Mary and bright—

You’d whisper words like magic,

And make everything all right.

__

Since you’re gone, I’ll just imagine

Those words that set me free:

“When you celebrate the memories,

You still celebrate with me.”

book review: defending jacob

~ GennaClaire ~ Leave a comment

Title: Defending Jacob

Author: William Landay

Genre:  Fiction, Crime Drama, Mystery, Thriller

Publishing Date: 2012

Defending Jacob, book cover
Defending Jacob,
William Landay

REVIEW

Synopsis: In a small, upper-class Boston suburb, a 14-year-old boy has been stabbed to death. And the primary suspect quickly becomes Jacob Barber, the only child of Assistant District Attorney Andy Barber. The story, told from Andy’s perspective, follows the Barber family through the months leading up to and through the trial, as evidence slowly mounts against the brooding, intense, anti-social Jacob.

Opinion: Defending Jacob was the second book chosen by my newly formed book club. I haven’t read a crime drama in quite some time (A Time to Kill is the last one that comes to mind), so I was eager to tackle this one.

From a crime-drama-thriller-twist-ending perspective, Defending Jacob did not disappoint. After a slow start, this novel picked up the pace after about 50 pages and never slowed down. It was like reading a movie. And I was constantly changing my mind about what I thought happened—leaving me feeling like an outside detective on the case.

That being said, the story did have a tremendous flaw for me as a reader. Landay never lets the reader know for sure whether or not Jacob is guilty; it’s up for him or her to infer based on the details given. But Landay paints Jacob in such a poor light, that by Part III, I didn’t care what happened to him. As a result, I wasn’t pulling for any particular outcome—guilty, innocent, or otherwise—which made the final twists and turns of the story fall flat.

The other strange part of this novel is that it takes such lengths to carry the reader through the lingering months leading up to the trial and even through the trial itself. So when what seems like a climax happens with more than 50 pages to go, it leaves you wondering, what else is going to happen here?

If I were writing this novel, I think I would have condensed the pre-trial and actual trial portions, and added more meat to the post-trial twists. So much happens after the trial and it’s breezed over as if the author was simply tired of writing and wanted to wrap it up.

Overall: 3 out of 5

Who Should Read This Book: Fans of crime dramas, for sure. Those who are looking for an exciting page-turner with plenty of twists at the end. Book clubs looking for an intense read and a less intense discussion.

my sexual education

~ GennaClaire ~ 13 Comments

Middle school sex ed. taught abstinence (over protection and preparedness).

So high school offered only these choices:

a.) Square

b.) Slut

But college, brought to you by the letter O, was a teacher of experience.

And finally, I separated sexuality from shame.

if at first you don’t succeed

~ GennaClaire ~ 8 Comments

I could tell you about the first time I was ever with a boy. He was 16 and I was 16 and we were foolishly, horribly, obliviously in love.

Or maybe only I was. After all, it’s hard to tell with 16-year-old boys.

But I’ll spare you that story as it’s anticlimactic (in more ways than one).

Life only gives us so many firsts. And often, those firsts don’t live up to our seen-it-on-YouTube, Instagram-filtered, hashtag-ridden expectations.

Which is why I never forget the ones that did.

Like the day I got my driver’s license. It was an unbearably sweaty Georgia-summer day. My dad and I drove to the DMV in dirt-road Villa Rica to avoid waiting in line at the more suburban locations near our home. And despite blowing past a stop sign toward the end of the test course, I managed to pass.

The first time I drove that cherry red ’96 Mustang with no adult riding shotgun, it felt like I’d just been born. It felt like freedom. I cruised through the fifteen minute route to my first lifeguarding gig—windows down, radio blaring Third Eye Blind—believing I was a brand new human being.

Or there’s the day I landed in Paris for the first time. The City of Light came with so many expectations. It was a movie for which the trailer was so good—too good—and you knew you’d only be left disappointed.

But I was not disappointed.

I turned 21 in France—eating fresh baked baguettes and cheeses with names I couldn’t pronounce and drinking cheap wine and gawking, wide-mouthed, starry-eyed, at the sparkling Eiffel Tower. Le Paris did not let me down.

Of course, there are the other kinds of firsts too: the first time I totaled a car (that same Mustang from sweet sixteen). The first time I flew alone (and managed, beyond all possibility, to actually board the wrong plane). The first time my heart was blown to bits (by the same boy from my aforementioned not-so-memorable first time).

Some of these were comical. Some devastating. Some embarrassingly legendary.

But all my first-timer mistakes were worth making. I learned something about me or life or choices or consequences. Definitely something about consequences.

So when it was time to drive again, I knew to make sure my foot was actually on the brake before turning into a parking space. When it was time to fly again, I knew to check that the plane at the gate was going to my intended destination. When it was time to love again, I made sure two hearts were ready—not just my own.

And it turns out that sometimes the second time is even better than the first.

book review: a heartbreaking work of staggering genius

~ GennaClaire ~ 1 Comment

Title: A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

Author: Dave Eggers

Genre:  Biography, Memoir, Humor

Publishing Date: 2000

a heartbreaking work of staggering genius book cover
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius,
Dave Eggers

REVIEW

Favorite Quotes:

“Because I was afraid that you’d be unpopular and would be cast out for being a near-orphan and having funny ears and living in a rental and would grow up with an interest in guns and uniforms, or worse, I’ll find you under the covers reading Chicken Soup for the Prepubescent Soul and lamenting your poor lot, I got dressed and went to that comics stores that’s open ’til eight, and we got two packs of cards and one of them has a hologram in it…” (pg. 84)

“We are wearing what we always wear, shorts and T-shirts, having decided, after thinking about what to wear and then remembering not to think about what to wear, to wear what we would have worn had we not been thinking about what to wear.” (pg. 244)

“My mom used to kill us when we took school pictures without her knowledge, before she would approve of our outfits. Of course, there’s a reason we didn’t tell her about Picture Day, and that reason is spelled P-L-A-I-D.” (pg. 326)

Synopsis: At age 22, Dave Eggers loses both of his parents to unrelated cancers within five weeks of one another. Orphaned along with his three siblings, Eggers becomes the primary caretaker for his eight-year-old brother. In the memoir, Dave recounts his parents’ final days and the challenges, failures, and triumphs (but mostly just challenges and failures) that follow when he moves across the country to California in an attempt to start a new life for himself and his brother.

Opinion: A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (AHWOSG) was one of the books I pulled from my mom’s bookshelf after she passed away. I had heard of the title but had no idea what it was about. After reading the premise, I was intrigued and decided to give it a go.

Part I of this 11-part, 437-page memoir is, in my opinion, the best. In this section, Eggers walks through the demise of his mother’s health and the sudden, unexpected loss of his father. And he does it with such impeccable honesty and authenticity. Having just watched my mom die not even a year ago, I was amazed by Eggers’ ability to so accurately capture the heartbreak and humor that can coexist in our most difficult moments.

After Part I, however, AHWOSG lost me. Eggers style is self-reflective, stream of consciousness, and more often than not, rambling. There are tangents that go on for dozens of pages at a time. And circuitous thought patterns that don’t really take you anywhere. I felt like this book was a series of memories and thoughts and obsessions strung together haphazardly, rather than a thoughtful, purposeful memoir with a clear route and worthwhile destination.

By the 300th page, I was just fighting to finish. And the grand finale was quite possibly the greatest letdown of all.

Perhaps AHWOSG was simply over my head. If someone told me “You just don’t get it,” I’d have to wholeheartedly agree. (I mean, it was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize!!)

But it did provide a few chuckle-out-loud moments, and the first part was so well done that it was worth the rest, which I waded through laboriously like a fat person running under water.

If I had to sum it up in one word, that word would undoubtedly be this: Staggering.

Overall: 1.5 out of 5

Who Should Read This Book: It’s hard to say, really, since I didn’t connect with this one. But I’d image hipsters who grew up at the same time as Eggers would enjoy AHWOSG more than I did.