Reading post: J. M. Coetzee in February

So, last day of February, time for a reading post. For my second author-focus of the year I chose the Nobel-Prize-winning South African / Australian writer J. M. Coetzee, who I'd never read before. I've read glowing reviews of his books for many years, but they always sounded so serious and depressing that I didn't venture to try one. 

He's still alive, still writing. He was born in 1940, so he's around the age of my oldest cousins.  

It's always interesting to read an author's first book, but his wasn't available in any libraries around here, so I ordered it from Amazon. I happened to find his third book at the Bookworm, and I got his fourth book from the library.

I found these three books very interesting and confusing -- but in a good way, mostly. Below are my confused but interested (as opposed to interesting) thoughts on them.

• Dusklands (1974). When I first looked at my copy of this book, I thought it was two short stories, or novellas. They didn't seem to have anything to do with each other, either: one is set in the US during the Vietnam war and one is set in South Africa in the 1700s. But (as I perused articles online) I learned that people do view Dusklands as a novel, with the two stories being somehow part 1 and part 2. Welcome to J. M. Coetzee, I thought. Apparently it took him quite a while to start writing -- he was 34 when this book was published, and he'd been noodling around with its ideas for a long time, while studying linguistics. (Ha ha, doesn't everyone?)
  
  Quick plot summary: part 1 is the ruminations of a man called Eugene Dawn who has been hired to write a plan for psychological warfare in Vietnam; part 2 is an account of a hunting expedition in South Africa in the 1700s. Both parts are disturbing, and part 2 is heartbreaking and nauseating. White people in South Africa did terrible things to the native peoples and the animals there (not unlike American settlers and their attacks on the native peoples and animals here). As I read, I kept wondering whether it was necessary to give all the gory details in order to make the point Coetzee wants to make. Maybe yes, maybe no.
  
  Coetzee plays a lot of games in this novel (or, as an article in the New York Times would have it, "metafictional evasions"). The bizarre structure is one kind of game. Then there are the names. In part 1, the narrator's supervisor is someone named Coetzee, who he hates. In part 2, the explorer is named Jacobus Coetzee, and his account of his expedition was supposedly published by someone named Dr. S. J. Coetzee and translated by a J. M. Coetzee, supposedly S. J. Coetzee's son. So you get to spend time thinking about why Coetzee (the author) would keep throwing his name into the story and what that means. (One article I read implied that the supervisor named Coetzee in part 1 is the S. J. Coetzee of part 2.) Also, in part 2, we actually get three different accounts of the expedition, two of which contradict the main one. At first I thought I'd read it wrong, that I was misunderstanding the book. Finally I found an article that mentions the contradictions.
  
  I kept looking around the internet for explanations of this novel and I found an article that explains how some or all of the Coetzees, as well as other people in part 2, were real people -- or somewhat altered versions of real people (though not necessarily related to J. M. Coetzee). According to this article, as near as I could understand it, part 2 of Dusklands is very much related to real South African history, presenting [the author] Coetzee's perspective on it. So can you read & understand Coetzee's fiction without knowing South African history?
  
  For such a short book (my edition is 125 pages), there is a lot in here. Although I wouldn't recommend it -- too painful, just too horrible -- it made me curious to read more by J. M. Coetzee. I like his mind, though I fear my mind may not be up to following his ideas. So on we go, for now.
  
  
• Waiting for the Barbarians (1980). This started out violent and disgusting, like Dusklands, and I thought, oh, no, I can't take much more of this. Especially in February. I thought it was going to be another book about how men have this intrinsic need to be horrible to other people and animals, and why exactly do I need to read about that again?
  
  But then it changed. The main character, the Magistrate of a distant outpost, is a fairly good guy, a guy with a moral compass, and the bad guys are the police, who journey from the capital to the Magistrate's town because they think the "barbarians" are threatening the Empire. While the Magistrate's goodness isn't a match for the bad guys' badness, it makes the book more tolerable. And then a few good things start to happen. I thought it was a more hopeful book. It has fewer little games going on (that I could see) compared to Dusklands, though I assume the title is a nod to Waiting for Godot (who also never comes).
  
  It was not clear where Waiting for the Barbarians was set, but definitely not South Africa. The winters were cold, with snow, so that would suggest somewhere else, possibly North or South America. It was obviously not meant to be a real place, or a real "Empire."
  
  There is a movie of Waiting for the Barbarians, so I ordered it from Prospector. It wasn't supposed to be very good. I would say it was mixed. I liked Mark Rylance's Magistrate. Johnny Depp as the evil Colonel Joll was kind of silly, but Robert Pattinson was good as the evil Officer Mandel. Just like with the book, I didn't like the movie in the beginning, but it somewhat grew on me. The movie was filmed in Morocco, and the "barbarians" were played by Mongolian people, an interesting choice. The ending wasn't right -- I felt as though the writer/director misunderstood the book. Or I did. Or something.
  
  
• Life & Times of Michael K (1983). This was the longest of the three short books (184 pages), but I read it very quickly. Michael K's story is terrible, but he's an appealing character, so I kept wanting to know what happens next. This novel is set in South Africa during apartheid, but also during a civil war that never actually happened. Michael K is born with a harelip, and his mother cleans houses while he "learns to be quiet" and is later sent to some kind of institution for poor? difficult? disabled? non-white? children. Race is seldom mentioned in the book and you have to just guess what race the different characters are, which is an interesting decision of Coetzee's, considering how enormously important race was in South Africa at the time. Michael K and his mother are presumably not white (I read somewhere that Michael K is supposed to be of mixed race), but I wondered about some of the other characters. Perhaps it would be obvious to a South African reader. I won't give the whole plot, but Michael and his mother end up leaving the big city (Cape Town) and going into the interior, where she dies and he becomes more and more derelict, homeless, close to death. He never quite dies, although his thoughts in the last few pages might be occurring right before his death. Or not?
  
  If someone wanted an "easy" Coetzee, this could be a place to start. I read a review of a puppet version of the book (put on in New York City last year) that sounded wonderful. According to the review, Michael is "a refugee trapped in his own country... a puppet manipulated by forces beyond his control." Of course the review is referring to the puppet in the play, but yes, I see that the novel is also about Michael as puppet. So I guess the message of the book is that we (or at least non-white South Africans during apartheid, but probably all the rest of us all the time too) are puppets manipulated by forces beyond our control, but at the same time we still have our hopes and dreams, our essential selves. For what that's worth.
  

These three books were all so short -- and so interesting -- that I was tempted to go on and read more Coetzee, but I decided to stick to my plan to read no more than three this month. I do want to go on reading him, but not all at once. I'm very pleased that I overcame my suspicions about him and gave him a try. I can see myself becoming a real Coetzee fan. Maybe in a month or two I'll let myself read another.

Since it was the second month of the year I also read another book from the piles by my bed. The book I read was The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store by James McBride, which wasn't in those piles last year, since I just got it for Christmas, but it still counts. I read another book by McBride a few years ago, The Good Lord Bird, which I didn't like very much, so I was a little worried about this one, but it was a different experience and I did enjoy it. Now I want to read McBride's memoir of his mother, The Color of Water.

I also finally finished the long biography of Woodrow Wilson, thank goodness. And I read a couple of books of poetry. At the end of 2023, reviewing my list, I decided that I wanted to read more poetry. So I'm trying to read a book of poems each month. Poetry collections aren't long, so this isn't an onerous task, but they do require careful reading (if you want to get anything at all out of the experience).

Now comes March. One of my ideas for this year's reading was to explore authors I already like, based on having read one or two of their books. So I've decided that in March I will read three books by Lily King. I read her novel Euphoria back in 2015 with my book group and LOVED it. I'd always meant to read her other books (she's written four other novels and a collection of short stories) but never did. So in March I plan to take another look at Lily King. I'll let you know how it goes.

Wind, blowing

Last week I wrote that our snow would never melt. And, of course, we had some warm days and some wind and it melted. 

It's weird, you know? Just like that, all gone. There are some muddy spots, and OK, sure, there's a little snow left. But not much. I could even go for a walk today with no worries about ice and slipping.

But instead the wind is blowing a million miles an hour, so I think I'll stay home. I did do some errands, but that's enough for the day. I keep thinking of that song, "Four strong winds that blow lonely..."

It was an OK week, with a few little weirdnesses thrown in, but isn't it always that way? My dentist appointment that I was DREADING got canceled at the last minute via text, and now I really need to find a new dentist. My dentist is losing it -- I already knew that. I've just been averting my eyes, hoping he'd get better. Clearly, he's not getting better, he's getting worse. My orthodontist's receptionist gave me three names of dentists who take our insurance. I haven't called any of them. But I will do it. Maybe even this coming week. Teen A is due for a cleaning -- he has an appointment with our flaky dentist on March 13th, two and a half weeks from now. Of course, *I* am due for a cleaning too, overdue now. Arrrggghhhh. Why can't this stuff be easier? My orthodontist's receptionist told me that almost no one in town takes our insurance anymore (Delta Dental) because they charge exorbitant fees. Why does the federal government provide insurance with a company that charges exorbitant fees?

OK. It's not a big deal. I'll work on those phone calls this week. 

Blow, wind, blow. Last night there was a little wildfire up by the second Flatiron. The Flatirons are large sandstone formations to the west of us. I don't know how to tell the Flatirons apart, which is first, which is second, which is third, but Rocket Boy can. "There's a light on the third Flatiron," he'll say, looking up at them. Yes, he can even tell them apart in the dark. I can't. Anyway, last night there was a fire, but apparently it was fully extinguished by 1:00 am. We are under a Red Flag Warning right now, which means huge fire danger due to winds. 

I do not like wind, but it is a fact of life out here. It makes me kind of antsy, though. Kind of agitated. (I think it does that to everyone, not just me.) You just have to hunker down and wait it out. Not a good day for a hike or anything else outdoors.

***

I wanted to write about something that happened last week -- the Alabama Supreme Court decision that frozen embryos are children. I have some opinions on that, having gone through IVF myself (with donor eggs). We ended up with frozen embryos after the cycle that produced Teen A and Teen B. I don't remember how many we ended up with -- four? six? I'm sure it's written down somewhere.

We kept them on ice for a few years. It was expensive. We knew we weren't going to try to have any more children. I got so sick at the end of my twin pregnancy -- preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome -- that it would have been really dumb to try again. Plus, two kids were all we felt we could handle. I couldn't go through another dangerous pregnancy when I was even older and had twin toddlers. Just wasn't happening. Also, we couldn't have afforded it.

But we still kept our embryos for a while.

We would have been happy to donate them to another couple, but that wasn't an option because of a genetic issue. Specifically, Rocket Boy's brother, who has schizophrenia. They told us right up front that we couldn't donate because of that. Another clinic might have had different rules, but that was our clinic's rule and we didn't argue.

So after a few years we figured it was time to do something about them. Our choices were to have them destroyed or allow them to be used for research. "Destroyed" sounded so awful, we went for research instead. Research sounded awful too, but I had this little glimmer of completely unreasonable hope that this "research" would result in the embryos getting to be born. I still, to this day, harbor a fantasy that our fertility clinic will call me and say oh, hey, about those frozen embryos that you donated to research? One of them recently become a baby girl (occasionally I imagine it's another baby boy). Sometimes I imagine that the birth mother died, sometimes I imagine that the baby has a lot of disabilities. But whatever, she's alive, she exists, and nobody wants her -- do you? 

I would say yes.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that, like Nikki Haley before she walked back her comments, I thought of our frozen embryos as our babies. I did. I still do. It's not a religious thing. It's just the way I feel.

This does not, however, mean that I think the Federal Government or the State Government or Any Government has the right to tell me what I can do with those embryos. They are MY embryos -- or were. I assume they've died by now. Note that I say they are mine even though they did not contain any of my genetic material. They were half Rocket Boy, and the fact that they existed at all was because we gave a nice young woman (who we never met) $5000 to give us some of her eggs and we gave the fertility clinic an enormous amount of money (I've forgotten how much) to put those eggs together with Rocket Boy's sperm and make embryos. And, voila, they became my babies (while still embryos). And I immediately loved them with all my heart. I still do.

Republicans don't like gray areas. They like black & white. Either an embryo is a baby or it's not. Except that, in fact, in reality, an embryo is both a baby and not a baby. It is the beginning of a baby. It is a tiny group of cells that may grow into a baby, given the right conditions (a womb, for starters). But just like a woman should have the right to choose to have an abortion, a woman -- or a couple -- should have the right to say no, we can't or don't want to make it possible for our embryos to grow into babies, and so we are going to let them go.

I'm glad we let our embryos go, even though it was heart-wrenching. Suppose they were still frozen now! I'm 63. I'm not going to be having any more babies. Those embryos would have no place to go, they would just have to stay frozen forever. It was better to let them go. What I would have liked, actually, was the chance to say goodbye to them. I would have liked to go to the clinic and watch as they were removed from the freezer. We wouldn't have been able to see them without a microscope, but we would have known they were there, and we could have said "goodbye, we love you, thank you for being with us a little while." And then we could have let them melt and die. And it still would have been sad, but it would have been OK.

Snow, more snow

February in Colorado means snow. January is bitter cold, March is wet, messy snow, February is just snow. Cold and snow.

We got 9 inches two weeks ago, maybe 2 inches last weekend, and Saturday morning we were surprised to wake up to another 5.7 inches. Since the 9 inches had never melted out of the front yard (which faces north), we now have a lot of snow that will never melt. Ever.

It's good, I remind myself. This is our water for next summer. Appreciate it, do not complain about it. So I try. It helps that this weekend's snow was exactly what you want from a February snow: crisp and dry and feathery, easy to shovel. The problem was that it fell on top of the 9 inches of heavy wet snow from two weeks ago, which is now solid ice. (Actually, things aren't so bad in the backyard, since that faces south.)

I am worried about the lumps of ice in the road, near our driveway, which formed from the snow that the snowplows kicked up two weeks ago. They don't melt, they just sit there, like our own private Stonehenge or something. I think I should try to move them, but I don't really know how.

Maybe tomorrow. I've been saying that for two weeks now.

This is a four-day weekend for the kids -- Presidents Day and then an extra day for some reason, Tuesday in this case. Usually it would be Friday -- I don't know why they gave us Tuesday off this time. So, instead of looking forward to sending them off to school tomorrow, I am looking forward to two more days of having them at home, trying to get them to do their homework while I try to do my housework and other tasks. Should be a blast.

Yesterday, Saturday, I managed to read with both boys. Teen A is reading 1984 for Language Arts, and Teen B is reading Tuck Everlasting. This means that I am reading both books aloud to them, while they play video games on their Chromebooks. Today, Sunday, I read some more of 1984 to Teen A, and helped Teen B with a social studies assignment. I tried to get Teen B to let me read to him, but he refused.

I haven't driven with either boy yet this weekend. We'll try tomorrow. I keep reminding myself that it's all good, whatever we can get done is all good. Don't worry too much. They'll go to college or get jobs someday, even though it doesn't seem like that's possible. Today when Teen B and I went to Starbucks, both of his hoodies were in the wash, so we looked through the closet and found an old UC Berkeley sweatshirt of mine for him to wear. He said, "Where did you get this, Mom?" and I said "When I was a college student -- I went to Berkeley, you know!" No, he didn't know. "Is that a good school?" he asked. While I was fainting dead away from disbelief at his ignorance, he googled it and learned that it is currently considered the 4th best school in the nation and the best public school. "Yes, and I went there, and Uncle Jim went there, and Risa and Greg and Daniel and Sophie all went there," I said, listing off relatives. "And I'm probably going to go to CU," he said. In your dreams, I thought, but didn't say.

We usually eat out on Saturday night, but just before we were going to leave for the restaurant, the nausea that had been bothering me all afternoon got out of hand and I had to go into the bathroom and throw up. I had made a mushroom pasta the night before and had the leftovers for Saturday lunch and somehow it didn't agree with me. All the mushrooms came back up, looking exactly the same as when they went down. Why do I bother eating vegetables?

So I took a shower and went to bed and the kids ate frozen dinners, and we went out to eat tonight instead. We went to the Gondolier, which is a really nice restaurant in a strip mall, and now I'm wondering if I ate too much. I don't think so. There were no mushrooms involved (I studied the menu carefully and tried to avoid things that were too fatty or mushroomy or otherwise seemed like they might bother me). I had chicken piccata. I don't usually eat chicken, but it just sounded safe. We'll see.

When we got home, Teen B and I watched the first half of the movie of The Fault in Our Stars (we just finished reading the book at bedtime). I thought it was very good, at least so far. The CD from the library is glitchy, but we're managing.

This past week was an OK week, nothing special. Teen B's band concert was wonderful -- that was Tuesday. He's actually thinking about not taking band next year. I made as strong a push for staying in it as I could. It's not really for him. I just want to have concerts to go to. Having him stay in music has been the fulfillment of a dream for me. I know neither of my kids is really musical, but having Teen B kind of fake it is deeply satisfying. For me. But he's getting ready to move on. Maybe he'll do one more year.

Wednesday was Valentine's Day, but we sort of celebrated it the night before because Rocket Boy's candy had arrived and the cookies I sent him had arrived, so we opened everything and talked. That left me free to devote Wednesday night to my book group, where we finally got to discuss On Beauty, which I read a long time ago, back in mid-January. Nobody liked it -- I probably liked it the most, and I didn't like it. Next month we are going to read The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, which I am actually already reading (Rocket Boy gave it to me for Christmas). I am using it to drag myself through the biography of Woodrow Wilson -- I read a chapter of the biography and that earns me the right to read a chapter of the novel. Still, progress is slow.

This coming week, on Tuesday, I have a horrible orthodontia appointment to get my wires out, followed by a horrible dentist appointment, followed by a horrible orthodontia appointment to get the wires put back in. I hope and PRAY this is the last time I have to do this. Wednesday night is in-person conferences at the high school, assuming nothing happens to cancel them as has happened the last two times. 

And other than that it will just be a week. Another week in February. Wednesday night it's supposed to rain.

The joy of tea

That's a better title than "February funk," which was my first choice. Don't be so gloomy, I told myself, and so I am trying. 

But it's not going that well.

Nothing is actually wrong, I want to make that clear. I just don't have the energy or interest to do anything. I make a long to-do list every night, and then in the morning I look at it and I think -- hmm, right. 

My to-do lists have sections. We begin with something called "AM routine," which includes getting the kids off to school, feeding the cats, putting away the clean dishes from the night before, starting a load of laundry, doing a 10-minute stretching video, eating breakfast, doing the breakfast dishes, and cleaning the litter boxes (or the bathroom). 

Once all that is done I am supposed to start on the day's main activities. But I find that, these days, the "AM routine" seems to be about all I can do. I don't want to do any other cleaning, I don't want to write, I don't want to exercise, I don't want to work on the files, and I definitely don't want to work on the taxes.

What I want to do is fix myself another cup of tea, go back to bed, and read (preferably Barbara Pym, in whose novels people are always having cups of tea).

The cats think this is a really good idea too. We have been spending a lot of time in bed together, the cats and I. They don't drink tea, but my tea warms me up, and that's what they like: a warm body to snuggle up to.

I also read a good book this weekend about someone who was dying of cancer (The Bright Hour by Nina Riggs). Maybe not the best choice for someone who's depressed, but it actually made me think about getting out of bed and doing something while I can. I didn't, of course -- didn't get out of bed -- but I thought about it.

It's OK. I know this won't last forever. It's probably a perfectly reasonable reaction to February. In a couple of months it will be April and then (I hope) I will feel a burst of energy, enabling me to get things done again.

I try not to get too stressed about this. The house won't fall apart if I don't clean it for a while, and as long as I'm keeping up with dishes and laundry and the various bathrooms (cat and human), we'll be OK.

I did do some work on my new project this week: cleaning out the underwear drawer. I threw away a lot of underpants that don't fit, much as it pained me to do so -- they're so clean and new! But thrift stores don't take underpants that aren't in their original packaging, so... 

I have a real problem with panties. The only ones I can wear are old ones with stretched-out elastic. My belly is so sensitive that I just can't tolerate fresh, new elastic. I've tried buying a larger size, but I end up with baggy undies that still hurt my belly. I've tried cutting the elastic, but then the undies fall down when I go for walks. It is not fun to be walking along and feel your underwear falling down. 

So for now I'm just sticking with my old undies. I have five pairs that are shredding, four pairs that are getting little holes in them, and two that are baggy and saggy and can only be worn at home. But until I figure out another solution, this will have to be OK.

Bras in good condition can be donated to thrift stores, so I pulled out all the big, weird ones that don't fit right and put them in the donation box. That left me with four bras: the three I wear normally, all of which are falling apart, and one more -- hey, does this bra fit? I tried it on. It fit! Why haven't I been wearing this one too? Probably because it got lost way in the back of the stuffed underwear drawer. Also, it's ugly. But at this point, I don't care about ugly. I also went on eBay and ordered two more: they aren't the same style as the ones I have and love, but they're at least unlined -- I hate lined bras with a passion. We'll see when these get here, whether they'll fit or not. 

If they don't, I'll have to get serious about researching bras -- I know there are lots of brands out there now other than the old standards, but how much time and money do I want to spend on this project? Answer: none. I want this to be easy. Underwear SHOULD be easy. But nothing is easy when you're a "person of size." Stores often don't even have my size in stock, so I can't try bras on to see what fits. Have to order online and then deal with whatever arrives.

I still have a bunch of stuff to go through (read: throw out) in that drawer: slips and pettipants and random things like that. Maybe this week.

We actually have a lot to do this coming week. Tuesday night is Teen B's band concert. Wednesday at noon I might go to a talk -- not sure -- depends on my mood -- and Wednesday night is book group. Thursday I see my dietician, and Saturday the twins both have haircut appointments.

The weather should be OK, but chilly. The highs each day are supposed to be in the upper 40s, with lows in the 20s, which means it'll be in the 20s and 30s all morning, and then for a few hours in the afternoon it'll be in the 40s and then it'll get cold again. The snow won't melt, much. This isn't even this week's snow -- we got a couple of inches on Saturday, but not much. No, this snow is from the first weekend of February, the 9 inches of heavy wet snow that turned into concrete overnight and has just stayed there ever since. I look out the window at it, or stand on the porch gazing at it, and I think, nope, don't want to deal with that. Back inside.

Someday it will be April, and then even May. When I have trouble going to sleep I think about what I'm going to plant in May.

Winter round 2: February

I suppose that's wrong -- February isn't round 2 of winter, it's round 3, right? December is round 1, January is round 2... But December is different. December is parties and decorations and special food and presents. Also, technically winter doesn't begin until December 21st and spring doesn't begin until March 19th. In many places, March is a spring month, but not Colorado, not really.

So, OK, that's settled. January is round 1 of REAL winter, and here comes round 2, February. A blessedly short month, full of pink and chocolate and (for me) Barbara Pym, the world's most comforting author. 

I managed to get Christmas all put away by February 1st (the goal each year is Feb. 2nd), so that was an achievement. About a week before, there was a knock at the door one evening and I answered, suspiciously, to find the father of a (former) friend of the twins, out collecting signatures for something Democratic. So I invited him inside (since it was dark and cold on the porch), and it was at that moment that I realized that we still had our Christmas tree up (and lit), not to mention the stockings, cards, etc. It looked very cozy and... Christmassy. In late January. So I got busy and got it all put away over the next week, and on February 1st, Thursday, I actually carried all the bins down to the basement and put them on their shelves, disturbing numerous spiders in the process.

So, February. It usually snows more in February than in January, and sure enough, yesterday it snowed. This was from the first atmospheric river that hit California (all my relatives are dealing with the second one right now). At first they said it would only be an inch or less, mostly rain, and then they upped it to 2-5 inches, and then the snow started coming down really hard and they upped it to 4-10 inches. 

I saw one preliminary report that said south Boulder got 9 inches, but all I know is that it was heavy and wet, and this morning when I went out it had all frozen into very solid ice. It was extremely difficult to walk on and almost impossible to shovel! But eventually (around 1 pm) I got the kids to go out with me and we worked and worked and worked for an hour. That is, Teen A and I did. Teen B complained that it was too hard, he was cold, his gloves were wet, he didn't like this, etc., etc., and he kept throwing snow at Teen A, who was actually WORKING, and finally I suggested he go inside, which he was happy to do.

While we were shoveling, our Girl Scout cookies arrived, so that was convenient (convenient that we were outside and could take them from her, rather than the Girl Scout having to navigate our icy, horrible driveway to get to the front porch).

Then Teen B and I went to Starbucks, and later I went out again and shoveled for another half an hour. Teen A actually did a very good job on the walks and the driveways, but I went out to work on the gutters, which as usual are flooded and blocked with ice. Snow is lovely, but icy, melting snow is just a nightmare.

***

I thought I should do a review of January, since it is now in the past. How am I doing on my resolutions, particularly the "every month I will..." type?

1. Read at least 52 books, i.e., 1 per week. I read 12 books in January, so I'm off to a good start. I started a presidential biography (of Woodrow Wilson), but I suspect I'll be reading it throughout February, maybe even into March. I'm not loving it and I'm not loving him. Maybe it will get better. I'm interested to read about the whole League of Nations thing, if I could ever get there (he's just been elected governor of New Jersey, so we have a ways to go).

2. See at least 24 movies, i.e., 2 per month. I saw 2 movies, one in a theater with the kids and one at home (it was a season of a TV show on DVD, but that counts).

3. Go to at least 12 special things, i.e., 1 per month. I did not go to a concert or anything else -- will have to catch up later in the year. I tried to watch a CU Faculty Tuesday concert online one night, but kept getting interrupted by certain teenagers who wanted help with their homework. Priorities, sigh.

4. Take a walk every day and do a stretch video every morning. I only took 10 walks (we had that very cold spell, plus ice and snow, which chased me indoors), but I did stretch videos on 17 mornings, which is impressive since I didn't start them until January 11th -- around the time I stopped taking walks due to the weather. This is shaping up (ha ha) to be a new habit. I enjoy them -- Meg Stickl of AIM Fitness is my new best friend.

5. Take a hike every month. I almost didn't do this. Not until the afternoon of January 31st -- the LATE afternoon of January 31st -- did I find myself on a trail. And it was the Bobolink trail (actually the South Boulder Creek trail, but we call it the Bobolink trail because the section we walk is near the Bobolink trailhead). 

Oh, not the Bobolink trail, I groaned, as I drove toward it. I wanted to try the Dry Creek trail, further east on Baseline, where I've never been. But Dry Creek's small parking lot was full and more people were arriving, with their dogs (apparently it's hugely popular with dog owners, almost like a dog park). I didn't want to wait around for a parking place and deny a dog a good walk. So I drove to the East Boulder recreation center, parked, and walked over to the stupid Bobolink trail.

And it turned out to be a nice hike! January is definitely the right month to hike this flat, dry trail. Anywhere else would be muddy or icy. I saw a big hawk land in a tree, interacted with a chickadee in another tree, looked at big black cows in the field. And was annoyed by other people. Too many other people on the trail, another thing that's wrong with the Bobolink trail. 

At the end I was being followed by a group of loud, older women (even older than me), one of whom had two hiking poles -- hiking poles, on the Bobolink trail, give me a break. I should have just stopped and let them pass me, but I kept trying to outpace them. A mistake. It kind of ruined the end of the hike. But otherwise it was a good experience. I wonder where I will hike in February...

6. Take a load of stuff to either Goodwill or Charm every month. Again, almost didn't do this, but on January 31st (this was before my hike) I packed up a box of clothes and took it to Goodwill's new location. And now I know how to do it, and it will be easier next month.

7. Do something to improve my wardrobe every month. Since I just added this resolution last week, I think it's OK that I didn't do much. I ordered two shirts from eBay and they arrived on Friday -- and I like them both. One is a little more dressy, so I will save it for when I need to be a little more dressed up. The other one I wore yesterday. I admit that I went back on eBay on Friday after the shirts came and ordered two more. And then I made myself stop! Still, I do like the things I have already gotten, and I realized that when I want something that isn't for sale in stores anymore, eBay is the solution. The shirts I bought were a Kohl's brand called EVRI, that they don't carry anymore. I also looked for Lands End "shaped fit" shirts -- all they carry now in my size are "relaxed," which oddly don't fit me very well.

After the shirts arrived, I sat down and did some more thinking about this resolution. I realized that my problem is not just that I don't have nice clothes, it's that I have too many clothes that I never wear -- mostly because they're too small. The best thing I could do would be to get rid of (give away, throw away) the too-small clothes. It's really time.

So I decided to work on a category each month, preferably associated with a drawer of my dresser, or a box in the closet, or a section of the closet. In February I am going to work on my underwear drawer, which is stuffed full of things I don't/can't wear. The goal is to buy some bras that fit, panties that aren't rags, and get rid of at least half of what's in the drawer right now.

8.-9.-10.-etc.-etc. I didn't complete any special resolutions in January (like get a shingles shot or take the waterpik out of the box or get the piano tuned). That's OK. I did do plenty of generic stuff, like housecleaning and blogging and driving with the kids and making dinner and helping with homework. It was January. I survived.