Missing the Hunger and other stories

I haven't seen The Hunger Games.

Oh, I read the books, and found them flawed but compelling. I watched the trailer several times; it gave me chills. I wondered whether Jennifer Lawrence would make a believable Katniss and how Lenny Kravitz would do as the gentle Cinna. And as people all over the blogosphere and Facebook have cheered or ranted or both this week, part of me has felt out of it, that I'm missing something.

Usually, I tell people I don't want the nightmares. So far, so true. But it's more than that, and it's hard to explain. The books were compelling, but they were also unbearable. For me, even the first. I don't want to sit through that as translated to screen. Also, I resent the marketing buzz's attempt to cast me as a citizen of the Capitol; Hollywood knows nothing about how I live my life. Much as I loved Peeta—partly because I hurt for him so badly—I don't want his name stamped on my underwear. Nor will I be buying nail polish named for the tributes, or whatever else they're selling. This is one phenomenon that I understand (believe me, I am sorely tempted at every turn in a Harry Potter shop) and yet I sincerely don't at the same time.

In case it needs to be said, I'm not judging a single person who walked into the theater, not even if they wore a pink Effie Trinket wig and gold spots on their face. People are drawn to a work of fiction for thousands of possible reasons, and there are good reasons to be drawn to The Hunger Games. I get it.

And yet I don't. I really don't. And I don't know why. All I know is that I can hardly think of that story without feeling like crying. Tears are not something I go to the theater for.

But here are three thoughtful articles by people who saw the movie, people whose responses I respected: Maggie Stiefvater fangirls the film but is floored by the irony, Danielle Tumminio asks "What if we didn't watch?" (I'm good at not watching, but not necessarily so good at taking the action she calls for; believe me, I found this piece convicting, though I think protesting is the weakest of the actions available to us), and Amy Simpson looks for the Bread of Life in the story (thanks for the link, Arabella.)

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Fans of The Hunger Games may be interested to know that I followed Katniss all around the grocery [incongruity!] this week. Not Jennifer Lawrence—just a wiry young woman with a narrow, sorrowful face and long dark brown hair braided slightly off to the side. It was her, I say.

Later, I went home and braided my own hair slightly off to the side.

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My seedlings are coming up!

Basil! See those little guys peering over the edge of the pot?

Chives! I love the way they poke up, all doubled over.

Other happy gardening thoughts:

Blooming peace lily! Even though Maia broke off three of the leaves last night.

Blueberry bushes in the brand-new raised bed...

Peonies and grape hyacinths...

Lou actually found rhubarb and a peony plant in the lawn. Unfortunately, I forgot to take pictures of those before it started pouring rain again.

Flowering quince! Actually, it's technically the neighbors', but
it's partly growing into our yard.

Currant bushes!

Helping things grow: one of the best feelings in the world.

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Writers' link of the week: Michael Wallace's How to Eat an Elephant, which is perhaps the most practical post on how to finish a novel that I've ever read. Two of my three current novels have reached completion on that basic principle, and the third follows closely. I might go look up that Freedom program, too...

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Music of the week: Maurice Duruflé's arrangement of the Ubi Caritas—some good Holy Week music, there. Lou and I have sung this in choir.



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Random amusement of the week: What's your architectural style? (I like my bungalow.)

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All right, I think this post is long enough. Happy weekend!

Introducing Maia

For anyone who didn't hear this already through Facebook: We have a new family member.

We've called her Maia, because a) it's pretty, b) it's a star name (the eldest of the Seven Sisters) and c) it was used by C.S. Lewis in Till We Have Faces. What's not to like? Besides, it's incredibly easy to call across the house when we don't know where she's hiding.

As the daughter of my parents' mouser (yes, she's one of these), she spent the first four months of her life out of doors, where the chickens decided to give her a rough time of it. She has taken to being an indoor kitty very cheerfully, with only one problem: her favorite place to be is my big Mexican Breadfruit plant, and—after an extensive Google search when she started playing with it—I've learned that those are toxic to cats. I keep having to chase her out of it. It probably won't kill her, but if she eats it, it certainly won't do her any favors.

So far, it's mostly just a place to play. Big leaves, perfect for hiding behind or attacking... long runners, great for pouncing upon... branches big enough to climb around in... she can pretend she's a baby tigress in there.

Crazy plant lady has problems, though, in the form of an even more toxic peace lily, dragon tree, and poinsettia. I may have solved one issue accidentally today by knocking over the vacuum onto my six-year-old poinsettia, breaking off over half of the plant (if I wasn't so worried about her eating it, I'd have cried) but the remaining plants have me a little paranoid. Those plants are big and old and have been with me forever, but I don't want to risk her health. Should I keep them around and just watch her when she has the run of the house, as I have been? Or give away the potentially dangerous ones and find a new way of decorating my living room? Cat owners disagree.

Aside from the breadfruit plant, she likes the toy I made her with an old sock, a rag and a broken shoelace. Likewise, her catnip scratcher, the old chair, the wrist strap on the camera (trying to take pictures of her is challenging), the cursor on my computer screen, and my hair. I'm still waiting for her to discover toilet paper.

But my favorite thing is how she comes and sleeps beside me sometimes when I'm working on the computer. It usually means typing one-handed because she'll drape over one arm, but goodness, it's cute.

Lou likes her, too, which makes me feel better about not only begging him for her but getting him to talk our landlord into allowing a kitten. The landlord's original words had been "A mature cat might be all right." But he was magnanimous. And we are grateful.

Happy Summer

I love summer--and plants. Here are some of my window-herbs, basil and savory:

aloe and rosemary.

My Christmas cactus has decided to take the summer months and grow better than it has in years.

Outside, the tomatoes are ripening...

 ...the first cucumber is growing on its vine

...the potatoes have begun to put on some height

...and we should get a few apples this year.

If all of that weren't enough for cheer, the sky still looks like this.

Good enough for me. :)

Crazy Plant Lady

Wind and rain, go away! I want to stargaze. And start on my garden.

I think I post pictures of my plants the way some people do of their children.

You know those little $1 and $2 baby plants you can get in stores? I can never resist those. Anyway, my neighbors and I are about to start a joint raised-bed garden, and Haggen had these adorable mini herbs, and Wal-Mart had everything else. All told, the box holds a bell pepper, cucumbers, dill, savory, chives, orange balsam thyme, and regular thyme which I got on accident thinking I'd picked up oregano. Now I still have to get oregano. Oh well.

I've never been much of a gardener--or at least, never much of a shovel-wielder or a weeder--but I do love taking care of things. Sure, a plant is not quite a small dog or cat, let alone a small human, but give it a little tender care and it'll grow and love you back. :)