A mating table, hex signs and pet ghosts: what more can you ask from a book?

If you want to really have fun with a book, pick up a copy of The Old Farmer’s Almanac. I first read this book as a girl in my grandmother’s kitchen. It’s become a lifelong habit. If I want to raise a crop of chickens or grow a bunch of herbs, this book has the info I need.

There are weather pages for each section of the U.S., and as far as I can tell, the forecasts are pretty accurate. The forecast missed Florida’s bitter cold weather over the last couple days, but at least it called for “cool” weather. One of my favorite tools lists sky watch events for each month. If I want to test my soil for pH preferences, I can learn the optimum range to bring bliss to my trees, shrubs, veggies and flowers.

There’s poetry too—each month has a verse at the beginning of the listing that also provides the names of Feast Days, exact sunrise and sunset, and all manner of other data.

This year there is a rather strange article about pet ghosts. It never occurred to me my dog might return from the other side. Also included in the book are recipes, trivia and any number of how-to instructions for all things related to homesteading.

I’ve developed a tradition of giving a copy to select loved ones each year. I really can’t assess the number of articles, poems and stories just reading this book has inspired. By the end of this year, my copy will be well-worn, that’s for sure.

So take my completely subjective advice and go pick up a copy and read for yourself. Of the hundreds of thousands of books printed each year, The Old Farmer’s Almanac is one of the most unheralded, un-reviewed, best books on the shelf. I think I'll try to find out if they need freelance writers.

(No financial compensation of any kind is derived from my comments about this product.)

Readers and books diverge, but is the news really as bad as pop pollsters claim?

COMMENTARY

Now comes the latest in a long line of those pop polls mass media loves. What better way to grab attention? An Associated Press-Ipsos poll reveals 1 of 4 of American adults didn’t read a book in 2006. This begs the obvious question: what about the other 3? And it begs a question I love to ask. Who has time to squander yapping on a phone with a pollster? What type of personality agrees to do this? Come to think of it, questions are going off in my brain like light bulbs. I’m an avid reader, but often, there’s simply not a book on store shelves that makes me pull out my wallet and fork over my cash (or do the one-click purchase at amazon or other online retailers). I have a veritable library here at home; I like to re-read books that have pleased or interested me. So much of what is published today is disposable literature.

I suspect some of those non-readers do indeed read, just not books. The Internet provides the largest library in history, right at your fingertips, with lots of free content about every subject known to mankind. A book is one of many vehicles for words. Now, thanks to technology, we have a choice of vehicle.

I also read Democrats read more books than Republicans. This was determined by polling 1,003 adults. But here’s the rub—those adults were willing to talk to a stranger on the phone and hopefully—because there’s no way to prove otherwise—tell the truth about how many books they allegedly read. Pop polls are like pop science. Pollsters from both political parties love to draw a dividing line because that’s how they get votes and promote dogma, using terms like “red” and “blue” to suggest your level of worth and/or morality.

“Fat is contagious,” one study reveals. Think about it. Think about your family, friends and coworkers. If fat is contagious, wouldn’t they all be fat? Silly stuff, these declarations.

Pop polls and pop science. Take them for what they’re worth, somewhere on the level of a wad of used gum having a sidewalk meltdown in summer heat.

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The Glass Castle a page-turner memoir

After learning Jeannette Walls would be keynote speaker for the ASJA conference this year, I picked up her book "The Glass Castle." I put it on top of the pile, planning to read it once I finished Steve Berry’s new book "The Alexandria Link" and Victor Davis Hanson’s "The Soul of Battle." When my husband is out of town, I read a book each night. I’m strolling through Daniel Hoffman’s "Zone of the Interior" and several of his poetry books concurrently because I plan to write about him.

So I selected Walls’s book the other day to occupy my mind while I had lunch. I wasn’t really excited about reading another memoir. There are many of them these days. But she was speaking at the conference and I aimed to be able to put her in context.

I regret starting her book. Because once I did, I didn’t want to put it down. After lunch I hurried through the piles of paper and assignments on my desk, hoping to finish the book before my husband’s plane arrived late last night. I finished "The Glass Castle" about 1:30 a.m. It’s the sort of book that makes you feel a sense of loss when you turn the final page.

Walls makes her memories come alive by means of strong characters. There’s plenty of action, but the unfurling of her family members’ life stories propels the action. Walls had what you might call an “alternative upbringing.” Her parents were brilliant intellectuals, but at times, their parenting skills horrify the reader. Both her parents were wanderers in life, choosing a lifestyle that on the one hand, offered the children a look at art, literature, science, mathematics and philosophy that few can experience. On the other hand, the family experienced hunger, poverty and no small amount of pain.

A particularly wistful moment comes in a college classroom as a professor is talking about homelessness. Walls is afraid to share her own history with the class but she gets across the point her parents chose homelessness, because she learns as an adult her mother owns land worth millions of dollars. The professor asks what Walls could possibly know about homelessness. It’s a priceless moment in the memoir.

Walls’s narrative style is rapid fire, like a series of punches to the gut.

At poetry readings, I often remark my childhood was gloriously dysfunctional. I think Walls would identify with that description.

I’d recommend this book to any reader. It’s an enlightening journey for the reader, and it is never dull. The book sets a benchmark for any memoir I might select in the future. I am definitely looking forward to hearing her speak.
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