"People don't know how to title things," the youngest grumbles as she plays with her iTunes. "Look at this. Someone's given me 'Fun, Fun, Fun' by the Beachboys, and they've..."

I join her. "...only capitalized the first word."

"Yeah!" she nods. "It's not a sentence, duh, it's a title."

I am so proud.

My husband Matthew's ex is a woman of drama. She is large, loud and hearty. With her friends, she has a ready laugh, she's a bit coarse but a lot of fun. "Rough around the edges", I called her, with an affectionate smile.

I was a friend once, you see, until I experienced the darker side to that larger-than-life personality, the rage that, until she screamed at me on the street on day, loud and long, I hadn't realized was also part of her character. Insults, slurs on my character, confidences I had shared with her, twisted into weapons... all this poured out on a public street at maximum volume.

I didn't scream back. I am not a screamer. I'm not sure what provocation could make me scream on the street, beyond someone's imminent demise. "LOOK OUT FOR THE CAR!!" Certainly not a misunderstanding about when we were supposed to meet.

I didn't scream back, I didn't even talk back, but I did walk away, and I never walked back. Had any of her subsequent communications with me carried the faintest hint of an apology, I might have considered, but what I received were explanations of why I had made her behave that way.

I was married to an abusive man, once. A man who was always convinced that I had "made him" do whatever nasty thing had just happened. Righteously convinced. That's an abusive pattern, and I was not about to continue a friendship with someone who, I had just discovered, was abusive.

It was karma, of a sort, when Matthew and I fell in love. We had both been in abusive marriages, we two quiet, bookish people who, when faced with conflict, share an urge to talk, talk, talk. No bricks hurled, just bridges built.

It's lovely.

Matthew's ex married not too long ago, but, as per the plan, she and her new husband are not living together, but will continue living in their own homes until the children have left home. This has always struck Matthew and me as odd: the children are growing up and leaving home; at this point, they would have three kids between the two of them. Given that Matthew and his ex produced five of their own, one would hardly think three kids too much to manage. Two of these three are within a year or two of moving out. Odd.

We didn't say anything to anyone else, of course, but we couldn't see the logic.

It was the youngest who let us know that the reason is the inability of the two 17-year-old girls to get along that is at issue. They each have one, and, apparently, they "scream at each other. All they do is scream. They just can't get along. And mom is depressed because she just wants to live with New Husband and be normal."

A loud, angry woman whose idea of conflict management is to scream long and loud has produced a loud, angry daughter whose idea of dealing with a step-sister is to scream long and loud. So bad is it that she and the new husband don't feel they can cohabit until at least one of the girls leaves home.

Now that's karma.

September's Library Challenge Books

Total to date this year: 57

1. Sorry, Walter (Judi Curran). Depressive Irish girl with sound sense of humour goes on a holiday to Canada and finds true love. Good, fluffy fun.

2. The Tea-Olive Bird Watching Society (Augusta Trobaugh). Three sweet little old southern ladies find themselves planning someone's demise when one of their society finds herself married to an abusive con artist.

3. The Canadian Book of Snobs (Victoria Branden). Tongue-in-cheek book. Beginning with a history of snobbery, then exploring its current manifestions in Canadian society. Sexsnobbery, worksnobbery, wordsnobs, carsnobs, food, heros, poems, religion, education... is there any realm of human endeavour that doesn't have snobbery attached to it? In a word, no.

4. Match Game (Beverly Brandt). Abandoned by her emotionally lazy groom when she is cuffed and hauled away at the altar, straight-arrow accountant Savannah decides to track down the woman who stole her identity. And finds true love in the process -- and a shiny new career. Fluff, but fun.

5. A Conspiracy of Paper (David Liss). Set in 18th-Century London, the story follows Benjamin Weaver, former pugilist turned investigator as he picks his way through the multitudinous layers of deceit, power-broking, and murder that is the budding stock exchange. The story is very clever, but you also learn a fair bit about the enormous social changes triggered by the introduction of paper money. Who knew it was more than a logistical improvement? -- bills weigh far less than coins, after all -- but apparently this shift changed the pysche of a society. Fascinating.

6. Jailbird's Daughter (Irene Carr). Standard plot: impoverished-but-worthy young lady makes her own way in the world despite the social odds stacked against her, and is rewarded for her efforts with the love of a good (and wealthy) man. With standard plot twist 1: heroine dislikes hero intensely at first. Except it doesn't work. The heroine is a lovely young woman who, for no apparent reason (except to fulfill plot twist 1) behaves in a manner utterly out of character with him. Only with him, mind you. She just doesn't react that way to people. Why do it with him? Oh, yeah. So they can overcome the obstacle of her poor opinion. Right. I expected a frivolous read, but this didn't manage even that.

7. Whistling for the Elephants (Sandi Toksvig). Part allegory, part coming-of-age story, this jaunty tale veers chaotically through a surreal landscape filled with more-than-just-quirky characters. Very clever, very weird, well worth the time.

8. Darling Daughters (Elizabeth Troop). A novel-within-a-novel in which the main character is an author who reminisces about her childhood as the sole child of a single mother in World War II England through her quasi-biographical novel-turned-screenplay. Though at times the author's depiction of a 10-year-old's mind rang pleasingly true, I often found the 10-year-old 'Sarah' too wise to be real -- even intelligent and introspective 10-year-olds are just not that perceptive/analytical -- but a good read nonetheless.

9. Lucy (Ellen Feldman). A fictionalized account of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's long-term affair with Lucy Mercer Rutherford. Interesting in that I learned a smattering of history along the way, but the 'affair' itself has an air of being... theoretical, somehow.

10. Other People's Marriages (Shane Watson). Author Anna is researching her book on modern marriages. We are taken into the marriages, affairs, and relationships of Anna and three of her friends, seeing the mundanity, joys, tragedy, hope and compromise that comprise relationships -- modern or otherwise. An interesting and intelligent read, even thought-provoking at times, and though the slightly deus-ex-machina happy ending for Anna is a bit of a stretch, I'm a sucker for a happy ending, so I'll take it. :)

Year's total to date: 67

If you head upstairs after dinner, returning to the kitchen half-hour later, do not expect me to respond with cheerful gratitude when you say, "Are you done the dishes already? I was going to offer to do them!" For, even though I believe you are quite sincere in this, I am not a mind-reader to leave them for you without hearing your intention spoken aloud, and now I am only more annoyed that I did the dishes when I could have been doing something else.

Just sayin'.

News of Note: As of October 26, it will be illegal to use hand-held cell phones while driving in Ontario. A wise law. There will be a three-month weaning-in period, in which offenders will simply be informed of the law, and beginning Feb.1, they will be fined. A generous concession.

The same law will also make it illegal to text while driving.

Excuse me while I collect myself. And my jaw from the floor.

Text?

While driving?

While I suppose I am grateful for such a law, I am astounded that it could possibly necessary. While yet astounded, I ruefully concede that it is very likely necessary. I sigh for humanity.

So, Driving Texters, be forewarned: You have until Feb.1 to break yourself of your ludicrous habit.

And while we're at it, driving texters? Because it seems we can't take any degree of sense for granted... It's also a Very Bad Idea to drive blindfolded. Write that down. Just not while you're driving, please.

Heard on The Debaters this morning. Topic under discussion: "Newfoundlanders are the sexiest people in Canada".

On the Pro side, one Cathy Jones, a dyed-in-the-wool Newf. Among her gems: "Newfoundlander says, 'Wanna have sex?... No?... Wanna lie down while I do?' "

How about that? All these years later, I find out my first husband was from the Rock.

August's Library Challenge Books



Total to the end of July: 48

1.Lost in Cyberia: How Life on the Net Has Created a Life of Its Own (James Harkin). I'm not quite sure why it took 256 pages to make a few (pretty obvious) points. There was some interesting historical information in the first four chapters, but after that the book meandered. The information was never really gathered together to make a particular point, beyond the mildest of truisms: Don't be afraid to step out of the virtual loop; it's not as important as you think. Duh.

2. The Sisters Antipodes (Jane Alison). "In 1965, when I was four, my parents met another couple, got along well, and within a few months traded partners." With a sentence like that, you'd reasonably expect the rest of the book to be pretty rivetting, but within the first 70 pages I had grown weary of the self-absorbed and relentlessly depressive Jane, and was skipping through large chunks of the book to see if/when she'd actually ever learn anything, if she'd manage to find a way to move beyond her childhood jealousy and insecurity. Sadly, it doesn't seem she did. She ends as unhappy as she began, a hamster on the wheel of practiced misery.

3. Bean Bag Buddies (Nicki Wheeler), and Dollmaking (E.J. Taylor). I'm putting these two as one entry, because I didn't read them cover to cover, only dipped into them for instructions and techniques for a sewing project I have in mind. Still, they were library books, and I did read at least part of them! Both were informative, though the first, with its brilliant-hued velour animal toys, was by far the prettiest to look at.

4. Dragonwell Dead (Laura Childs). Theodosia (Theo) Browning of Charleston, South Carolina, solves a murder while running her tea shop, helping a friend find a rare orchid, and organizing a fund-raiser for the Orchid Society. With recipes! It may not be Great Literature, but it was fun, I didn't figure out whodunnit before the Unveiling (but then, I rarely do), and I plan to thoroughly enjoy the Strawberry Slush Tea I will make later this week. Fun book.

5. Vanity and Vexation: A novel of pride and prejudice (Kate Fenton). Yes, yet another Austen re-make, but so cleverly done! I loved reading this book, just loved it. This time it's the men who are impoverished and the women who are rich and powerful; there are trans-Atlantic jaunts, ex-wives, drug-runners and crusty pub-keepers, but True Love does indeed triumpth. A thoroughly satisfying read.

6. The Diary (Eileen Goudge). It could be that I was hormonal while reading this book, but the last chapter made me cry. It's a sweet and touching story, revealed through the pages of a 60-year-old diary. With the perfect twist at the end. Lovely.

7. The Greek Villa (Judith Gould). It's a sore temptation to tell you the entire plot and save you the grief of reading this thing. If it were written by a 17-year-old, it would be a decent piece of writing. Sadly, it only sounds like it was written by one, which made it pretty tough going for me. See, I'm the kind-hearted type who will turn off the television if a character on a sit-com is making too much of an ass of themselves. I simply can't stand to be party to someone else's humiliation. This book gave me the same feeling. "Oh, please!" I wanted to plead with the author. "Stop doing this to yourself!" (Because I couldn't in all fairness complain she was doing it to me: no one was forcing me to finish the damned thing.)

In fact, the storyline is energetic and entertaining enough (even if it routinely strains credulity) to keep one turning pages till the end... if, that is, you can overlook the stupidity of the characters, their mind-numbing shallowness, the unbelievably facile plot twists, and the brickbat-obvious psychological insights. Then there's the dreadful, stilted dialogue, and the truly, truly awful sex scenes. Worst of all though, the lovers sometimes tried to talk while they were having sex, so the poor reader was subjected to BOTH AT THE SAME TIME? Oh, lordy. Let's just say this is one of those rare times in my life I have ever found myself skipping pages to get PAST a sex scene.

Here's a snippet of her style. After about a minute and a half of necking, Our Hero decides it's time to make the next move. " 'Let's get undressed,' he whispered into her ear." (Because, hell, maybe she didn't know you needed to do that first.) And then, after a further minute and a half of necking while undressing, " 'Let's get in bed,'" (in case she couldn't tell where this was leading), "he said, taking her by the hand and leading the way" (in case she didn't know where her bed was).

And afterward? The pillow talk?

"I can hardly believe I found someone like you."

She marveled at his words, wondering if anybody else on earth had ever felt such a great love. ("Great love." They have known each other perhaps three weeks; this is the second time they've had sex. "Great love"?? You can strain your eyeballs rolling them that hard. ) "You have no idea what this means to me. What it makes me feel like. [So, OH! Why don't I tell you what I feel like??] I feel... I feel like nothing could ever come between us. That nothing could ever hurt us."

[Isn't that TOUCHING? Isn't it PROFOUND? Oh, and cue the sinister music, because we all know the Bad Guy is hot on her heels.]

"And nothing will as long as we're together," he said. [This is a very clever example of the plot device called foreshadowing, see, because we know he's about to fly off to do business for a few days, and the Bad Guy, as noted earlier, is hot on her heels.] "Nothing, Tracey. Our love is too powerful."

Eeew. "Our love is too powerful." I winced the first time. I'm wincing again. Eeew, eeew, eeew. Aren't you embarrassed for her? I'm embarrassed for her.

I think what I'm saying is that unless you're the type who truly enjoys seeing other people humiliate themselves, you might want to give this one a miss.

8. Julie and Julia (Julie Powell). Yes, I know everyone has read this one already. I only read it because I was about to see the movie, and only after reading the book did I check out the (now discontinued) blog. Completely backwards for a blogger, and I should be ashamed of myself, I know. It turned out to be the correct order, though: I loved the movie, enjoyed the book, and found the blog... okay. Julie Powell, needing a project to keep her focussed and sane, decides to start a blog chronicalling her attempt to cook all 500+ recipes from Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking"... in one year. Funny book, funnier movie. But then, could anything with Meryl Streep in it be bad?

9. Friday Nights (Joanna Trollope). I've enjoyed everything I've read by this author, and this was no exception. I loved the character of Eleanor. I loved the way she made the children so real and believable, the relationship of the various mothers to their children different, but all probable. But the pivotal figure in the book? The New Boyfriend who acts as such a catalyst to this group of women, in one way or another? Totally unbelievable. What man would do those thing? I could never figure out why he was doing the things he did... except to drive the plot, that is. As every Trollope book, a thoroughly enjoyable read... but that Jackson guy? Not real at all.

Total to the end of August: 57.
Year's goal achieved! But why stop when I'm having so much fun??

Parenting brings wisdom. Wisdom and humility.

Know why?

Not because of the mistakes you make and learn from, though of course they help. Not because you constantly run the risk of psychologically damaging your children. I think that risk is HUGELY over-rated by parents. Kids are just not that frail. (Look at how many parents are terrorized by their toddlers and teens. Frail? Pfft. Those small (and not-so-small) bullies are causing trauma, not receiving it.)

No, parenting brings wisdom, and a cold dose of humility, because you can see yourself in your kids. You see echoes of your younger self in their behaviour, and thus, you get an adult perspective on your own behaviour.

This particularly applies to adult children. My eldest is 23 now. A young adult, but an adult. Given that she's been living mostly on her own since she left for university, and that since graduation she's had a job in a different city and paid her own way completely, she's earned those adult stripes.

But she is a young adult.

We're just wrapping up a conflict, she and I, and a significant one. At one point, I greatly feared we were heading for another estrangement. We had one of those for the three years between 17 and 20, and I'd assumed that with adolescence behind us, we'd left that kind of thing with it. This week, I seriously questioned that assumption.

But it seems we'll make it out of these woods. And what have I learned?

1. Keep my opinions to myself.

Not that I am terribly forthcoming with them. Once they hit their late teens, my kids can go months without hearing an opinion. They get lots of questions bytimes, exploratory questions, not aggressive ones. But I don't often pronounce on their lives. When they leave home, I do this even less.

At this point, though, I'm thinking that I won't tell her anything I'm thinking, at least when that "anything" is at all critical of certain areas of her life. I think I'll be reluctant to do it even if I'm asked (which, we can all note, I wasn't this time). We will call this A Lesson Learned. From here on in, she is welcome to learn from bitter experience.

Lesson 1b: It is probably best she learn from experience.

2. She is not as measured and mature as I thought she was.

I'd expected disagreement with my position, expressed with some degree of huffiness. I did not expect a full-on onslaught of furious outrage. I expected her to disagree with my opinion, even to tell me I had no business imposing it upon her; I did not expect her to deny my right to an opinion. (Obviously, expecting a negative response, I did not embark on this conversation lightly. I felt it necessary, a maternal duty shouldered with stoicism rather than enthusiasm.)

She is certainly not as meaured and mature as she thinks she is... which leads me to the Most Important Lesson of all:

3. At age 23, I was not as measured and mature as I thought I was.

Without a child of that age to point the way, I'd have only my memories to go on... and they are, of course, the memories of a 23-year-old. I'd have a 23-year-old's perspective on the situations, the people involved, their responses, my own behaviour.

Of course, I've gained perspective over the years, even without my children's input. I've learned some stuff about my younger self along the way, but I will tell you now, NOTHING shows you how blinkered and restricted a 23-year-old's thinking is like arguing with a 23-year-old, even a sensible, mature, intelligent 23-year-old such as mine.

Wow.

Um, mom? On the off chance you ever stumble across this blog?

Sorry.