Need some Post-Holiday De-stressing?

I don't know about you, but whenever I can steal some time to just sit and read, it improves my outlook on life. If it's something dark and humorless I feel better about my own life. If it's a bit dry and boring, I am usually being educated along the way. This doesn't count reading in bed, which for one thing, isn't sitting and for another, it just puts me to sleep. But that stolen hour mid-day, ah, that's the luxury. So it comes as no surprise that reasearch shows that reading improves mental wellbeing and reduces stress by 67%.

Acknowledging this fact, the Reading Agency in England has come up with a list of 'mood enhancing' books which will be promoted in libraries all over England in 2012. I assume that anyone with time to check out my blog, also must have time to read – or at the least should be making time – so as a public service here is the list...with my comments in parentheses.

The Beach Cafe by Lucy Diamond (chick-lit)
Being Human by Neil Astley (poetry)
The Big Over Easy by Jasper Fforde (detective humor – one of my very favorite authors, although I prefer his Thursday Next series)
Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani (part of a relationship series)
Cider with Rosie by Laurie Lee (memoir)
Couch Fiction: A Graphic Tale of Psychotherapy by Philippa Perry (graphic novel)
Haroun and the Sea of Stories by Salman Rushdie (children's)
Hector and the Search for Happiness by Francois Lelord (novel)
Life According to Lubka by Laurie Graham (humorous fiction)
Life with the Lid Off by Nicola Hodgkinson (memoir)
A Little History of the World by EH Gombrich (children's – but a good place for those of us without degrees in history to start)
Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson (fiction)
Men at Work by Mike Gayle (chick-lit)
Notes from a Small Island by Bill Bryson (travel – ANYTHING by this man will make you smile out loud)
Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver (fiction)
The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford (classic fiction – if you like this, go right straight to Love in a Cold Climate)
The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett (children's)
Smoke and Mirrors by Neil Gaiman (fantasy)
A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon (humor)
Stop What You're Doing and Read This! By Charlie Oatway (essays)
Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin (fiction)
That Awkward Age by Roger McGouch (poetry)
To the Moon and Back by Jill Mansell (chick-lit)
Trouble on the Heath by Terry Jones (Humor)
Waterlog by Roger Deakin (nature – just went to the top of my must read list)
A Winter Book by Tove Jansson (autobiographical stories)

You will note that this is not just a list of funny books, books that will make you laugh out loud or giggle, but books that will make you feel better about yourself, or the world. It's a wonderful genre-bending list and I particularly appreciate the inclusion of poetry and children's fiction. Some of my favorite books (such as Terry Pratchett's Tiffany Aching series) are considered children's or young adult. I like to think that I am a young adult, it's all a matter of perspective. Somewhere there must be a list of “Children's Books for Adults”, and when I find it, I will pass it on.

I would have added something (anything) by PG Wodehouse to this list. Also, something from Anthony Trollope's Barchester Chronicles, or one of the Miss Read books. All of these have been functional de-stressers for me at some point in my life.

I have only read about a quarter of the books on this list, but I can testify that they were all well chosen, so I tend to trust the rest of it. If I ever finish the stack of books beside my bed, and the stack next to my sofa, and the metaphorical stack on my Kindle, and (I must admit it) the stack in my bathroom...I'll know where to go next.

Radio On Line

It will come as no surprise to anybody that I listen to BBC Radio.  It started as my news source, which is a subject for another post, but became an addiction when I found myself home most of the day and began searching the BBC Radio website for other things to listen to.  Now, I pretty much have it on anytime I am in my studio, which between computer time and studio time is a large part of my day.

I barely remember the age of radio, I was in first or second grade when we got our first TV, but I have a lovely memory of being at my grandparents house and watching my grandfather lay on the floor with his head on a small pillow tucked into the bottom cavity of his big radio/phonograph console (where most people kept their records) listening to baseball games.  Grandma didn’t like them I guess, so this was his small but functional version of a man cave.

One of the comments often made about books or radio as opposed to TV or movies is that they  allow, even force, one to imagine what the people look like, where they are, and all the little details.  Often we come up with something much more colorful and exciting than a film director imagines.  Exactly like reading, radio stretches your imagination.  I am sure Grandpa saw each pitch, strike and home run as clearly as we might on TV, perhaps better.

Amazingly, in England, big names do radio – familiar voices pop up when you least expect it.   On any given day there are half a dozen different novels in progress, everything from Classics by Trollope and Hardy, genre novels by Dorothy Sayers, John LeCarre and Terry Pratchett, to new fiction.  You can go from an episode of 'Doctor Who' to a reading of Wordsworth’s autobiographical poem Prelude. 

Even more amazingly, they have panel and quiz shows that play to the highest common denominator rather than the lowest.  Okay, puns are considered the lowest form of humour, and British humour absolutely thrives on bad puns, but they are seldom looking for the joke in farts or projectile vomiting.

BBC Radio Four does adaptions of classic and current works of fiction and you can subscribe to a newsletter which tells you what is playing this week, what is coming up, and what is in production.  Don’t worry about the time difference, most all of the shows are available on the BBC iPlayer for up to a week after they air.

Radio Four Extra has a corner on comedy.  Classics like ‘Yes, Minister’ and ‘Dad’s Army’ familiar to those of us who watch public television as well as some oldies but goodies that never made it across the water and recent classics like ‘Little Britain’.

I could go on forever, but I have an episode of ‘Babysitting George’ to listen to.

March Madness

Whimsy has no place in my Mother’s life.  The fact that it has a very large place in mine is something that she has never come to terms with.  She is, above all things, a practical person.  For example, ask her what she thinks about birthdays…”Well, it’s just another day, really.”

As you can imagine, this has caused some strain in our relationship at times, but more  often just a great gap of understanding – like when I am trying to explain to her what I love about Terry Pratchett, or why I paid good money for a pair of earrings with a clay carrot on one ear and a peapod on the other.

But every spring, when the forsythias are in bloom, I think of something she did about 45 years ago when I was away at college.  And that usually leads me to thinking about something she did on my 16^th birthday.  And that makes me wonder if there was a pocket of impracticality, of whimsy, hidden somewhere deep inside.  Let me explain…

One of the first shrubs to burst into bloom here in the Pacific Northwest is the forsythia.  If there is one blooming, you can’t miss it – glorious yellow.  Not the loveliest shrub in general and very often pruned into a disaster, but glorious yellow branches that promise spring regardless of the temperature at the moment.  Smart folk cut long graceful branches as soon as you can see the bud and with just a day or two sitting in warm water you have brought spring into the house.

Now while the forsythia is coming into bud in Washington, snow still covers the ground in Montana.  So in my freshman year at Missoula, when I received an oddly shaped care package from home, I was amazed to find a carefully wrapped bunch of forsythia branches atop the batch of homemade cookies.  Two days later my dreary little dorm room had a burst of sunshine that brought tears to my eyes every time I walked into the room.  The only other time I was really homesick at school was when I got the measles.

The second memory is of sitting on the couch in the living room opening my 16^th birthday gift from my Mom.  Please note, no party, no family gathering, nothing special much except good wishes.  Mom prefaced the gift with a sort of mumbled statement about being a woman now and this was something every woman should have.  It was a lovely, if inexpensive, set of black lace underwear.  I am still shocked when I think of it.  I am pretty certain my mother herself never owned a matching set of black lace underwear and I can’t imagine her thinking a 16 year old had any need of such a thing.

I have been eternally grateful for those two lapses of practicality, or whimsy, or whatever you want to call it.  I treasure them each spring.  Now that I think of it, my birthday is in March, about when the forsythias bloom.  Perhaps there is something to that Mad as a March Hare business – for my Mother at least.