The Rest of the Story by Sarah Dessen

In Michigan, one is never more than 6 miles from a lake or 85 miles from one of the Great Lakes. It's the Water Wonderland--the Great Lakes State. When we go on vacation, we go to the lake. We have cabins and we rent cabins. We go camping, we stay at a resort. But there is usually water involved.

Lake Pentwater, MI

Once when we were camping along Lake Michigan, I went into town to see the 'tourist trap' stores. I remarked to a teen working at the marina, "what a beautiful place to live!" I got a scowl.

About ten years later my husband's work took us to that small resort town. And I understood. There were usually under 250 students in the entire K-12 school, the town closed down at the end of August, and the locals were much poorer than the summer folk at the marina and the summer 'cottagers'. They worked hard four months of the year when the rich came to play.

marina in Pentwater, MI

How could someone know you better than you knew yourself? Especially if they really didn't know you, not at all? from The End of the Story by Sarah Dessen

The Rest of the Story by Sarah Dessen takes place on one lake with two communities: the upscale tourist resort Lake North and the working class North Lake with its ramshackle cabins.

Lake St. Helen, MI 

Emma Saylor's mom came from North Lake; her dad was a summer sailing instructor at Lake North. Their marriage ended in divorce, and then Emma's mother died. Emma's father doesn't talk about her mother's roots.

Circumstances bring Emma to stay with her maternal grandmother in North Lake for three weeks during the summer. Her grandmother and cousins are strangers to Emma. But the Calvanders know all about her--Saylor.

Over the summer, Emma becomes Saylor, learning her mother's history, growing to love her mother's family, and taking the risks she has avoided all her life. You can make your life, or life can make you, she learns.

Lake Michigan during a storm

This was a nice summer read with great characters and lake ambiance while touching on deeper themes of class, anxiety issues, alcoholism, identity, and self-determination. Plus, there is a touch of romance. The hard-working, hard-partying teenager world is well developed, and a crisis brings a happy ending.

I won a copy of the book in a giveaway on The Quivering Pen run by David Abrams, author of Fobbit and Brave Deeds. My review is fair and unbiased.

The Rest of the Story
by Sarah Dessen
Baltzer & Bray
$19.99 hardcover

Summer Is

 Summer is about gardens.

 And visitors to the gardens.

 Flashes of color brighten the world.

 Summer is for growing good things to eat.

 And keeping the bunnies away from the good things to eat.

 Summer is watching the birds build their nests and raise their young.

 Summer is for relaxing.

 Summer is for working.

 Summer is for reading.

Summer is for projects that are not pretty but necessary, like new plumbing.

Summer is too short.

Earworms

The last few weeks have been rife with earworms. You know--music playing continually in one's head. 

There was Eric Satie's music which I listened to again after reading The Vexations by Caitlin Horrocks. In particular, The Gnossienne No.1 stayed in my head.

Satie's music was followed by Suite Judy Blue Eyes after reading The Fourteenth of September by Rita Dragonette. Her main character's nickname came from the Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young album that was such a hit in 1969-70.

Last week I finally saw Jersey Boys about the Four Seasons. Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You was one of the first 45 records I ever bought in 1966. I can sing all of the words, and it's in my range.

Last month I came across Songs My Mother Sang Me and I played it over and over on Youtube, then found I had piano music for it and have been trying to learn to play it. So heartbreaking.

During the July Fourth fireworks display, which takes place in the city park a block away, I took our grandpuppy into the finished basement to be away from the noise. I turned on my iPad music to Gordon Bok, songs which always felt calming. One of the songs I played was Seal Djiril's Hymn.

It broke my heart. The music has this sad wistfulness, this longing and regret.

The summer after I graduated from Temple University my husband and I went to the Philadelphia Folk Festival, camping in an open field. The music was a wonder. One of the singers we were introduced to was Camden Maine's Gordon Bok.

We were smitten by Bok's rich baritone voice and amazing instrumental skills. He sang the most beautiful songs about the sea and fishermen and a vanishing life, and rich legends and stories shared in song.

Seal Djiril's Hymn is sung by Bok and Anne Mayo Muir. You can hear it on Youtube here.

Long are the days gone, andiranda
Long down the sad and windy years
Long from the land of our desire

Rain comes and wind and snow, andiranda
Stormcloud and squall do shroud the sea
And peace shall follow us no more

Now through the hollowing green wave we wander
Long down the stormy seas and sad
Long from the land of our desire

Years when the sun was our provider
Milk of the meadows gathering
Winds brought the riches to our door

Now are the days come, andiranda
When to the seas again we go
Now do we cry for those green years

Why, when the winnowing sun was keeping
All of our harvest and our toil
Made we no peace among our kind?

Why, when the summering wave was swinging
And all our hills and trees were green
Did we not sow our fields with love?

Hearing the song again left me heartbroken. Because it was so long ago that we first heard Bok. Because of the place his music had in our shared life, including the mixed tape my husband made for when I was in labor with our son. Because it has been so many years since we last saw Bok in performance, when he and Anne Mayo Muir and Ed Trickett came to Lansing, MI, Bok ill and unable to sing. And because the song itself is so very, very poignant.

This month I turn 67. I think about how many years my parents and grandparents were allotted. The number of years still ahead in which I might be productive and leave something behind are limited.

I worry about the world and the future our son will have, wondering if freedom will continue or be lost, how quickly climate change will alter the world causing food shortages and mass migration and warfare over resources.

Yes, why have we made no peace among our kind and sown our fields with love?

I am troubled by so many things today. Climate change and water pollution and invasive species and wildfires. How government does not reflect the will of the people by moving forward with sensible gun control, enforcing voting rights, and protecting personal freedoms. How our country has chosen to embrace punitive measures to solve problems, creating mass incarceration and the immigration crisis.

Why, when the winnowing sun was keeping/All of our harvest and our toil/Made we no peace among our kind? /Why, when the summering wave was swinging/And all our hills and trees were green/Did we not sow our fields with love?

So, as I listened to these words from Gordon Bok during the July Fourth fireworks, I was nearly in tears. What have I done to make peace and sow love? What can I do in my remaining years?

It is not a new concern. As a girl I felt the push to DO something, suddenly shaken to wake up from the dream-state of mere living to claim a greater life.

At times, an airplane--no jet, not then-- droning
overhead would shake my world of make-believe to its roots
with reality's heavy awareness.
My heart would beat a faster tattoo, and restless,
disquieted, but directionless, I rushed outdoors 
to breath freer air, escape the restraint of walls,
to seek the questions I already felt swelling 
in my girl's breast, the mystery I could not name.
I only knew that I must shake off
girlhood's cushioned hermitage, to live and work, 
now, suddenly aware of mortality's unaccustomed weight, 
because I heard, and looked up from play,
to catch sight of a mystery outside my window, 
common, yet profoundly unsettling. 

excerpt from The View From Windows by Nancy A. Bekofske 

I thought that life as a clergy wife would allow me to do good in this world. Perhaps I did something--who knows. And these last years I thought that book reviewing would do some good, promoting books that enhance our understanding of others, the important issues of our time, helping to 'only connect'. And yes, to support writers, many of whom will be writing and influencing after I am gone.

Seal Djiril leaves the land and life as a man to return to the sea.

Now are the days come...When to the seas again we go...Now do we cry for those green years...

Did I waste my green years? What recompense can I make in these my last years? What is enough?

Earworms. Some come with memories. Some come with discomfort.

So now my personal playlist in my brains is looping a whole series of music, ranging over my entire life.

The Fourteenth of September by Rita Dragonette

The Fourteenth of September by Rita Dragonette is rooted in Dragonette's personal experience in 1969 and 1970 when daily body counts from Vietnam and the looming Draft Lottery was met by youth anti-war protests, culminating in the horror of the Kent State massacre.

The protagonist is a young woman on a WRAIN scholarship to become an army nurse, her meal ticket out of her dead-end town. But Judy decides she must understand the war and her values first by becoming involved with the campus Freaks in the anti-war movement.

circa 1968-9 art by teenage me

For Boomers like me, the novel covers familiar territory, rife with personal associations, from the long hair and the rock music to the political and social events.

The approach is fresh--the story of a young woman grappling with her future, her attitude toward the Vietnam War, pushing herself to determine what she believes.

May 7 student protest against the escalation of war and Kent State
in the Herald, Kimball  student newspaper

I got Judy's motivation.

In 1969 as a high school junior, I wrote anti-war poetry for the school paper but dated a boy in the Civil Air Patrol, the armed service in his future. He needed the structure and discipline CAP offered him, his home life dysfunctional.

1969 Herald with my poem

In 1970 at a small college campus divided into Greeks, Freaks, and GDIs (God Damed Independents) I found myself friends with a Freak with long hair and long fringed coats, kids who smoked pot, clean-cut Vietnam Vets returned to finish their education, long-haired Vietnam Viets with jaded stories, Sorority girls, and everyone in between. I wanted to know all kinds of people, to be nonjudgmental, but stay true to my values.

But Judy was grappling with more than me; I knew I would not be drafted, while I knew the boys were worried. I felt guilty. But I was 'safe.'

The post-war generation was not the first or the last to question the judgment and decisions of those in authority. Each generation must find their moral compass, and chose how to respond. Today's young heroes stand up for gun control and women's rights and inclusion.

Kimball High School, Royal Oak MI newspaper photograph
of October 15, 1969 Moratorium demonstration in Memorial Park

I asked Dragonette questions about her motivation for writing the novel, if it was cathartic to have written the events in fiction, and how her story relates to the current youth-led protests.

I lived through many of the incidents of the time period and, probably because I was always the participant-observer writer, I knew that there were things that happened that absolutely had to be recorded and remembered. I waited years to see if they would be by other novelists, but no. 

I had a friend (he's on my acknowledgments page) who sent me a letter after graduation telling me that there was a story to be told and I was the one to tell it.  Well, if you tell someone like me--who is ridiculously responsible something like THAT---it's quite the monkey on your back.

I've always been very interested in the role of women in war. My mother was a nurse in WWII who did really amazing things (i.e. she was in Patton's Army doing meatball surgery on the front in a tent, helping to liberate Stalag 11 in Germany) and saw far more action than my father, but was undervalued because she was "only a nurse," versus my father whose life was on the line.

When I heard the stories they didn't make sense. I had two parents, both of whom were doing something equally patriotic, important, and dangerous, and it didn't seem logical to value their specific experiences differently.

When it came to the war of my generation I saw the same issues--[women told that] you can't possibly understand what we men are going through-- and I wanted to present a case to make it clear that we are in wars as a generation, a country---not as a gender.

I wanted to pose a female dilemma that was every bit as fraught and intense as the decision that had to be faced by the men of the time (1969-70).

There are two articles in the Featured Articles section of the Media tab in my web site that also talk about this at www.ritadragonette.com. Specifically, there is a highly-fictionalized version of an actual incident in the book where a vet is dissed in an anti-war meeting. I remember that, and how I felt that someone needed to stop it but it couldn't be me because I was a girl and no one would listen to me. It was the only time in my life I ever felt like a coward---and yes, writing about it--and the whole book--was cathartic--did help me understand it better as an adult and dissect the impulse.  I never let myself feel that way again.

I think we write--which is arduous  and why would we choose to do that?--because we have stories that must be told to bear witness, to instruct. When we write we share our personal experience and point of view on an issue we feel is significant and not yet explored.

It's not therapy (though I'm sure that helps), but it gives value to experience and feelings. I feel that we learn our history from facts and nonfiction but we understand it through narrative.

My story is based on some of the things that happened in my life and some of it was easier to write about than other parts. The mother scenes were excruciating. She wasn't exactly my mother, but any time you write about a parent real life comes through. I still cry over the fate of certain characters--one was real and another was made up whole-cloth.

I also don't feel this time in history has been sufficiently covered. Vietnam is the Voldemort of wars--we feel bad because we lost, there were atrocities, we treated our vets badly. So we don't teach or talk about it. But there are important lessons to be learned.

Thank God for the time frame (it's been 50 years), Ken Burns, and the availability of unclassified information. Now we can look at it dispassionately, more like WWII.

I'm glad that part of the legacy of Vietnam is that we've been extra cautious about getting involved in other conflicts (not totally, but we don't rush in to save the world) and so far there has never been a draft; we've learned that we owe vets the world, etc.

WRAIN was like ROTC but I'm not sure the guys had to enlist before graduation; WRAIN members did. They were told it was an unbreakable commitment unless they got pregnant. Part of the absurdity is that you see it really wasn't. Later I found out more than a few guys got out of ROTC. I also learned that you could get out of WRAIN if you just told them you didn't want to be a nurse--they didn't want to be shafted for all that tuition without payback. Lots of Catch 22 stuff still goes on in the military but Judy took it seriously, her dilemma is dead serious--she believed more than they did. Just like the war. Just like young people do and should. What's the parallel?  Guys were drafted and went because they were told they had too. Yet many bought their way out...

See my MS. magazine story (click here to read) about how the activists of my time were similar to the Parkland kids. It says it all. Social media beats the streets. Our issue was the war--there was death (no draft means no marches), and civil rights, early feminism. I love how [today's young adults] care about climate change (we could barely get Earth Day going in l970), LGBT, etc. As far as women's rights--it's an ongoing battle. We should go to war over men trying to control women's bodies--we are re-litigating issues settled long ago. It's the hamster wheel of history. We need to go forward not backward.

Progress is hard-won but fragile. If that's true, we are doomed to the hamster wheel of history and we're capable of more than that. We can STILL change the world.

Rita Dragonette

*****

The novel has won six awards including the National Indie Excellence Award for new fiction and book cover design.

Visit Dragonette's website to learn more about The Fourteenth of September. You will find excerpts, the song playlist, the trailer, an more.

I received a free book through a giveaway on the Facebook group American Historical Novels. My review is unbiased.

The Fourteenth of September (Paperback)
By Rita Dragonette
She Writes Press
ISBN: 9781631524530
Publication Date: September 18, 2018
Paperback $16.95, Kindle $8.69

*****

Further Reading:
Read my review of 67 Shots: Kent State and the End of American Innocence
by Howard Means here
The Given World by Maria Palaia tells about a woman whose brother is MIA in Vietnam, my review here

Every Note Played by Lisa Genova

Lisa Genova's novel Every Note Played is her homage to Richard Glatzer, director of the movie Still Alice which was based on Genova's book. Glatzer had ALS and directed the movie by typing on an iPad with one finger. He died shortly after Julianne Moore received an Academy Award for her role in the movie.

The novel offers an unflinching and detailed recreation of how ALS destroys a man's ability to voluntarily move his muscles. And it shows the impact of ALS on family members, the financial burden, and the gut-wrenching choices patients are faced with.

Concert pianist Richard's career is stopped when symptoms of ALS affect his performance. He is still in the early stages when his ex-wife Karina learns of his situation and is compelled to visit him. 

When Karina realizes there is no one to care for Richard, she invites him back into their family home. While she takes on more of his care, both she and Richard grapple with their past history and their personal culpability in the demise of their marriage. Richard must also make amends with his estranged daughter, father, and brothers.

At times the book feels 'teachy' as Genova is a neuroscientist and does want to educate readers. But she does a wonderful job of creating characters that readers can connect to and care about. 

ALS is a disease that gives me the chills. As a teenager, I heard about a woman in a wheelchair whose husband set her in front of a television when he left for work. He did not know if she was sentient. To be imprisoned in one's body and unable to communicate or respond to pain or bodily needs is a nightmare come true.

And yet Genova manages to create a hopeful and whole acceptance for her characters. We are not left in despair. We are left in awe of the human spirit.

I received a free book from the publisher through GoodReads in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.

I previously read Inside the O'Briens by Lisa Genova. Read my review here.

Find a Reading Group Guide and Excerpt at

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Every-Note-Played/Lisa-Genova/9781476717814

Every Note Played

by Lisa Genova

Published January 29, 2019 

Gallery/Scout Press 

ISBN 1476717818 (ISBN13: 9781476717814)

$16 paperback

Helen Korngold Diary: July 7-13, 1919

Helen Korngold, Dec. 1919, New York City

This year I am sharing the 100-year-old diary of Helen Korngold of St. Louis, MO. After Helen graduated from Washington University she went on a family trip to Pike's Peak and other tourist spots in Colorado.

July
Monday 7

Walked thru Garden of the Gods – sandstone & granite – 5-mile hike – quite interesting but not so pretty – went to movie in evening.

Tuesday 8

Pretty tired. I like the Monument Park – lunched at Elks – home – wrote cards – slept.

Wednesday 9

Left for Estas – had a fine trip, met some nice people. Staying at Crags. Exterminated all the moths & bugs.

Thursday 10

Looks pretty nice out here. Rested all day – beautiful place. Lovely mountains. The cays – just in front of which is Big Thompson Stream – Very lovely.

Friday 11

Went down to village. Met a boy from N.Y. Interesting. Looked around shops quite a bit. Home – Had a campfire dinner. Liked it very much.

Saturday 12

Went to village with Burots (?). Met N.Y. again. Quite interesting. Home – slept – rested well. I love this place. Met Edith Johnson & Mary Barkdall, lovely girls. Also a Mr. Mitchell – too gay. Met Mr. & Mrs. Neiman – darling.

Sunday 13

Girls & I having a fine time. Edith & I went to village – met Dave – went to his hotel, played violin & sang. Had a dandy time. Home. Sat around & talked & ate.

NOTES:

The Garden of the Gods

The Rocky Mountain National Park was established in 1915 and the city of Estes Park was established in 1917. The Korngolds were part of the early 20th c rise in tourism, thanks to trains and motor cars improving transportation to scenic areas.

Learn more about Estes Park at https://www.visitestespark.com/estes-park-centennial/estes-park-history/

Estes Park main street in 1912

July 12

At the beginning of Helen's diary is a page of addresses, including Mary and Edith's.

Mary E. Barkdall, 1534 W Garfield Blvd, Chicago Ill

Mary was born in 1880. On November 27, 1919, she married Emery E. Jett. They had a son Emery Emmett Jett. Mary's parents were William M. Barkdall (1850-1927) and Elizabeth Taylor (1853-1921). There is a family tree on Ancestry.com

Edith Helen Johnson, 7914 S Carpenter St, Chicago, Ill 808-175 W Jackson

November 1919 article in Daily Sentinel, Grand Junction CO
"...believes that we are hiding our light, not under a bushel, but behind sage brush covered hills, and that not only should there be a campaign of publicity, intended to bring tourists to this city, but that local residents should be awakened to the real beauty and Importance of the Monument."


August 1919 article Daily Sentinel
The article states that trains to Colorado Springs were filled to capacity, breaking all records.

Helen Korngold Diary: June 30-July 6, 1919

Helen Korngold, Dec. 1919, New York City

Every Saturday in 1919 I am sharing excerpts from the 1919 diary of Helen Korngold of St. Louis, MO.

The summer after graduating from Washington University, Helen visited her uncle Joseph Frey at Colorado Springs, CO. She went to the new tourist destination of Pike's Peak.

June
Monday 30
Orchestra party

July
Tuesday 1
Wild – Leaving for Colorado – nice trip – but car sick

Wednesday 2
Missed our train in Pueblo but arrived in Colo. Springs o.k. Dined at Elks & met one. J. W. certainly had a time of it.

Thursday 3
Rented new quarters. Shopped. Mts are gorgeous looking. Went all over Colo. Springs. It’s a nice, clean town – I can’t realize how beautiful the mts are. Just look at them all day.

Friday 4
Motored to Pikes Peak. 1800 miles from Colo. Springs. 2’hd miles above sea level –We went with some people named Dunn – very lovely folks. We were far above the clouds – quite thrilled. The peak is gorgeous – beautiful view.

Saturday 5
Took long Cripple Creek Drive – 210 miles – saw Gorge (Royal) – climbed down – almost fell off- thrilling! Gorgeous granite & rock formations – beautiful scenery – cool & refreshing drive.

Sunday 6

Broadmoor Hotel – golf – swimming & dinner. Very comforting – loving place. Went then came up winds - most wonderful limestone formations – beautiful crystal & stalagmites & stalagmites – one of the prettiest I have ever seen.

NOTES:

from The Jewish Voice, July 11, 1919

the Broadmoor Hotel

Colorado Springs and Pikes Peak were fashionable and upscale resorts. Helen stayed in the Broadmoor Hotel, built by Spenser Penrose in 1918. It featured a golf course with a women’s locker room, quite a novel idea, and also offered the largest indoor pool in the West. The ballroom had marble pilasters, plum colored wall curtains, and crystal chandeliers. The floor was made of layers of wood and springs for dancing! Also offered was horseback riding.

Broadmoor Hotel offered modern facilities

Broadmoor Hotel accommodations

The bedrooms were carpeted in olive green with a small pattern. The paneled walls were French Gray. Scrim curtains and figured cretonne drapes dressed the windows. The rooms had glass topped dressers, a silk shaded light, a chiffonier, table desk, twin beds with silk coverlets, an upholstered armchair, and a nightstand with a phone. The bathrooms were tiled in white with white porcelain fixtures. A green bath matt gave a splash of color.

the Pauline Chapel

The Pauline Chapel was built in the spring of 1919 and was named for Penrose’s daughter.

Motor Touring Pike's Peak

Later Helen and family removed to the Hotel Craggs, another legendary hotel. They motored to Pikes Peak, Longs Peak, The Garden of the Gods, Monument Park, Fall River and the Big Thompson River.

vintage image of Hotel Craggs

Garden of the Gods