Wild: a Review

Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
by Cheryl Strayed

Strayed was raised in Minnesota, and now lives in Portland, Oregon. Her writing has appeared in a number of magazines. She's the winner of many writing prizes too many to list.. She has an MFA. She's married to the filmmaker, Brian Lindstrom, and has two children.

WILD is such an award winner, it is being published in eighteen other languages and has been optioned for film by Reese Witherspoon's movie production company, (Pacific Standard).

A friend of mine not only suggested I read it, but insisted. I didn't understand why. After all, I am not a wilderness backpacking kind of person. But Brian knows me well enough to realize I would enjoy this memoir even before it became a #1 New York Times bestseller.

How many of you have gone to Burning Man? Gone camping or backpacking overnight? Just think about it a minute. Lots of things can go wrong. How well prepared were you? How many would NEVER want to do those things? In either case, one does not need to have had a wilderness experience to enjoy this book.

This memoir is about how, when at age 22, Cheryl’s mother dies. Her grief is so strong it obliterates everything she ever thought she was. She drops out of college with one class to go. She causes the demise of her marriage, and takes on a lot of dangerous self-destructive behavior. Her life falls apart and by the end of four years she is lost and disconnected, unable to find purpose. Her life is going nowhere and she wants to make a major change. She wants to heal herself. She wants to leave that old life behind her and make a fresh start. So, she decides to hike from the Mojave desert to the Oregon border following the Pacific Crest Trail. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t do that by walking a thousand miles all by myself... alone,....  out in the wilderness without the necessities of life! I think I’d rather do a stint for a week of Burning Man with 50,000 wild people if I wanted to effect a major change!

The author’s style of writing easily takes you directly into her feelings of grief, loss, and questioning identity we have all experienced. She writes facts clearly and does an excellent job presenting details without bogging down. One thing in particular I liked about the way she wrote her memoir is that she is able to create a vivid scene to grab you in, then switch back to the base story behind it. I usually don’t like that in a book, but found her writing seamless, sensibly honest and yet shockingly bold, raw and intimate. She bares her soul like an open wound. Her descriptions of nature are so vivid that if you didn’t know she was alone on that trail, you might think you were with her.

Anyone could tell the tale of their wilderness experience, but very few could tell it with the same impact. I'd like to say this was a book I couldn't put down. I'd like to say it's a complete read through, that it took only a day to read. Nope! Not the case for me. Truly it's a page turner. But, like a beautiful work of art, I could only absorb so much in one sitting, it was so intense and rich. Yet, I couldn't wait to get back to reading it again as soon as possible. And I have now read it twice.

This memoir will resonate with anyone who has struggled with life's challenges even if one has no desire to go backpacking. I think Wild has a universal appeal. It's what Joseph Campbell referred to as "The Hero's Journey".

Sometimes life brings challenges that beat us down. We all learn something from those circumstances. Sometimes it takes years to realize what an impact our experiences have had on us. One thing we all do is gain inner strength and wisdom whether we realize it at the time or not. That's what Cheryl wrote about, and she waited twenty years to let the experiences sink in and help her to look retrospectively upon that time in her life when she literally took her life in her own hands rather than continue to suffer the path she was taking. I found the book very inspiring. To me this is the Hero... stepping out in blind faith seeking a truth only she could find. And like so many of us, it is what happens to us on the way to where we are going and how we handle it that is “The Journey”.

What can you do when you find yourself on a path, nowhere near civilization and you are suffering from freezing cold, or hunger, or dehydration in the desert? Or facing off with bears, rattlesnakes, and other wild animals? What can you do? You just have to keep going. This was the thing I found most appealing about her story. She makes it clear without any pretense that you have no other choice but to put one foot in front of the other regardless of the circumstances and keep going. Sometimes you make decisions that you regret and then you have to make new choices about how you will go on. But, truly you just have to keep going. That's what life is about. Isn't it?

This is a book that will make even the most stoic person weep. So, if you read it, unless you want to make a spectacle of yourself, don't do so at your local Starbucks or any place else in public..

I was so deeply touched by this book and very happy to learn Cheryl would be speaking at the Capitola Book Cafe, I could hardly wait. But, I was too ill that day to attend. My disappointment was so strong that two weeks later, I drove 120 miles to Point Reyes to hear her speak. It was well worth the effort, and when I told her that my friend, Brian, encouraged me to read her book I had to laugh when she said... “Oh? Brian is my best friend!”

It's funny how things are connected.

Mom's Best Friend 1960 Letter

Darrell and Myrna Wakely 1950's

For historical and genealogical reference:

December 14, 1960

Dearest Gennie,

Well I guess it’s time I answered your letters.

It sure has been cold for the last 2 days. But then, I guess it’s nothing compared to what you are getting up North!

Jerry and Darrell are both working for a fruit packing co. Jerry going on 2 weeks and Darrell one. It seems good to not have them under foot, but I miss my babysitter.

Roy is working from 12 AM until 8 am. So he is home all day now and it’s just like a mad house. I never get my work done. I hate it.

I was so in hopes we would be in the house by xmas. But that is another dream up in smoke. He hasn't done anything since it was plastered and tiled except make five windows and fix one closet. I guess he isn't going to. I asked him today if we couldn't buy the furnace. He says, “what with?” and we really aren't that hard up. God, he is a pinch penny. I don’t blame him for not wanting to spend all he has in the bank. But I don’t see how he can take this place either.

At least he has been home every day for nearly 2 weeks. I don’t know what happened to him. But I hope it continues

Gee, xmas will soon be here and I don’t have a bit of xmas spirit. Do you? I don’t like the holidays anymore.

Well I have all my uppers out except four and I've really had a time with them. My face was black and blue. This is the second week, and I've had enough jaw bone out to make a soup!

Well anyway they are all better now and I’m not going back until after xmas, as he said I need a rest and I agree, It sure took a heck of a lot out of me.

Roy Wakely, Erie, PA 1950's

Dam, my feet are cold. Mr. Brandy and Princess are sleeping. That is good, as I could just take one and knock the other in the head. I don’t usually feel that way

I sure hope your problems are dissolving and your life will be happier. At the best, life is hard isn't it? I've already received some xmas cards. I almost feel like Scrooge. Bah Humbug!

I haven’t seen Myrna and kids since Friday but I guess they are all fine.

I've got to go to the toilet and Roy is in there. Guess he has rented it. It sure look’s funny to see him stand there with the toilet seat in his one hand and Ha Ha in the other. Then, when you want to flush the dam thing, you have to reach on the back as the handle is broke. Well I hope he freezes his hand. Then maybe he will get busy. It’s been like that for about a year. Then he wonders why I bitch.

I've just got to get me some warmer clothes.

Wanda’s daughter is in the hospital. At first they thought she had polio or a virus infection of the spine but they still don’t know what it is. She can’t walk. Well anyway I guess she is better but still can’t walk.

I guess my husband is looking at furnaces in the catalogue. I hope he buys one, as I’m mean when I’m cold. And I’m cold.

Well I can’t think of any more this time except I love you very much, and when you are unhappy so am I. Just remember that everyone has problems.

The best way is to pray, and you really get the strength to go on. I know that the Lord is up there, and I know that it has sure helped me to keep my senses in my hum drum world because when I need Him, I can just feel Him. So, I know that He will help me, and protect me. Well, anyway, it is a wonderful feeling. And without that thought, I doubt that I could stay sane, as sometimes it’s pretty rough around here.

I don’t pray for me. I pray the Lord will just comfort me and give me strength. I'd I swear I do get strength, almost like I could feel His presence, and I know I’m not worthy. But I pray to Him a lot and hope, in my feeble way, He forgives me and loves me. I've never told this to anyone. But I hope you try it. Because if I couldn't have this feeling, I’d be more lost than even you was. At best, there is very little pleasure or comfort around here so, you see, I sure need something strong to cling to.

Love always
Laura and All

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Laura Wakely is my "Godmother", always called her "Aunt" Laura
Roy Wakely is my "Godfather", always called him Uncle Roy. He had black hair
Myrna Wakely is their daughter, (first born) was blond and pin-curled my hair
Darrell Wakely is their son. He had big blue eyes and was quite tall and my brother's best friend
I was baptized in St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, NF, NY
They were not Episcopalian, but somehow that issue was avoided. If I recall correctly Aunt Laura was a Baptist.

Princess and Brandi were their dogs. They always had pets and Laura was very fond of them.

They previously lived at 812 Ross St. Erie, Pennsylvania and moved to Cocoa Beach, Merritt Island, Florida. This letter to my Mom was written there.

At this date (2012) Laura and Roy have passed away. I believe Myrna (Courtney) and Darrell still live in Florida.

I don't know who Jerry is.

James Deane for President

He's my Daddy

He comes home from work
wearing his grey striped
overalls covered with
Vanadium dust.

I think he is the
President
of the United States
I'm close.
He is the President
of his Union

"Carry me. Carry me."
I whine and beg.

He's so tall,
when he lifts me up,
I can feel the sky!
Well, not the sky, really,
but the ceiling is
almost the sky.

I can touch the place
where he fell through
one day, when he worked
fixing something in the attic
as I sat in my high chair
just a moment before.

They tell me I wasn’t there,
That it happened to my brother.
Perhaps I was there,
Waiting to be born.

Elizabeth Munroz

Longing

A mother's love is unrequited

when the years have gone by

and the nest is empty.


It's not true

that life goes on

without them.


Life, goes with them.

That's why they call it

an empty nest.

~~
Elizabeth Munroz

Dedicated to my mother, and my kids, grand kids and great grand kids.

Goodbye Summer

Goodbye Summer
by Ashley Sue Moore



September's come and gone
the days have left me hurting
and stuck between the crossfire.
You and I were happy once
we fell in love ....
Shot with 8mm HD App
Song and lyrics by Ashley Sue Moore
Copyright 2012

Hunger Games Song

There's a book called Hunger Games, which was made into a movie. I'm admittedly unfamiliar with the book and movie. Of course this confession will probably have my younger family members up in arms. Especially since my teen granddaughter has posted a youtube video of her "cover" for a Taylor Swift song that's in the movie. Keep your eye on her, 'cause she's going to be a famous star someday! Without further ado, I present Chloe:


 

Beauty in Sadness?

Sadness is like an empty church
cold, but suggestive of the untouchable.
A tinge of hope lingers in the soul
with a wish for comfort
a desire beyond desire
for that place called home.

It's where the eyes ache
with unrealized tears,
the throat feels too small
to cry out or moan
to assuage the loneliness.

Yes, sadness is a place
confined and trapped
a place inviting escape.
Listen, outside the birds
are silent in the darkness.

It's too much to grasp.
to stretch a hand out in need.
In lassitude, the sadness
holds tight the promise
of freedom.

In beauty vines entwine
but strangle the fence.
Sadness demands fidelity,
demands attention.
Taste the tears and sigh.

by Elizabeth Munroz

What does it take to be a good writer? A shy withdrawn personality with awkward social skills? A mind lost in contemplation and fantasy? Being called loony, insane? A diagnosis of Schizophrenia? That's what Janet Frame thought the requirements were for several decades of her life. It made it difficult for her as well as others. Yet, her belief and her personality helped make her a poet, a good story teller and an award winning author. It's too bad she was misdiagnosed. She really didn't need the stigma of thinking herself a crazy woman!

Janet Frame was born in New Zealand of a simple hard working railroad man, and a brilliant woman with a "high class" ancestry. She led a life of material poverty juxtaposed to literary wealth. She was fortunate her mother was well versed in poetry, literature, and music. Like a bubbling spring she continually blessed her children with her treasures along with their milk. Yet, the best gift of her childhood was a fascination with words so strong that she actually collected them throughout her life, the way others collect figurines or baseball cards. Janet wrote of her earliest collected words:

"I remember learning to spell and use these words: decide, destination, and observation, all of which worked closely with adventure. I was enthralled by their meaning and by the fact that all three seemed to be part of the construction of every story --- everyone was deciding, having a destination, observing in order to decide and define the destination and know how to deal with the adventures along the way. Partly as a result of the constant coming and going of our relatives and of our own shifting from place to place, I had an exaggerated sense of movement and change, and when I found I could use this necessary movement to create or notice adventures I was overjoyed."

I once caught the tail end of a PBS program called "An Angel at my Table" about Janet Frame's life.  I was so fascinated, I kept wishing I had seen the beginning and one day learned it was being aired again. Needless to say, I made sure I watched it. Was the story exaggerated? How could someone live such an impoverished and tragic life and make a success of it? The film director, Jane Campion, who produced the movie, was enthralled with Janet Frame's novels from the age of fourteen, and many years later she visited her odd eccentric home.

 " ...she took me through the house and showed me how she worked. Each room and even parts of rooms were dedicated to a different book in progress. Here and there she had hung curtains to divide up the rooms like they do in hospital wards to give the patients privacy. On the desk where she had last been working was a pair of earmuffs.


"I can't bear any sound," she explained... "

It was amazing to me that Janet Frame had become a well published author with her history of mental instability. She claimed New Zealanders had been so starved for something to read that they accepted her. That doesn’t explain, though, why they gave her every possible award for her works. I think she obviously deserved them. She also became so well known in Europe and the United States that the year before she died; in 2003, at the age of 80, she had been nominated for the Nobel prize for literature. That's more than sufficient evidence she was a talented writer. It's probably a good thing she didn't win, as she might have been burdened by the two million dollar award. Even after all those years and success, she still led an incredibly simple life eschewing grandeur. I suspect she would not have known what to do with the money.

I chose Janet's autobiography based upon my deep interest in her life as portrayed in the movie, and correlations to my own. I wanted very much to learn her style and what she might reveal about her writing journey. One problem we all seem to have is that a movie never really captures a book we have enjoyed. However, it is just the opposite in this case. I'm glad I never read her biography first. Otherwise, I would not have bothered to watch the movie. I sadly trudged my way reading through her autobiography. At 435 pages it is not a fast read!

Her life story had originally been published in three volumes. (To The Is-land, An Angel at My Table, and The Envoy from Mirror City) But, I went for the copy that included them all. Except for the first section, I was so disappointed I almost decided to give it up. However, I felt compelled to present her story, and continued to read as I had put so much emotional and time investment into this project.

I had been hungry to absorb the intriguing details of her life as presented in the film. I wanted to learn more about the tidbits I found in researching what the critics and historians wrote about her and sought diligently for them in her autobiography. But, the cohesive details were lost to me. Her life story was boringly written as though a news reporter was presenting dry facts. This interrupted the flow of the her gifted prose so well done in her novels. You might say, then, why did I bother to continue reading, if it was so bad? Wanting so much to complete my own life story, I was searching for this mysterious power she had to write poetry and fiction and her own autobiography, that won her so much acclaim. Someone had found her writing more than acceptable, not only in New Zealand, but in other parts of the world, too. What more was there than the intriguing vignettes of her life I had seen in the movie? What made this woman tick? And what could I learn from her to improve my own writing?

What a dichotomy when comparing it to her fiction!!!

Even though I did not find Janet Frame’s autobiography to be the enjoyable read I had hoped to have, I gained a lot from it. I learned more of her personal life that explained her eccentricities. Perhaps she was a high functioning autistic as some have said. What I gained was the knowledge that to write is to write, to organize, to set aside time, to stay out of the way of distractions. All aspiring writers know this. Yes? But, foremost, I learned from Janet Frame, HOW she did this.

Story of a Dreamer

He sat on my knee and talked to me all night long -----every night, while I slept.  His voice penetrating my dreams and the dark spaces between.  Sometimes, in the lucid dreamstate he had taught me, I strained to listen.

“What was that you said?”  I asked, but he seldom repeated anything, as though he must continue piling message upon message.  Sometimes I just let him drone on in his stream of consciousness way.  Sleeping through much of it, I didn't’t attempt to stay lucidly awake.  It just wasn’t humanly possible.  Yet, I knew every word was of utmost importance.  After all these years, I thought it would sink in on its own volition.  The sleeping brain being a sponge, and all.


In the beginning we did this only a little bit. But as time went by, and his appearance altered from one being to another, the messages became more detailed, more intense and instructive. It was very satisfying on one level and very startling on another, as the things I learned began to bleed through into my daily life. A subtle intimacy had developed between us. I hadn't realized until later.


It was the night he sat on my knee, like a little shaman when he nudged my mind with urgency, “Now, pay attention.  You need to pay attention!”

“Okay, okay.  I’m awake.”  But, barely. I tried not to drowse but I couldn’t keep focused through the haziness of twilight sleep.

“I have to leave you,” he said.  “You have one year to live,”  he said.

That woke me up fast.  I tried to sit up, but he gently laid me back down, relaxed.


“You must learn this!” He urged. My attention was focused deeply.  “Good,” he intoned.


He led me through a new practice.  Traveling through my body beginning at my feet and working upward, with specific instructions for breathing and tonal qualities.  Fearful that I might miss something of his one-time-over instructions, I concentrated deeply, doing exactly as he said, observing each step of the way, experiencing, with as much clarity as I could muster, the newness of it all.  Yet somehow this was familiar.  Hadn’t we done this before?  We left the solar plexus and rose up to heart.  I opened to love and compassion and we floated there a moment.  Suddenly he reached into my chest and pulled my ribcage apart yanking it wide open.  The excruciating pain of it was more than anything I had ever experienced before; more severe than childbirth, more than bone cancer surgeries, more than falling in love, more than hating.  That kind of pain was nothing I could escape. It woke me completely.

“Look!” he said.

I obeyed, looking down from a great distance into the gaping wound of my heart in total amazement.  The pain disappeared, replaced by the magnificence of a brilliantly, pulsating spiral. The Universe alive before me, within me, all around me. Bliss..... Cool, deep, dark soothing velvet embrace of timelessness....


Just being.....in this all encompassing spaciousness beyond thinking...beyond words.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. So, eternity ended and I followed him back up to my throat where, surprisingly, he repeated the instructions precisely, without the spectacular accompanying visual effects until I was able to recall them verbatim.

“I have to go now,” he said. And was gone.


The pain in my chest was nothing compared to the resulting grief of losing my twenty-five year long relationship with my beloved teacher.  I didn’t even know his name.  Did he ever have one?  Didn’t matter. The apparition that had become such a part of me no longer existed.


Copyright: Elizabeth Munroz  

Cousins

Thinking of my nephew, Raj today. This is him on the left. My son, Xavier on the right. Me above.

The boys are about fourteen or fifteen years old so pic was taken about 1988-9 in New Castle, Indiana

Dream of Mom and Dad

Dream of Mom and Dad
Feel so sad
Grief
Heavy grief

I get a message
from beyond
"see Brother Frank"
"talk to Brother Frank"

He can tell you
what you need to know.
The message is strong
it's fervent, impressing me.

I  don't want to
see Brother Frank.
I want Mom
I want Dad
I dont need preachers

Then the text
messages begin.
Messages from Mom?
Could they be from Dad?

All of them religious
one after another
messages from the dead?
or a hoax?

~~~~~~~~~~~
Photo is of my parents taken in the 1980's at Canyon Country California
They are no longer with us.
This month Mom would have celebrated her 92nd birthday.

The Green Green Grass of Home

Aromas, California, earthquake country. Just had a couple good kaboom shakers a couple days ago! These pics pinpoint the exact spot. What an interesting life I lead. Standing in my kitchen, I heard/felt a BIG SLAM! I wondered if someone had crashed their car into the front of my house. But, a few seconds later, another SLAM. Well, of course a little quake. My, but it was a noisy one for only a 3 pointer. But if you're standing right over it, of course you feel it!

~~~~~
Note: photos by me

Divorce is Not Always the End

I had an unpleasant surprise today. My ex-husband died. He went in for an endoscopy. They sent him home after 45 minutes. In four hours he was coughing up blood. A short time later he was found unconscious, by his wife. Though and ambulance arrived, they were unable to save him.

For anyone reading this, please don't be in a hurry to go home after a procedure like this. Obviously the possibility of biopsy ended up badly. Also, if you ever cough up blood afterwards, get yourself back to the hospital. 

My daughter is beside herself, as are my grandkids. I am shocked. He was in good health, and only a year older than I am. I'm still in disbelief and sad for him, his wife, his kids from both marriages.

I guess once I drive the 400 miles to his funeral then it will sink in. It's kind of ironic. Isn't it? Here I am with Leukemia and doing well. He was doing fine and all of a sudden, died. 

Well, I guess it's true. And I mean this with no disrespect, but we all gotta go sometime. I know he would have preferred it the quick way and that is what happened. 

But, it's still hard on my daughter.

Rest in Peace, Duane W. Shuman. You will not be forgotten. 

Just Journaling

I have UVerse for my internet. It's been a pain in the arse! I was actually "tricked" into signing up with them. There was a commercial that AT&T kept running. It stated you could dump your home phone and still be able to use internet. They didn't specify it had to be their internet, though...UVerse.

I already had a local internet provider that I was very satisfied with. If I had any problems I could even take my computer in to the office and they would look at it. Not many internet service providers do that! But, I had dumped my home phone service which I got through them, AT&T cut off my connection to my local internet provider. After a month of going crazy without services (boy oh boy am I ever addicted to the internet!) and checking out all available sources, I was forced to take on UVerse for a year contract. I have until June before my contract with them runs out. I am hoping I can get reconnected with my original service.

Listening to the beautiful harp music from the CD I bought from Laura Simpson, the lady who was playing the harp at UCSF Medical Center. Sure is peaceful.

No wonder the harp is often portrayed as being an instrument of angels!

I've been attending college, but not going for a degree. I haven't the energy. When I had the bone cancer, I took a lot of courses and took them as credit-no credit courses as I didn't want to worry about a grade. I just wanted to enjoy life, not knowing how long I might have to live. Now it has come back to bite me in the backside. They have now changed the rules and all those previous courses are considered to be under "probationary status". This would normally prevent me  from attending, but as a disabled student, I can get that status rescinded each semester by a counselor. I only took one class last semester... memoirs writing. I've completed quite a bit the last two semesters. I was hoping I could repeat the class, but they have now dropped the class offering. The instructor will be teaching a different class next semester which I hope to add. I'm on the waiting list for it right now. It will be a combination of writing styles, poetry, fiction, essay, and some memoir.

I feel more inspired to write if there are others writing too. I haven't written a thing since last semester ended. I really do want to publish. I will do it myself. I have two author friends. One who has published in book form and one who has published in Ebook form. I will probably go the Ebook way. I can do it all myself. If a publisher likes my work, they can then publish in book form. But, I doubt anyone wants to publish a book about a woman fighting cancer all her life who also happens to be a low level Bi-polar. But, I do have contact with about 3,000 chondrosarcoma patients who might be interested in buying the Ebook. I'm not after money, just want to share my experiences in case it will help someone else to get through the same thing.

While I was taking the class last semester a young man was there who had spent the last seven years struggling with the type of leukemia that kids get. (forget which one). Technically speaking he is cured now. He sees my doctor's partner. Small world!

I did some research and learned that in my county, population about 250,000, the total leukemia patients diagnosed for 2008 were 32. No stats newer than that. I figure that young man in my class was one of those statistics at the time. Now, I have found another person with Leukemia. She is my age... sixty something, and has ALL. She is in the wait and see mode. I'm not sure I understand it. But, we presently have shared one email each and hope to meet up sometime soon. I have a bad cough right now, so I want to wait til it is better. I had gone to my local hospital cancer support group and they said that leukemia patients don't come to the meetings. I guess because we are such a minority.

44 Books I Read in 2011

/

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius *****
Author: Dave Eggers


Steve Jobs ****
Author: Walter Isaacson

The Emperor of All Maladies *****
Author: Siddhartha Mukherjee

The Time Traveler’s Wife ****
Author: Audrey Niffenegger



No Impact Man ****
Author: Colin Beavan

The Son of Man ****
Author: Charles W. Johnson

The Help ****
Author: Kathryn Stockett

2:46: Aftershocks: Stories from the Japan Earthquake ***
Authors: William Gibson, Yoko Ono, Barry Eisler, Jake Adelstein, & The quakebook community

Palm Trees on the Hudson: ***
A True Story of the Mob, Judy Garland & Interior Decorating
Author: Elliot Tiber

Jerome and the Seraph (Quantum Cat) **
Author: Robina Williams

Admit One: My Life in Film ***
Author: Emmett James

The Man Who Would Be King ***
Author: Rudyard Kipling

Soul Identity ****
Author: Dennis Batchelder

The Bookseller of Kabul ***
Author: Asne Seierstad & Ingrid Christophersen

To the Is-Land ****
Author: Janet Frame

An Angel at My Table ****
Author: Janet Frame

The Envoy from Mirror City ***
Author: Janet Frame

Writing Life Stories ****
Author: Bill Roorbach

Rainbows End *****
Author: Vernor Vinge

Labor of Love: The Story of One Man's Extraordinary Pregnancy ***
Author: Thomas Beatie

Not Buying It: My Year Without Shopping ****
Author: Judith Levine

Cats Are Not Peas: A Calico History of Genetics *****
Author: Laura L. Gould

Bel Canto ****
Author: Ann Patchett

Not Wanted on the Voyage ****
Author: Timothy Findley

Wake Up, I'm Fat! ***
Author: Camryn Manheim

Wrestling with the Angel: A Life of Janet Frame ***
Author: Michael King

Raleigh's Lost Colony ****
Author: David N. Durant

An American Childhood *****
Author: Annie Dillard

Pleasure: new poems ****
Author: Gary Young

No Other Life ****
Author: Gary Young

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan *****
Author: Lisa See

Porter Gulch Review 2011 ****
Authors: Many


The Funniest Cop Stories Ever **
Authors:  Tom Philbin, & Scott Baker


Pompeii: City on Fire **
Author: T.L. Higley


Memoirs of a Snowflake *
Author: Joe Vasicek


The Big 5-OH! *
Author: Sandra D. Bricker

Coffin Humor: A Short Story *
Author: John Brinling

Hilda - Snow White Revisited *
Author: Paul Kater


Antiques Roadkill: A Trash 'n' Treasures Mystery **
Author: Barbara Allan


Fat, Forty, Fired **
Author: Nigel Marsh


The Apothecary's Daughter ***
Author: Julie Klassen


Boneshaker **
Author: Cherie Priest

Note:
I don't keep an ongoing list of my reading material. Perhaps I should in the future. I had to go through my list of purchases of hard copy books from Half.com and Amazon to jog my memory. After this, I perused my bookshelves and found a few more. Even though I have about 451 books in my Kindle. It was easy to compile.

It surprises me that I read all those. I have some others, too, which I started then set down somewhere forgetting about them. I didn't put them in the list.