Review: The Heart of Henry Quantum by Pepper Harding

I am not a fan of stream of consciousness writing. It is often an insipid descent into the mind of a madman or more often an excuse for an author to meander aimlessly through what is thought to be a mind yet often ends up being pointless. Although "The Heart of Henry Quantum" is a stream of consciousness novel I found the trip through Henry's mind well worth the time..

Henry is a man approaching middle age. He is settled into a good position at the advertising agency looking back on the sum total of his life and finding it wanting. He wants children. Margaret, his wife, is far too busy with her own more aggressive career in real estate, and the idea of children with Henry not up to her high standards. Margaret cares more about her brilliant wastrel brother with his feckless and irresponsible ways. She is thoughtful and far more generous to her brother than her husband. Henry and Margaret have reach that point in their marriage where Margaret gorges herself on Henry's flesh and soul with malicious glee. Henry did not turn out the way Margaret expected, but she will get her pounds of flesh however she can.

It is nearly Christmas and Henry has decided to buy a bottle of Chanel #5 for Margaret. The perfume is on his mind while he drives to work and at work and while he makes his way to get his peace offering to smooth the broken way back into Margaret's good graces. They were once in love, but Henry cannot remember what happened or how they got here. It is at that moment that Daisy, the woman Henry still loves, but who ended their affair, crosses Henry's path.

Pepper Harding gives the reader a glimpse into Daisy's and Margaret's mind and leaves Henry the last word. It is ultimately up to this gangly man-boy who still wears red high-tops with his business suit and acquits himself admirably at his advertising job to figure out not only what he wants but how he wants to get there. "The Heart of Henry Quantum" is a complex mechanism unknown even to Henry. In the end, still on the trail of the elusive Chanel #5 for his wife while waiting for Margaret's beloved brother at the airport, he comes face to face with the answer to his dilemma and the path to happiness.

Henry reminds me of David Tennant in the role of Doctor Who, not only for his fashion sense but for his style and insight. Henry's chaotic thoughts are as revealing of who he has become as who he really is and has always been. Harding's rendering of an unhappy man who is certain he has messed up his life and ruined his future is poignant and sweet at times. Margaret and Daisy are razor sharp characterizations of two women who have their places in the parade of life figured out and waste no time getting what they want. There are regrets enough to go around and therein lies the soul at "The Heart of Henry Quantum". The trip to the quantum depths of modern life with Harding as the tour guide was not a waste of time. The nuances and subtleties of discourse are well worth reading again to savor all the flavors and aromas available. A solid 4/5 stars.

That is all. Disperse.

From The End of the World to Possibility

This last year jittered on the edge of a big bang that fizzled just as surely as the predicted computer apocalypse of 1999. I never believed the whole end of the world portents and fear because I knew that the end of the Mayan calendar was the beginning of a new age and a new calendar. The Mayans were entrenched in the practice of planned obsolescence.  Their calendars lasted for an entire age and, as Xmas is over and the last days of 2012 tick to the end of another year, I am poised for possibilities.

I don't do new year's resolutions because they always amount to the same thing: lose weight, publish more books, become a wealthy and famous author whose name is on the tongues of billions, and write the kind of books that will become -- and remain -- classics. The only one in that list of wants that has any chance of happening is publishing more books. I have 3, and possibly 4, books poised to be published in 2013, one of which was postponed from this year due to death, too much working for a paycheck, and loss of steam. Losing my 2-year-old grandson Connor took the wind out of my sails and it has taken a long time to find the energy and the will to keep going. Sending my son David Scott the stocking I cross stitched for Connor helped a lot. It was closing the last page on a very long book that ended on a sad but hopeful note.

That is where I am right now, poised on a hopeful note as I look forward to 5 days off after working every holiday this year, including Xmas.

The political horizon gives me no hope since the same greedy oligarchs are still in power and moving on with their plans to demoralize, diminish, and destroy the United States of America in the name of greed and ephemeral power. There is little hope on the economic horizon even with the price of gas below $3.00 for the first time in years. And there is even less hope on the war front in spite of more and more soldiers coming home from Afghanistan and the black wars that few of us know about.

If I smoked pot, which I do very rarely (twice in the past 15 years), I could look forward to buying and smoking at least an ounce of marijuana without being thrown in jail. I could look forward to a year without another death in my family, although, considering the past 5 years, I doubt that is realistic. I could look forward to just about anything, but I will hang onto what I know for sure.

The mild winter here in Colorado took a nose dive with a real white Xmas and Xmas snow. That was enough to put a smile on my face and to give me hope for the future when everything out in the real world has been nothing if not daunting. This being my last work day of 2012 also helps broaden the smile and I heave a sigh of relief that I will be able to stop racing against the clock and fretting that I don't have enough time to get settled into the work mode for another night shift. I have 5 days, 2 of them weekend days, to relax and let this year settle, much like a heavy dinner.

My grandson is still gone, and so is my mother, appropriately on Friday the 13th last January, but I have plans. Last year was filled with preparation for this Xmas. I bought the materials and stitched my way through 7 Xmas stockings, a few ornaments for the kiddies, and gathering together the gifts that would go with the stockings (which were a hit by the way). I was surprised that my oldest grandson, Jordan, actually wants a stocking. I didn't make one for him since he's a teenager. I guess my friend Mary Ann was right and kids never outgrow wanting a stocking to hang on the mantel with care even when the hope of St. Nicholas has given way to teenage pragmatism and the belief in Old St. Nick has waned. There is always room for a stocking no matter the age.

I need a new project, or at least a good idea for next year, since this year is going to be hard to top, hence the books. I have let 3 books languish over the past months of this year and it's time to take up my pen, poise my fingers over the keyboard, and get down to business. I'll never become a wealthy and famous author unless I get back to basics: reading, writing, and more  writing -- not to mention editing. The book covers are done. All I need to do is fill the pages that go between the covers, and I can do that. That magical Xmas snow helped put me in the right frame of mind.

There are other plans afoot for 2013. I have to convince Beanie to bring her boys with her and spend Xmas out here in Colorado with me. I want to share an old-fashioned Xmas with my family. I might even invite my boys and their kids -- as long as they understand they won't be able to stay here with me since space is limited. I'd need a much bigger house to host 9 grandchildren, 3 sons and their wives/girlfriend, Beanie and her 2 boys, and maybe her fiance's 2 boys and the fiance, not to mention my granddaughter Sierra's maternal grandparents, since I'm sure they would not want to be left out. Too bad I'm not wealthy already because I could rent one of the big cottages out at the Broadview or maybe a big modern cabin up in the mountains at Tabernash. Now that would be perfect, and another reason for me to get on the ball and finish more books.

That glistening carpet of white beneath the winter sun on Xmas day flashed with emerald, ruby, and diamond lights and the whole neighborhood was hushed. The only mark in the snow was where Santa's sleigh drove through the parking lot that surrounds my cottage (flying reindeer don't leave tracks) and stopped in front of my house. Even though I had to work Xmas day, the time went by quickly and visions of Xmas future grew in my head. I have work to do -- a lot of it -- and I'm ready for whatever challenge 2013 brings. Plans are being roughed out and will be filled in as the new year progresses and next Xmas will be better than this one, especially if there will be Xmas snow.

Whatever you plan for the next year, or even for tomorrow, be ready for hurdles and detours and meet them with hope and a smile. Hope and smiles can cut through the toughest times, especially when the end is a year of family -- and so much more.

Happy New Year. I'm ready for 2013 now.

Christmas for One

An old friend popped up on Facebook earlier this week asking to be friended. Normally, I don't friend anyone I don't know and this person knew only 2 people on my list. I have standards, and yet something kept niggling at me to check him out. I went to his profile and the 2 people  we shared in common were two people I respect and admire. I said yes to his friend request, and then he sent me a message.

As we chatted, I realized I knew him and hadn't heard from him in a couple years. He used to buy a lot of my blog posts and articles for his website. He's another someone I respect and admire, and we share a great deal in common. This year, we share being away from family and home for the holidays, he by choice and I because I have been traveling farther and farther from my hometown and what is left of my family. He asked me to write about what it was like to celebrate Christmas and the holidays alone without family.

I don't remember all the holidays I have spent without my family, but I do remember the first holiday here in Colorado alone at the cabin. That was really alone because I knew no one in the area and the people in Winter Park I knew had their own families. I wasn't about to horn in on their holidays. I'm sure they would have included me if I'd dropped a tear and a sniffle along with a whine in their direction, but I decided not to intrude.

I didn't have a cut Christmas tree that year and was feeling especially sad that year because I'd decided not to have a tree when it dawned on me that I had lots of trees surrounding the cabin, and one really perfect balsam pine that would look lovely decorated. I didn't have much money since I was laid off a few months before so buying ornaments was not happening. I had to save the money for food. What I could do was take some of that food and decorate the tree the old fashioned way, so I got busy.

I shelled nuts, scooped out oranges to make orange baskets, popped corn and strung it on thread (I had a lot of thread), strung cranberries, and thoroughly enjoyed myself making edible ornaments for the tree in the yard.

It snowed heavily a week before Christmas, but I packed all my ornaments into the canvas bags I used at the grocery store and trudged through waist high drifts to the tree. The rest of the bags were ready inside the French doors onto the deck; the tree was close enough to the deck for me to decorate the top and I was ready to go.

Orange baskets filled with peanut butter, suet, and seeds were hung on the branches with care. Strings of cranberries and popcorn festooned the branches from top to the bottom branches still above the snow. Home made suet and seed bells came next and I decked out the tree with strings of peanuts in the shell and little lettuce baskets filled with shelled nuts. In spite of the cold, and losing the feeling in my legs and hips, I sang Christmas carols and whistled while I worked, finishing up the decorations at the top of the tree from the deck, and tossing the rest of the garlands in somewhat graceful loops down the tree.

By the time I was back in the cabin and thawing in front of the stove, the sun was down and the stars came out in glittering stars like a treasure chest of jewels scattered across an endless black sky like midnight velvet. The moon rose and glowed across the snow, softening the hard edges of melted dunes and sun struck drifts.

With a large mug of hot cocoa in hand, I wrapped up in a blanket and walked out into the crisp cold of the winter night and stopped on the threshold. The night was alive with whisperings and snufflings and shuffling among the snow. The first animals of Christmas Eve had arrived and filled the night with their sounds of curiosity and pleasure. I slipped back inside the cabin and quietly shut the door so as not to disturb my first visitors and I pulled the recliner close to the windows so I could watch the celebration.

I fell asleep in the chair and woke Christmas morning with the sun streaming down from a pale blue sky. I got up and looked out and the tree was swarming with birds, pine martens, and mule deer as they came to the feast. The animals cleared everything from the tree over the following days until it was clear of all but empty string and the shreds of orange cup empty of contents.

I didn't mind being alone that year and, every time I think about another Christmas without family when I have to work, I remember that magical winter when I celebrated Christmas with the animals.

I miss living at the cabin when it's cold and dreary here at the foot of the mountains and the soft, silent perfection of a new snowfall is spattered with dirt and muddy water, and another day of work lies ahead with too little to look forward to, knowing I can look back on Christmases and Yules spent with friends while I look forward to sharing the holidays with my friends scattered here and there around the planet. I know that even though I have to work and will spend another holiday alone, I am not alone. Billions of families and groups of friends are gathering to share their gifts and meals in honor of this midwinter festival when the nights are the longest and we are farthest from the sun, and when a silent night can be filled with the wonder of sharing the holiday with whoever -- and whatever -- are there, and with memories of times long past and those yet to be. 

Merry Christmas. Merry Yule. Happy Chanukah. Happy Holidays.

 

The Gift of Time

There have been many memorable gifts, like the easel, brush, canvas board and oil paints and the Shirley Temple doll with teeth locked in her characteristic smile, but I would have to say the year my brother turned the tables on me gift wise was the most memorable, even more so than the year my brand new husband bought me a black turtleneck collar and gave it to me wrapped in a big balloon filled with air and shiny mauve tinsel. He got it Christmas Eve just before the stores closed.

I usually manage to give gifts I am sure the recipient will love and I give the gifts with flair, like the year I gave my sister-in-law nothing lavishly wrapped in succeedingly smaller boxes. My brother took a page from my notebook and gave me a gift I still treasure -- paper. It wasn't as simple as that. There's more to the story.

Christmas Eve is the traditional big family gift exchange in our family. Everyone gathers at Mom and Dad's house with their kids, contributions to the feast and the bags of gifts. I usually attend alone since I'm single and my children are grown with their own families and do not live in Ohio (neither do I now).

One Christmas Eve about twelve years ago, I sensed something in the air and it wasn't the surprise I had planned for my father. It was something someone else had arranged and I could feel the tension, everyone's eyes on me. I tried to catch them staring, but everyone pointedly ignored me when I looked at them and much giggling ensued. Something was definitely up. I sat quietly watching everyone open their gifts and the children ooh-ing and aah-ing and squealing with delight as they opened the hills of wrapped packages in front of them. I got a gift from my parents, something my mother picked out and which i have now blocked out to retain my sanity and holiday spirit. It was usually something gaudy, something I would never buy for myself or even look longingly at in the catalogs that constant bombard me in the mail all year long.

When the tension was taut enough to walk across the room three feet above the carpeting, someone cracked. I think it was one of my brother's kids, probably Alisha since she has the secret keeping ability of a true tattletale. "Daaaaaad!" she wailed. "Now. Do it now!"

My brother and his wife locked eyes. His wife Bobbie shrugged her shoulders and Jimmy got up and walked into the dining room, appearing with a large and very heavy box and a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Something was definitely up and I was about to get it.

Jimmy drew my name at Thanksgiving and I, wanting to avoid more gaudy and horrid gifts, gave him a list of things I would like and need. To anyone but me, they didn't seem festive or Christmas gift-like enough, but they were what I wanted--and needed. With any luck, the box he hefted toward me and dumped with an ominous thud at my feet would not contain an anvil or yet another exercise machine I would put together, use for thirty minutes and then ignore until it was home to dusty cobwebs and dried out insect carcasses. I crossed my fingers and opened the box, careful not to jiggle or otherwise set off the holiday bomb I was certain waited inside.

With a sigh of relief, I uncovered a large box of paper just right for my computer. I said thank you and waited for everyone else to continue opening their gift while I mulled the logistics of getting the box from the trunk of my car and into my house without a hernia or worse.

"Go on. Open it," J.C. urged. I never noticed that his eyes gleamed with the same mischievous light that my brother's often held.

"I did. I love it. I was almost out of paper."

"No, open the box."

Oh, no. It is something gaudy and horrible. I'll just leave it in the garage and shove it in a corner. "All right. All right."

I lifted the lid and pulled back the tissue paper. Tissue paper? This is getting interesting. There was a piece of paper written with a calligraphic font and underneath were stacks and stacks of money. Fives, tens, twenties, and... oh, yes, it is . . .FIFTIES. Each neat bundle was wrapped with a banking band stating the amount of each. I was afraid to look any further. My brother wasn't rich, so he had to have robbed a bank and shared it with me. Bless his pale, hairy hide.

I picked up a stack and fanned through them, turning sideways so as not to ignite the flames of lust that surely burned in each and every one of my family members' greedy hearts. That's when I caught on. Each bundle was fronted by a Xeroxed copy of a bill and beneath were blank pieces of paper cut to size. I quickly checked the other stacks and they were the same. Not only that, they were only two stacks of bills deep. Beneath was the paper I needed and had put on my list.

"Read the note."

Since I can't afford to give you money, here's a box full of paper to make your own. I've started it for you.

I laughed until I cried. Jimmy's kids talked over each other, explaining how their dad had gone to the bank for the wrappers, used his new color printer to copy the bills and measured and cut each stack to perfection. He wouldn't allow anyone to help and he went through a few reams of his own paper to get the stacks and the Xeroxed bills just right. He had even pulled the magnetic strips from some of his own money to sandwich between the copied bills so they would seem real. It was a labor of love and time that I will never forget.

The stacks of bills are safely hidden in a locked metal box along with the note and the reams of paper became stories and novels long ago. The memory, however, remains fresh and bright and I bring it out every Christmas Eve to hang on my memory tree.