A trip to Scotland might help. Maybe.

A billion dollars can go a long way, these days.

It might buy you the Presidency, for starters. It could buy you a pretty swank oceanside house in SanFrancisco. You could buy a Caribbean island, or buy a roundtrip ticket to the moon, or purchase and AirBus, or even buy the entire Chicago Cubs team.

Assuming you are a Chicago Cubs fan.

A billion dollars is a pretty crazy amount of money, and while you could fritter it away on real estate, investments, stock or sports teams, you could also do some real good with it!

You might start a charity for homeless families, or for getting fresh water to third world countries, or even getting literacy into the far reaches of the Congo.

Unfortunately, I will not be able to accomplish any of these things.

Because I did not win the Powerball lottery last night.

Now, granted, I didn’t buy a ticket either. So that reduced my chances of winning by a significant margin.  Nevertheless, the fact remains that as of this morning, I am officially not a billionaire.

And this is just the reality that I need to come to terms with.

So, what are some things I can do to comfort myself during these dark times?

1. Carpe Diem, my friend.                                                                                                          You just gotta, like, live in the moment, man. I am drinking my black Costco Folgers coffee like this is the last cup of coffee I might ever have in my life. Even though my feet are cold (because it is like, 40 degrees up here, for months), I know I can find some socks that will give me the impression that I am not totally cold all the time. Today, I will enjoy and appreciate every little thing I can buy without a billion dollars.
2. Like Family.                                                                                                                     There is nothing like family to remind you of what really matters in life. When your 12 year old can tell you the utopia/dystopia analysis of “The Giver,” and off-handedly recite how literature has man vs. nature motifs while you are driving to school, you know you have made it in life.  Or when your 4 year old steals your phone and thinks she is secretly videotaping herself singing Frozen songs in the other room…those are moments money could never buy.
3. Small Pleasures.                                                                                                                  I have to admit that I am a little on the frugal side with my lifestyle. If you have a box, some rope and duct tape, I can build you a functioning pantry in no time. So, this being said, I really can’t justify buying a $5 cup of coffee. I remember when I was 18 and I had just moved out on my own and my goal was to live on $5 worth of food a day. It’s not easy, and you’re not eating good food (by any stretch), but it can be done! I always have that in the back of my mind when I see a $7 venti caramel macchiato. However…I am no longer 18 and struggling to survive. So, once in a while, a small latte is okay. Especially on days when I find out I’m not a billionaire.
4. Bootstrapping Joy                                                                                                             Sometimes, these big hits in life hit you a little harder than others. Yesterday, I woke up to the reality that I am behind on my laundry. This morning, I wake up to the reality that I can’t buy my way into the White House.  But I refuse to let this morning get me down! I am still my own person, filled with overreaching optimism of somewhat realistic dreams! Like, I am totally getting on the rowing machine and finally getting started on my exercise regime today! Yes! Go me!!
5. Wine.                                                                                                                                      If all else fails, I still have half a bottle of wine in the cupboard.

I haven’t owned a toaster for a year. We have also been kosher for a year.

The toaster was harder to deal with.

mein Haus.

Last year my family moved out of state, into a beautiful house in the middle of a forest.

For some, it might feel isolated. “Home” might be too disconnected from the world, out here in the woods, for many. The nearest store is a 15 minute drive away, there are two gas stations within the nearest 10 miles, and we have 2 Thai restaurants and a couple locally-owned restaurants. School is a 20 minute drive through the evergreen woodland, and our commute into the city involves a 40 minute boat ride.

For some, living on an island might be too much. Target is a long drive two cities away, and Costco is down the road from Target. If you are interested in nightlife, social events or stores that stay open past 9 (really, 8), you are sorely out of luck around these parts.

Needless to say, for me, this is heaven.

My antediluvian drive to homestead my own home, plow my own field and cook my food over a flame in handmade clothes beside my trusty clan…might be a dream out of the ordinary.

But we are the music makers. And we are the dreamers of dreams.

This all being said, our transition out of suburbia last year was quick and a little painful; exactly like ripping off a band-aid you had placed on the middle of your forearm, right smack in the middle of the hair.

You see, while we had everything planned, organized and set to move into our dream in the forest, every dream has that weird moment when you trip and jump in your sleep. The covers are thrown off you, and you wake up mostly annoyed at the inconvenience of the situation.

The Big Trip in our dream was not events that took place in our forest, but what took place in our previous home: within a week of leaving our home, it was plundered.

The side door, as well as the deep red front door, which had been locked, were smashed in and destroyed.  The last truckload of items we left in the garage were all stolen. Laundry baskets of dirty jeans, the mop, the vacuum, lamps, sewing boxes, my sewing machine, my daughter’s sewing machine, the cream and cherrywood rocking chair I bought when I first embarked upon motherhood and in which I rocked all of my children, were all stolen.

They were all gone.

The cabinet doors in all of the bathrooms were taken. The closet doors were taken. The refrigerator was taken, the microwave was taken, the shower heads were taken; and the upstairs toilet was unplugged, which flooded the entire upstairs for a few days, which caused the ceiling of the kitchen to collapse and also flood downstairs.

That was the home in which we had raised our children, and held Christmases and birthdays, and sat in the backyard during the summer waiting for some breeze to cool us off. As if the world was not as bad as people might think.

Some things we replaced with insurance money, and some things we didn’t.

We replaced the mop, the vacuum, the laundry baskets and a few other odds and ends right off the bat.

Other things, like our toaster, we didn’t.

At a certain point, I just couldn’t buy any more stuff. I hated the idea of searching for another domestic item that had held sentimental meaning, and replacing it with an unfeeling object I could find for a good price on Amazon. Replacing the iron and ironing board was okay, since I used them both for a paper making project in our new home, and they had an immediate purpose. But anything else that came up, I said, “Maybe not.”

It was too much.

So, we have lived a year without a toaster.

After all this time, I have never even thought about getting a new toaster.

Not until the other day when I found a glass and bamboo toaster that caught my eye.

said toaster.

I…am okay with this toaster.

It is little, wooden, compact and cheerful. I appreciate the transparency of the toaster, so you can watch your toast be toasted.

Unlike the other toasters, which are metal boxes full of breadcrumbs of secret memories.

Like the morning you toasted cinnamon and raisin bread for the kids before you had a lovely day at the zoo together. Or the afternoon when you toasted sourdough bread for lunch after church, and everyone enjoyed leftover lamb with fresh romano sandwiches, and then you all watched Dr. Who while piled on top of each other until bedtime. Quick mornings of throwing two slices of bread into the toaster, and grabbing them as we run out the door and I urge the kids to “just eat the toast!” while we rush off to some meeting we are late for, because we couldn’t find one shoe.

This toaster understands that some things are lovely to remember.

Yet, it clearly understands that you can never replace the toaster you shared with your family before, and it does not expect you to love it for the same reasons.

This is a new toaster for a new time.

When you have healed enough to consider buying a new toaster for your new home.

Winter can be long, dark and cold.

Apparently, it gets longer, colder and darker the farther north you go…go figure.

And I gotta be honest: while it is stunning during the day…dusk falls upon us way too early. Which can be a huge psychological bummer, unless you are really prepared to call it a day at 3:30.

         granted, it is kind of beautiful here…which is awesome

Ben and I teach Sunday School, as we have for the past 10 years. Originally, we started teaching the 4 year old class because a) we wanted to help out in Children’s Ministry, since we had a few kids involved already, and b) no one wanted the 4 year old class, and we saw it as a good opportunity to take on.

4 year olds are…tricky. They are just old enough to be older than 3, so they have a bit more verbal and thought process going on. On the other hand, they are not 5, so they don’t have that much verbal and thought process going on.

Plus, there were 25 kids in the class.

So, you really had to be on your toes.

I didn’t know we had it in us, but not only do we work very well together in the classroom, but we compliment each other excellently with our natural inclinations. Ben has always taken the instructional portions of the class, and I have been doing crafts and singing “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” for over a decade, and making a large population of young kids extraordinarily happy when I ask, “So, we aren’t going to say head, and we aren’t going to say shoulders, and we aren’t going to say knees…so what comes next???”  

TOES!!

Life is good when you’re 4.

Unfortunately, sometimes life can be a bummer when you’re 4, as well.

I mean, you’re 4. You kind of know what’s going on a little bit, but not enough to get out of really bad moods when you can’t find your favorite shoes in the morning and even though you had half a bagel with cream cheese…it wasn’t strawberry cream cheese.  So, what’s the point. Honestly.

This Sunday, there was a little girl in our class who was having one of those mornings. Her braided pigtails were a mess, and she was wearing socks but no shoes. Rushed morning, no strawberry cream cheese, and she was pretty sure she was sick (she wasn’t).

And she was miserable.

I knew exactly what she was going through, because I have had those mornings, myself.

I wake up late. Forget my jacket. Could only find my old, ratty shoes. I don’t remember if I showered yesterday, but I know for certain I didn’t shower that day. I kind of bank on chewing some gum in the car to get the black coffee/morning breath out of my mouth, but someone, apparently, had eaten all my gum. I have morning-face, my hair isn’t cooperating, I can’t find the clothes I put out the previous night…

Plus, it’s winter…which is cold. And dark. And wet.

Ain’t nobody going to be happy under these circumstances.

The best thing I could do for this girl in my class was to say, “Ugh. You’re having a rough morning,” as I take her hand, “Come with me. Let me help you.”

These were the words that let me lead her to the rug with the Legos and blocks, and we sat down together. I asked if I could rebraid her hair, and she said yes. So I spent about 15 minutes, very gently unbraiding her pigtails that she obviously slept in (#experience…have had many mornings with daughters’ slept-in-braids, myself), and smoothed out her hair and rebraided them into neat pigtails, once again.

By the time we were done, she was back to her smiling self, and ready to get back to playing.

Listen. Winter is hard.

We all want to play outside in the sun, and run down grassy hills, and stay out until it is bedtime.

But during the dark, cold winter afternoons…it is paramount to be there for each other.

And small gestures of love will make the days sunnier for everyone 🙂

                                                   credit

I’ll tell ya, there have been a few times in my life when I had the courage to stand up and speak.

And good golly, was it the right thing to do.

The repercussions are difficult, that’s for sure. And in one way, they make the situation at hand worse. For a while.

But they also enable you to grow. And for the situation to change.

And that’s why you stood up in the first place, wasn’t it?

I believe that posting pictures of amazing things that you are eating, like incredible tacos, onto Instagram, is barbaric.

Since my forest is currently covered in ice, I might also postulate that sending beach pics is equally as barbaric.

Because you will quickly have a taco bonanza across the world.

When everyone on your Instagram feed realizes that tacos are the greatest things in life, everyone will start eating tacos, and then everyone will be happy, and then we will have world peace…

and where is the capitalism in that??

Nevertheless, I fell prey to the “look at these amazing tacos I’m eating” scheme my own sister pulled on the world…and consequently made a boatload of homemade tacos last night.

And I gotta tell ya: it was pretty wonderful.

As I was munching chicken tacos with fresh cilantro, avocado and thinly sliced marinated red onions, I got thinking about world peace, I was considering how nice it might be. Just think about it: no political posts on facebook, no dissenting opinions, blissful equality between all of mankind and harmony as the foundation of our existence.

I wonder what we would do with our time, if this was achieved?

Besides eat tacos.

Here in the forest, we have had a tradition for our dinner table which has lasted for years. It is called “Best Thing, Worst Thing.” It is pretty simple, and we all look forward to sharing together. We start with the oldest kid and ask them what their best thing was today, and go around the table. Then we do a round of what the worst thing was for the day, and we share our experiences.

When we first started this, I don’t think a lot of thought went into the construction of it. However, we have found that this tradition has been a lovely insight into what was important to our kids. For instance, the best thing for our 4 year old is “going to the pool,” even if we haven’t gone to the pool. The worst thing is, naturally, “not going to the pool.” But we have heard things that have made the kids very happy, as well as very sad, and this open conversation has allowed Ben and I to have a deeper understanding of our kids, as well as being able to explain things to them sooner rather than later; and possibly fix some misconceptions before they become too embedded.

Life is a beautiful balance between good times and bad times; between seasons of tacos and lima beans.

I love the opportunity to serve tacos more often than lima beans, and I think maybe we should have more tacos between friends this year 🙂

If you have a hint of Type A in you, you may be plotting…I mean planning…your next year already.

Or, maybe that’s just me.

2015 was a blue ribbon year for us. You really can’t beat “moving” or “to an island” plus “in the woods” and  “living life to the fullest and living the dream.” This concept still hasn’t sunk in, and I am still in awe of our home. We have hiked through rainforests this year, gone on an amazing whale watching tour, taken road trips to Canada, and have made oodles of new friends; while reuniting with old friends, as well!

Last year at this time, we were sitting in a different place and wondering what God had in store for us. We were going to move to a house two states away with no one around who we knew, and I had never actually been in the house!  It was a crazy idea, and it was an exciting idea…which is kinda what we live for.

With myself, 2015 found me exploring freelance writing, which was a lot of fun. I think I learned a lot from that experience, both from what quality writing looks like as well as what I actually enjoy writing about. Apparently, I love writing self-exploratory pieces.  Positive, uplifting writing that brings us all together and gives us hope for a better future for humanity. I loathe articles that contemplate a woman’s identity based on how fat her thighs are.

Call me crazy, but that isn’t really my niche.

So, what should I do with myself in this new year?

Well, for starters…I am putting the Platypus aside! (if you haven’t noticed)

When I created the Platypus Directive a few years ago, it was what I needed at the time. I needed to redefine myself, since I was having trouble fitting in to the communities we were involved with at the time. A few years ago, I needed a way to find a voice for myself. And I think I was able to do that very well, and I am happy with where I found myself during that season.

But, this is a new season before me, and I have a different outlook on life now than I did 5 years ago. My expectations and perspectives are, I believe, in a better place overall.  I feel confident with what my family has accomplished together, and where I am as a person.

So, now is a perfect time to start something new!

This year, I will be writing for Five in the Forest: a blog on motherhood, parenthood, a little more exploratory-faith posts and some very funny situations that I am sure will come up 🙂

I look forward to seeing you all on here, and Happy New Year!!

Recently we got to know a couple who are both INFP.

Which is crazy. Mostly because both Ben and I are INTJ…

and if you have never met an INTJ, it is simply because they didn’t want to be met.  INTJ individuals are fantastic, although a little withdrawn and a tad peculiar.  If you are okay with this, then we will be the bestest and most dedicated friends on earth.

INTJs are also frustrating. They are aloof.  They are quirky.  They are blunt.  They can seem superior. They are etherial…

…they speak of themselves in the third person…

but they are also staunchly loyal, deeply caring and invested in relationships far beyond what is actually necessary.  So being married to another INTJ just makes sense to me.  We get it.  Logic makes everything better, and we live in this logic world where we justify everything to death.  Because we love it.  And I can tell you why in a 25 page dissertation.

When I meet other people, it is just incredible to observe them and watch how they react or respond to life.

(this is solely an INTJ response. It’s horrible)

INFPs work in such different ways than from INTJs.  They can actually be compassionate for a living and not lose their minds working out the logic of the situation.  It is simply incredible to witness because it is so different.  I need a flow chart of compassion: not to distance myself from the situation, but to make sure every possible scenario has been accounted for, documented and acknowledged.

That is the main problem with us INTJs, is that we are extremely thorough.  With some things, it is acceptable.  For work or projects, I can see how being overly thorough can be a huge benefit.  However, when it comes to personal relationships this meticulous methodology can come off as rather robotic in nature, if not micro-managing and even oppressive.  The alternative is to not be meticulous, and then we seem stand-offish.  It’s a tough balance, and I think most of us make it work out in the end.

Where am I going with this…

The other day I was reading this article on how to clean your house.

I hate cleaning my house. It. Is. So. Tedious.  I should be cleaning it right now, and I’m not.  Oh, it’ll get done.  Just not now.

So, I’m reading this article on how to clean your house, and I’m just laughing at it.  Because the entire point of the article was “Top 10 Ways Your Friends Are Judging You Based On How Clean Your House Is.”

Which is ridiculous.  What friend comes over and judges you because you have dust on your baseboards?  Who checks to see if there is dust behind your spice jars in the kitchen?  Would you want them over, just to judge you for menial nonsense, in the first place?

Listen. From an INTJ perspective, I just don’t care.  People are taken care of here.  Ben is the most amazing husband on earth.  I’m not too bad a cook, myself.  The kids are very loved. We do fun stuff, we take care of our chores and schoolwork, and we enjoy fun and healthy meals together.

At the end of the day, I am looking at my family, not my baseboards.

A few years ago I was in a mother’s group, and the leader always had a pretty tidy house.  We finally asked her about it, and she was totally honest: she hid everything.  The dirty dishes in the sink? If someone was coming over, she would put all the dishes into a bucket and put the bucket into the bathtub and close the curtains.  Dirty pans go into the oven.  Toys go into the hall closet.  Laundry on the couch gets thrown on top of the toys.

It was actually pretty ingenious at the time.  I had a few young kids, and zero time to tend to the house…so I totally implemented a few of these procedures.  Although, the look on Ben’s face when he found the dishes in the bathtub was a nebula of confusion.

The thing is, by now it really isn’t that big of a deal to me anymore.  The house gets taken care of for the most part, and when I have time I really make an effort to clean a little better if we are having guests.  But if you are a friend and you pop over during the day, you are going to find a messy kitchen.  There will be peanut butter on my kitchen tablecloth.  There may be blankets on the stairs.

Because that is life around here!  And I figure friends are friends because we like each other…not because I convince you that my house is immaculate.  I figure a round of wine and a few brownies I made earlier, and never cleaned up after, goes farther than hiding dishes in the bathtub when it comes to building authentic relationships.

That’s just my $.02 for this afternoon.  Cheers 🙂

I’m going to make this quick and easy for you:

Jello, Cool Whip and Pineapples.

I grew up with Pistachio Salad as a staple in my life, and it didn’t occur to me until the other day that I have actually never made this for my family.  Maybe it is a little too 1950s, maybe it’s that it’s green…who knows.  One way or other, this never made it to my kitchen.

UNTIL NOW.

I wish I could make this sound like a really impressive and complicated recipe to woo you into thinking I am some Jello mastermind, able to turn weird Jello flavors into ravishing desserts that Wolfgang Puck will pay good money to discover…but it’s just not going to happen with this one.

Three ingredients. Throw them into a bowl. Enjoy thoroughly.

The only thing I can think to make this more interesting is trying to figure out which cocktail goes with it best.  Probably an Appletini, or maybe chilled Reisling wine. Oooo, or a champagne cocktail….

Here’s what you need:

1) Pistachio Jello, a container of Cool Whip and a large can of undrained crushed pineapple.

You can also add walnuts…I guess.  If you need walnuts in your life.

2) Throw Everything Into A Bowl and Stir

Gently, though.  Let’s not be barbarians about this.

3) Chill for an hour…

and enjoy!  It was really good, and just what I remember.  Pistachio salad is a very unique flavor, but it’s nice.

You’ll like it 🙂

I had this crazy idea of having a paper making party…

to make our own paper for Mother’s Day cards with glitter and flowers and whatever else we can find.

I have never made paper before. I have never even thought about making paper before.  Do I need to fell some trees for this?  Do I need a paper making permit?  What kind of a master blender do I need to blend a log into pulp?  I had a friend recommend looking at the pulp under a microscope…I can’t even get my microscope to work! I think the lightbulb is burnt out or something.  But the battery is also over 10 years old.  Maybe it is a battery problem.  What do I do with the pulp once we have it?  Do I need a paper making machine, or is this like making tortillas?  ….wait, I have never made tortillas either.  Is this way above my Etsy paygrade….what are we doing??  What have I gotten us into???

Nah, I just looked up some YouTube videos on DIY paper making and bought a kit.

And We Did It.

I would highly recommend this as an afternoon craft.  It was a lot of fun, and everyone got into it.  Here is how to get started!

What You Need:

• Arnold Grummer’s Papermill Complete Papermaking Kit paper making kit (Amazon)
• Shredded/ripped Scrap paper
•  A large pot of warmer water
• Blender/Stick Blender
• Glass measuring cup
• Glitter/Flowers/Leaves/Herbs/Ferns
• Rectangle casserole dish filled with water
• Lots of dry towels
• Iron
• Ironing board
• Some flat surface that is safe to put things on to dry, that the dog won’t get into or the cats won’t find to eat the paper, or whatever hazards you have in your house

 1) Rip scrap paper and put into pot of warmer water.

Paper, Y U No Rip?????

I would personally avoid ripping important documents or term papers that are due this week, and stick to scrap paper…but that’s just me.  I did a few experiments using newspaper, binder paper and construction paper.  I preferred the binder paper, because it was more white, but adding construction paper added more color.  The newspaper was okay in texture, but it is a very bland gray…and it is hard getting the ink off your pot afterwards (use vinegar).

I tried boiling the pulp, and I tried just lightly warming the pulp…it seems like you just need to get the paper to break apart to become pulp, so turn the stove on for a few minutes to get the water warm, but that’s all you really need.

2) Add decorations to your pulp

Use 1 cup of pulp for 1 sheet of paper.  No more, no less.  Any more, and it is way too thick for paper.  Any less, and it falls apart.

We had glitter, flower petals, different colored paper, herbs, ferns, flowers, leaves…this is definitely the fun part!

My glamorous friend, Melissa, helped throw our paper party!

They were putting all the glitter/flower petals/herbs into the pulp, which was in a glass measuring cup.

3) Blend the pulp together to make it a fine pulp

I used my stick blender, and it worked just fine.  If I had a larger blender, I probably would have used that…but this pulp is very soft. You don’t need anything strong to get the job done.

4) Now, get out your paper making kit mold:

Set the mold, with the screens attached to the mold, into the rectangle casserole dish filled halfway with water.

Then pour the 1 cup of pulp into the mold, and just swish it around until it is evenly coated.

Then pull it straight up out of the water, and let it drain until no more water is leaking.

4) Take the mold and set it on your ironing board.  

Release the velcro and lift the mold off of the screen.

It will look like this.  This is already a piece of paper, and it holds together pretty well already.  It is just very wet.

Now, flip the screens over onto a dry towel, and use the sponge to push water out of the paper.

Then take the screens off of the paper, and put a dry towel on top of the paper and push a hot iron on top.

5) That’s about it!  I let the paper dry over night, and they were done!

This is a fun, interactive project that anyone can do. Also very nice for making your own cards, stationary, paper airplane paper….whatever you can think of!

Have fun!

Why Anne Bronte’s “Tenant of Wildfell Hall” Is More Badass Than Jane Eyre

Big words.

I know. Because I based my life on Jane Eyre when I was younger….

Who wouldn’t? She is the epitome of the stolid, English heroine.  Brave. Fearless. Troublesome…yet, she looks life straight in the eye, does her job, and does it damn well.  I swore Charlotte Bronte would be my #1 pick until death do us part.

And then I found Anne.

I will pitch this book as long as I live.

I have introduced it to every book club I have attended.

There was an entire “No-Commitment Book Club” on my blog, and the only book featured was “Tenant of Wildfell Hall.”

Emily Bronte brought us the epic English story of Catharine and Heathcliff, bringing together the Olde English money and the Newe English Industrial generations through a story of crumbling love.

Charlotte Bronte brought us Jane Eyre, who has been the role model for every wildly independent book-loving girl, and woman, on the planet.

But if you thought that was the end of the Bronte saga, you are pleasantly mistaken.

Emily, Charlotte and Anne.  Being epic together.

Let me introduce you to Anne.

“Some of the undisputed facts about Anne Brontë are that she was the youngest daughter of the Reverend Patrick and Maria Branwell Brontë; that she was born in the northeastern county of Yorkshire, England; and that she spent her childhood and formative years in the Brontës’ family home—the parsonage on the outskirts of the remote village of Haworth. She received her formal education between 1835 and 1837 at Miss Margaret Wooler’s boarding school. During Anne’s attendance there, the school was relocated from Roe Head to Dewsbury Moor, near Leeds. ” (poetryfoundation.org)

I discovered this book when I was in university.  I forget which class it was for, but being a Lit grad…the classes kind of blend in together, after a while.  Out of the hundreds of thousands of 1850-1950 American/British Literature pieces I read, I am still reading this one.  It speaks to my fearless values, my radical dedication as a mother and to my uncompromising belief in myself.

Anyone who believes differently of themselves is obviously an Austen fan.

The heroine of Anne’s book is Helen Graham, and she is a thoughtful and intelligent woman who is disappointed with her extremely wayward, stupid and perilous husband, but boldly confident about her motherhood and, furthermore, her purpose as a person.  How can I not love her.

“Anne Brontë’s books are primarily concerned with morality; she is preoccupied with the ethical principles which, for good or ill, govern human behavior.”

My writing (or maybe more correctly, my thoughts) has a penchant to go from “funny story,” to “this is what I learned,” to “and that is the meaning of life.”  So, naturally I fell in love with Anne’s writing.  When I read about her protagonist, Helen Graham, I found that I followed along far too easily with her thought process as she goes through different levels of her life.  In an exceedingly toxic relationship with a person no one else sees as a problem? Chuck it. Need to make income to be financially independent? Use your talents.  Raising your child? Expert level.  Believing you have exceeding value as an intelligent and loving woman?

Like a Boss.

I love Helen Graham because her bravery speaks volumes through her actions.  She knows what’s right in life.  She know’s what’s up.  And she will take on a whole town full of “yes-men” without blinking an eye; because “yes-men” will only get you so far in life.  “Yes-men” will provide an environment of harmony…no, empty harmony…with very little conflict, but a complete vacuum of value structure.  You may not disagree with anything, but in so doing, are you not the worst of hypocrites?  Are you not merely enabling the most vapid and dull-witted of the denominator?  At what point do you strike out and declare that jumping off a cliff, en masse, is a bovine idea.   When in life do you stand up in the crowd and walk out in order to blaze your own trail.  To discover a different pasture.  To explore grand ideas outside of the pleasantly, and sometimes ridiculously, accepted.  Sure, you won’t have many friends this way.  Sure, you’ll have more enemies.  But, is the point of life to merely have the least amount of enemies?  Are the strongest and most noble characters not in fact those who have the boldest of adversaries?

Honestly.

“Brontë’s publicly declared purpose as a writer was “to tell the truth, for truth always conveys its own moral to those who are able to receive it … and if I can gain the public ear at all, I would rather whisper a few wholesome truths therein than much soft nonsense.”

(I love her)

The thing I didn’t expect with this novel was the opposition from her sister, Charlotte.

“Charlotte Brontë was disturbed by The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and made no secret of her distaste for the book. In her “Biographical Notice of Ellis and Acton Bell” (1850), she referred to the fact that Anne’s second novel had had a predominantly unfavorable reception: “At this I cannot wonder. The choice of subject was an entire mistake. Nothing less congruous with the writer’s nature could be conceived. The motives which dictated this choice were pure, but, I think, slightly morbid.””

Although Charlotte struck out against the nature of the book, I believe it is because she saw Anne as actually holding herself back from her true potential.  Anne’s first novel, Agnes Gray, was very autobiographical in structure and she spoke harshly against mindless beaurocracy in society and the abuses of higher levels of society.  In comparison, Tenant is almost pedestrian in nature.  I think Charlotte expected Anne to make a wider swing and a more focused hit on her topics than she did, which drove her to be dismissive of Tenant‘s capabilities.

One thing I particularly liked in this novel is that I never felt emotionally connected with any of the other women in the story.  I was honestly surprised how little social gatherings have changed throughout the years.  There are still gossips, there are still flirty 19 year old girls hungry for attention, and there are still judgmental, sanctimonious women throwing their useless advice onto other mothers.  Not a lot has changed.  And women like Helen get caught in the marginalized categories of mothers who still use logic and thoughtful discipline to love their children.

In a couple of places I’ve seen this book compared to Charlotte’s works, or even Emily’s works.  The heroines are strong, blunt, brave…but not reckless.  Through trials, through errors, through mistakes, through misfortune, through tragedies and through love, these women use the sense that they have to forge a new road ahead of them on which to structure their lives.  If these women are not the role models on which we should aspire to, then we are all lost.

I am fascinated with the fact that this was written in the mid-19th century, and it is still as applicable to the inner wrestlings women have today.  Is this a wrestling that speaks to women on a societal level, or is this a deep-rooted, philosophical realm women ruminate over regardless of nationality or time?  Is the fact that she marries in the end the way you thought it should go?  Are independent women “allowed” to fall in love?  How do you think her son will go on to view women when he gets older, with Helen as his mother?  And finally, how do you think Helen will feel in her old age?  Comfortable with other women, or still plugging away at her thoughts and finding the meaning of life through her paintings?

What do you think?