Acts of Liberation

The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted (and Other Small Acts of Liberation), by Elizabeth Berg, 2008; Random House


If you're not a person who stays on top of new releases, then a trip to the library can be full of surprises. You can wander the aisles, thumb through the books on the shelves, stare at the wall of Staff Picks, and occasionally, you hit pay dirt.

And that's how I stumbled upon Elizabeth Berg's collection of 13 essays, The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted.

That's the great thing about authors like Berg -- she's always writing, always publishing, so you never know when you'll come across a book you haven't read.

Released in 2008, this is a departure from her fiction, although the essays read largely like excerpts from a novel. The title comes from the essay that bears the same name, and naturally, I read it first. And what perfect timing! On Easter Sunday, I ate whatever I wanted. And I'm pretty sure Jesus was OK with that. I'm also pretty sure he laughed when one of my friends insisted that the strawberry/crushed-pretzel/cream cheese salad with gelatin belonged with the salads and not the desserts. I argued with her, then decided, heck, it's Easter. Put it with the salads. And then I had four helpings. And that's OK because it's a SALAD and not a dessert.

To balance things out, Berg's essay "The Day I Ate Nothing I Even Remotely Wanted" chronicles a Weight Watcher's daily battle with a diet that allows only condiments like fake butter spray and a spritz of vinegar.

But the book is not all about food. "The Only One of Millions Just Like Him" tells the story of a husband and wife and their dying dog, and while it made me cry and think of my dog Penny, it was also laugh-out-loud funny.

And in typical Berg fashion, the truly poignant and sad stories are mixed in. I will admit that I skipped a couple of those. I saw them coming, and I simply skipped ahead to the next essay. That's the beauty of reading a collection of stand-alone pieces. The commitment level is really low.

The theme of these essays -- as you might have picked up from the book's title -- is liberation. How liberating to feel liberated. How free a person must feel to abandon rules and what I call "have-to's." A have-to is different that a rule or a law. A have-to is more like an obligation or a courtesy. Just think if you didn't follow a single have-to, even if just for a day. Pretend -- for just one day -- that nobody is watching you or your kids, nobody is looking at what your kids wear or how clean your house is, nobody cares how you will spend your morning or your evening, because in light of eternity, much of this stuff just doesn't matter anyway. Wouldn't you do a few things differently? Wouldn't you feel liberated? And wouldn't you feel like an Elizabeth Berg character?

From the back cover:

Every now and then, right in the middle of an ordinary day, a woman rebels, kicks up her heels, and commits a small act of liberation. What would you do, if you were going to break out and away?

And I would add, then go do it.

A Few Words About ... Words

Sister Bernadette's Barking Dog: The Quirky History and Lost Art of Diagramming Sentences, by Kitty Burns Florey, 2007; Harvest Books



(Editor's Note: This review was originally posted in January 2008 on amycates.blogspot.com. Consider this an encore presentation. And a way to break my absence from this blog.)

Some generous soul at Harcourt sent me a complimentary copy of Sister Bernadette's Barking Dog: The Quirky History and Lost Art of Diagramming Sentences by Kitty Burns Florey in December. And to you, Mr. Public Relations at Harcourt, a hearty thank you!

Florey does a super job of reviving all the wonderful memories of junior-high grammar and sprinkling it with a heaping helping of the history of diagramming. (Bet you didn't know diagramming had a history worthy of documenting, but it certainly does.)

What makes this book so enjoyable is the nostalgia it stirs. If you love words (and who doesn't, really; we use them every day, for Pete's sake), how can you not enjoy pulling them apart and putting them back together like a puzzle?

Diagramming for homework was one thing, but diagramming IN PUBLIC was the social equivalent of being asked to make the morning announcements on the intercom. It was your opportunity to shine, or wither up and die in front of a tough crowd. If you were fortunate enough to be called to the front of the room to diagram, you would toss back your oily hair, adjust your corduroy Levi's and strut to the board like you were about to embark on some great feat.

And oh, the pleasure of scoring a prepositional phrase! Or a compound subject! Or having to decide whether an object was direct or indirect! Get it right, and they might as well elect you Most Likely To Do Whatever You Darn Well Please. Get it wrong, and you were destined for a lonely lunch period or at least a silent locker visit. Diagramming in public was the stuff that would make you or break you in sixth grade, at least in my sad circle. "Wow, that was really neat how you knew the line should be diagonal instead of straight," or "Adverb phrases. Gosh. I don't know how you do it." Those were the exchanges heard when the bell rang.

Diagramming was different than solving a math problem. Screw up a math problem in front of the whole class? Who cares! But fall short in dissecting your native language? Woe to you.

Florey's book is a masterpiece, a tribute to all things grammatical and a reminder of why schools everywhere should resurrect diagramming, if they haven't already. I could go on and on, but I'll not spoil the ending.