reading & writing.

I had a driveway moment (actually, a gym parking lot moment) yesterday listening to NPR's remembrance of J.D. Salinger. The piece included readings from "A Catcher in the Rye," which were mesmerizing. I read "A Catcher in the Rye" exactly once, as required, in high school English class. I vaguely remember its angsty anti-hero, Holden Caulfield, its dark tone, its unresolved ending. After hearing the piece (and finishing my Pilates class), I dashed home to see if I still had a copy of the book ... no luck. (I'll bet that high-school copy is still on the bookshelf in my teenage bedroom.)

Salinger puts me in mind of other writers whose work I love, whose work propelled me toward the career that I'm in. Fitzgerald. Steinbeck. Wharton. White. It makes me want to pick up all those books again and re-experience the marvelous language, the turns of phrase, the ways of seeing and describing the world.

Last night, realizing I didn't have Salinger on the shelf, I grabbed the three-volume set of Junior Great Books that I have from fifth grade. (I'm delighted to see the program is still in existence.) Once a month, a group of advanced readers at Mohawk Trails Elementary gathered in a conference room during lunchtime/recess, where Mrs. Lorton led us in a discussion of a work from the Junior Great Books series. There was an excerpt from "The Wind in the Willows." Part of "A Christmas Carol." An obscure bit from Mark Twain. Writings by Heywood Broun, Chekhov, Bradbury, a few poems. I distinctly remember feeling special (and a bit nerdy) to be part of this group. It was the first time I recall having real conversations about books, not just guided classroom discussion. We didn't talk about the mechanics of the writing, but rather the meaning and our interpretations, guided by our suburban, '70s-era kid worldview.

Last night, I read Bradbury's heartbreaking short story, "All in a Summer Day" and Heywood Broun's "The Fifty-First Dragon." My 42-year-old self was as enthralled as my 10-year-old self had been. I'm planning to pick up "Gatsby" and "Catcher" and create a list of all my old favorites. It'll be my winter reading program.

As a kid, I was a voracious reader. VORACIOUS. I have a high-resolution memory of sitting in front of my kindergarten class, reading to the rest of the kids. I devoured Nancy Drew, E.B. White, Judy Blume. I'd plow through the Carmel Library's summer reading program at warp speed. I loved the library. I have deep and profound recollections of lying on the floor with my mom and brother on summer evenings after supper, reading a chapter at a time of "Charlotte's Web." My dad had perfected the voices of the characters in my favorite picture books, Dare Wright's "Little Doll" series. (He had Mr. Bear down pat.)

This love of words led me to journalism classes in high school and college and, ultimately, to my magazine career and even this blog. I can't NOT read or write. And I think that it's going to point me toward other opportunities in my life, as well.

technology i could get excited about.

Despite—or perhaps to spite—my company's persistent and monomaniacal emphasis on publishing's digital future (i.e., f*** the printed page), I refuse to buy into the hype. For me personally and for the people we make our books and magazine for, the printed object is still relevant and inspiring. It's savable. Many of these items together make a library, a collection. I'd like to see a Kindle user create the same impression of literariness and erudition (ha!) with his onscreen list of titles as a devoted reader conveys with her wall-to-wall-floor-to-ceiling shelves of books. E-books? Bah. Kindle? Humbug.

But wait ...

Anticipating tomorrow's long-awaited announcement of the Apple tablet, I think about how I might use that digital tool. Not for ordinary reading ... but for this: Wouldn't it be amazing to have a digital reader in the kitchen—that houses all your bookmarked online recipes, your favorite food blogs, your preferred online food & kitchen retailers and even, yes, cookbooks and magazines (in full color, with pictures). If a digital device could hold all those resources, and let me search and bookmark them, and perhaps even create a shopping list that I can download to my iPhone ... then, well then, I'd be in favor of this digital publishing thing.

Maybe.

connectivity.

As I think about what I'd like for 2010, in keeping with the Mooth2.0 idea, one of my hopes is to increase my connectedness with family and old friends, and to find ways to make new connections. Last night, Rob and I had a fantastic evening with two of my dearest friends from high school and sailing days and their wives. The six of us spent about five hours over dinner and drinks catching up; we realized that it had probably been a dozen years if not more since the we had all been together. I had seen Andy & Bruce at a sailing event in October, and we planned then to get together for dinner in January. It was such a great time, especially when Noelle asked us all what advice we would now tell our 16-year-old selves, and we reflected on those years with fondness and honesty. I'll play cruise director and plan another outing sometime in late summer or fall ... this was too good not to continue.

welcome to mooth2.0.

Rob and I have determined that this is the year of Mooth2.0. We don't know what that means, exactly. It just feels like we're keeping our eyes and minds open to new and interesting things.

A few friends have casually observed that I've been slacking on posting to this blog, so as part of Mooth2.0, Rob suggested that we (both) commit to posting more regularly. Now, with a week of the new year under our belts, seems as good a time to start as any.

I'm not big into New Year's resolutions; I don't need to quit smoking or start a diet or anything significant like that. But I have been thinking of what I'll call my intentions for 2010: things I want to pay attention to, to be mindful of, to make an effort toward. I'll share them here so my friends can help (gently) keep me accountable. In no particular order:

Be more correspondent. Lately, I've enjoyed exchanging letters with my 88-year-old grandmother. I love her notes filled with news about the goings-on in her garden or at her birdfeeder, and I like sharing similarly unimportant but meaningful observations from my life with her.

Be more thoughtful. My friend Sam Harrison is a master at sending out-of-the-blue gifts that always make my day. I'm not ordinarily proactively thoughtful like Sam is. But I'd like to be.

Be more present. Mom recently said her resolution for 2010 is to figure out a way for the year not to fly by like 2009 did. Mom, if you do, let me know. But I think it has something to do with 1) being observant and 2) being grateful. Two fairly simple things I fail to do on a day to day basis.

Focus on what's meaningful and impactful in my work. 2009 at F+W was a long slog of budget cuts, additional projects, fewer resources. The focus has been on what's good for the company and not on what's good for our customers or our employees. That makes work pretty much suck. I hereby vow to focus on the fact that the work my little team does has meaning and impact for the people we make it for. That is, our readers/customers, and NOT our executives.

Let go of the unimportant. Nothing more needs be said about that.

My highest priority for 2010: Find some inputs. Nearly all of my creative and mental energy is expended on outputs -- making work for others. And currently, all of my learning opportunities are work-related and, therefore, deeply unsatisfying. (Wow, I can add HTML code to a web page. Yippee.) I desperately DESPERATELY need inputs. I need to learn things, to fuel my brain and heart and creativity. Some initial ideas: attending programs at the Cincinnati Observatory, the Civic Garden Center; learning calligraphy, bread-baking, French, whatever.

Like I said, 2010 feels like it's a time for Rob and me to keep our eyes open to new and interesting things.