Subaru and a Family Reunion

Renting a car is an unusual pleasure. You get to pretend to be someone else for a little while. You are the person who would buy this sporty little speedster as opposed to the practical minivan you drive around. You are the wealthy person with only 400 miles on your car, as opposed to 140,000 miles your real car has traversed. Perhaps I should quit writing in the second person when it’s really me I’m talking about. I thoroughly enjoy this temporary gratification. Or rather, I did.

This past week, my husband Curtis and I traveled to a family reunion on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington. Twenty-two family members shared an old Coast Artillery barracks with bad plumbing, aged carpets, and a stunning view of the ocean. It couldn’t have been better. I could have participated in this event pretending to be something I’m not, a real temptation when faced with such an event. But something wouldn’t have fit. Instead, I found myself living among family I know well, and those I haven’t seen in years, feeling comfortable in my skin. It would be fun to be different, but I didn’t need to be. I was accepted as the person I am, however unstylish or worn out. This brings me back to the Subaru.

During our time in Washington, we drove a 2006 Subaru Legacy. I got into this car, ready to adopt a new persona, a different attitude, a "new car" life. But something didn’t fit. Literally. No matter what way I adjusted the seat or the steering wheel, the car was ridiculously uncomfortable. I couldn’t even get out of it without groaning. (Review moment: don’t ever buy this car. :) )

I’ve given up on wanting to be something I’m not. On the inside, I was comfortable with my family, makeupless and real, and now that I’m back in my 1998 Ford Windstar, with its dents and noises and 140,000 miles, my outside is comfortable too.

The Marvelous Land of Oz by L. Frank Baum

As a pre-teen in the Fort Leavenworth, Kansas library, I remember discovering an entire bookcase of “Oz books”, as I then called them. L. Frank Baum indeed wrote many sequels to the book upon which the famous movie is based, and while some are written better than others, they all left a delightful imprint upon my childhood.

As an adult, I now see interesting social commentary throughout the series, but nowhere so much as in this, the first sequel of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. In college, I recommended this book to a friend of mine who was studying gender theory, having no idea how rich this tale actually is in material for that subject. For example, at one point, Baum has two armies at war with each other, each made entirely of girls. Non-human characters like the scarecrow and tinman are the real heroes, and women come to their aid when their courage is not enough. Human men in the book are cowards, weaklings, or conniving powermongers. Is it possible that Baum was an early feminist? I know very little of his personal life, nor of his philosophies other than that which he reveals through these fantasies. What I do know is that, two days after I finished reading this book (having purchased it at an antique store, since it is out of print), my mind is still whirling with the repercussions of the story line. There is something to be said for writing which does that.

For those of you who may be wondering, I do read novels intended for adults, but I have discovered that it is far easier for me to find accessible, enjoyable, and succinct literature in the competitive field of children/adolescent writing, than it is for me to find such in books intended for adults. In addition, my less than predictable lifestyle makes it far more pleasurable to bury myself in a book that I can finish quickly, than to draw out a novel over several weeks. I’ll have to review a lengthy “grown-up” novel soon, however, just to keep things interesting for you.