From Goodreads: One day, Lori Gottlieb is a therapist who helps patients in her Los Angeles practice. The next, a crisis causes her world to come crashing down. Enter Wendell, the quirky but seasoned therapist in whose office she suddenly lands. With his balding head, cardigan, and khakis, he seems to have come straight from Therapist Central Casting. Yet he will turn out to be anything but.
My Review of Maybe You Should Talk to Someone: A Therapist, Her Therapist, and Our Lives Revealed
This is a fairly popular book and you’re likely to see it on a number of top booklists between 2019 (when published) and now. The title intrigued me. And someone who really liked this book prompted me to pick it up.
I really liked the intimacy of this book. Whenever there’s therapy involved, especially “authentic” therapy, it feels intimate. We become the “fly on the wall” observing someone else’s struggle.
I also enjoyed the insight into how therapists think and treat their patients.
And of course, the conclusion of the book was profound.
From Goodreads: On a remote island off the coast of Ireland, guests gather to celebrate the wedding of Jules Keegan and Will Slater…Everyone on the island has a secret. Everyone has a motive. And someone won’t leave this wedding alive.
My Review of The Guest List
Creepy. The story, that is. I started out reading this one a little slowly because it definitely set the tone for the mystery and the later scare. The perspective shifts from character to character were really quite masterful, and the story ended with a WOW.
Plot was intricate. Characters were sometimes larger than life, but also had twists of humanity that made the “bad” characters less unlikable.
Once I got about a third of the way in, I just kept going. Always a sign of a good story, and good writing.
So what do you write to a stranger? Aside from starting the letter – Hey Stranger? Then you wax poetic about restaurants and food and lines for food. Because everyone can relate to a story about food, right? After all, food isn’t just fuel, it’s art; it’s a hobby –it’s war. Food is war.
Take Elijah, for example. He tells me, with his dark face and lips hardly moving, mumbling slightly—I lean in—Elijah says: take the pie. The pie? I ask. What about the pie? Well, he mumbles a little—I note the grey at his temples. He still keeps his hair short, military style.
“Y’all serve pie two times a day. Lunch and Dinner.”
Well, you know we have diabetics here, and they shouldn’t have pie served twice a day.
I sit back and look at him.
“No one makes you take the pie, Elijah. Really, you can choose to have pie if you want it. Once, twice a day. Or not at all.”
“You shouldn’t be serving it,” he responds.
“Elijah, it’s about self-determination. We give you the choice. Take a piece of pie or don’t.”
“No really, I think y’all should only serve it once a day.”
I sigh. I lean back and I tell him about my grandfather who was in a nursing home at the end of his life. His greatest joy those final days was the scoop of ice cream they offered him on special occasions. I sum it up with—So Elijah, there might be some guys who want pie at lunch or who want pie at dinner. Why should I take that away from them?
Food is war.
Elijah is battling with himself—he forgets to talk about how he wants to vary the menus, how he’s asked for field trips to the Culinary Academy so they can all try the gourmet eggs béarnaise.
[Food is love.]
Elijah is on a mission to save everyone from the very pie that he can’t resist. He’ll tell you he’s a diabetic. He’ll tell you he’s on dialysis. He’s fighting a fight to stay alive. What he won’t tell you is how often the pie has won. He won’t tell you how many times he’s given in to the pie. He just wants you to vanquish the enemy on his behalf.
Remove the pie.
What’s next? We serve yogurt. We serve ice cream. You can even get a decent cup of coffee or two or three. No one will force feed you—at least, not until you move to a higher level of care—and they won’t force-feed you there, either. Rather, you’ll have a nurse sit across from you, with a cup of applesauce, attempting to feed you so you don’t choke. And if you don’t like applesauce, they’ll try something else. And if you are on chewing restrictions, which means your jaw no longer works the way it was designed, you don’t get a nice slice of pie. Ever again. You get pureed pie. Pureed meat. Pureed something. You don’t get to chew a piece of tangy apple, in its own juice, spiced with a little cinnamon, topped with a bit of tender flaky pastry. You won’t have the opportunity to let the butter crust melt on your tongue. Why the hell would we stop serving pie to people who can still savor it? Life’s too short to take away the pie.
Seriously, Elijah, what were you thinking?
This is a piece written in an Amherst Writers & Artists session. All works are deemed to be fiction. For more information about Pat Schneider’s non-profit arts organization, visit Amherst Writers & Artists.
My Sunday gratitude: years ago I was at the lowest of the low as I had recently had a major setback on something I had been working on for some time. I recall I got out of my vehicle at work and stepped on something shiny. It was a medal. It was a Mother Mary religious medal that had a prayer on it, likely blessed by a priest. I tried to reconnect the medal with its owner, but it stayed with me. If ever I had a sign, that was it. My problem soon resolved, and I moved on with an encouraged heart.
Today, I stepped out of the vehicle in a local parking lot where I was going for a run. I nearly stepped on two 5 dollar bills. You might say that money and medals are very different things. I have always viewed a found penny as a message from a HP of prosperity and blessings. Some groups think of the number 5 as the number for change. Since I received two 5ers, I think there’s much change ahead. I’m hoping it’s generally good, as most things are in the end. Thankful for the message from my HP.
Also, I discovered today when teaching English idioms to the spouse, I never finished the phrase “Finders Keepers” — I would stop there. He was today years old when one of our kids taught him the rest of the phrase. The whole saying is “Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers.”
I don’t like to focus on losing, so I left that out.