Sherry Roberts Notebook

The lovely thing about taking a blind man to a sculpture garden is that he can touch all the  artwork—something frowned upon by most museums and galleries. I should know; a security guard almost tackled me once when he thought I was trying to shake the hand of a sculpture in the Rhodin Museum in Philadelphia. That was ridiculous, of course; that sculpture had hands the size of hubcabs.

The troublesome thing about taking a blind man to a sculpture garden is that the art is humongous—and often modern. So on this Saturday afternoon, I found myself in the Walker Sculpture Garden trying to make sense of modern art to someone who could not see it and had a heck of a time wrapping his arms around it

Then we came upon the grove of trees across from Minneapolis' most famous outdoor installation, a cherry balanced in the bowl of a reclining spoon. And suddenly art made sense. A wonderfully crazy artist named Pierre Huyghe had the idea to hang 50 wind chimes in the trees and let the wind play music. The chimes project was inspired by John Cage's 1948 score "Dream." 

The chimes included wind pipes that seemed to hum in different tones as they jingled gently in the wind. I felt surrounded by praying monks in a temple in some exotic land. Surely, this was the true sound of OM. Huyghe made a pipe for each note of Cage's composition. So as you walk under the trees you hear the hum of the pipes sprinkled with the laughter of the chimes, and each moment is different according to the wind's whim. The randomness is so Cage and so enchanting.

As I watched one person after another enter the grove of wind music, I realized we were all reacting in a similar way. We lift our chins into the breeze, close our eyes, and smile. The air bathes us in music, a sound so natural that it seems part of the trees and sky and us. When the wind shifts, we feel spray from the "Spoonbridge and Cherry" sculpture fountain in the center of the garden. We are happy.

My friend Neal immediately moaned about leaving his recording equipment behind. The bells of the Basillica of St. Mary nearby sounded and, for the first time that I can remember, I grew impatient with that usually pleasant song. I wanted to hear the wind music—not church bells, not speeding cars on Hennepin, not people talking. I never wanted to leave that vortex of soothing sound.

I love the sounds Minnesota makes with wind and trees, with pines that roar and aspens that clack. It makes me think I am lucky to live here. And now there is another reason, 50 of them, in fact. When the wind chimes come down, as they eventually must, this grove won't be the same, ever again, for many people. We will walk through here and remember a Saturday afternoon when nature serenaded us.

Back around 200 B.C., a humble physician named Patanjali wrote the Yoga Sutra, a guide for living the right life. In this essential yogic text, Patanjali discusses the practice of ahimsa: harm no creature in thought or deed.

After September 11, 2001, I wrote about ahimsa ("a" means "not" and "himsa" means "harm") and terrorism and forgiveness. I have discovered that the practice of ahimsa is a daily challenge: choosing to let the swallows make their messy nest under the eaves and dodging the excitable parents every time I step out of the garage; voicing a kind word instead of the harsh one that jumps to my tongue; keeping all ten fingers curled calmly on the steering wheel—and not lifting one opinionated middle digit—when the guy behind me gives new meaning to road rage. 

Ahimsa is about trying to understand the points of view of others. I was reminded of this again when reading The Subversive Copy Editor. Author Carol Fisher Saller, editor of The Chicago Manual of Style Online's Q&A, maintains that "your first goal as an editor is merely to do no harm." She writes that it is a privilege to polish a manuscript and that those of us who edit (for fun and/or profit) don't have an invitation to slash and burn in the name of style rules.

Darn.

As an editor, I like consistency. I like bringing order to the lawless book manuscript, kicking promotional butt when I come across a brochure oozing with meaningless blah-blah, and cranking up the interest meter in boring newsletter stories. I see editors as super-heroes, quietly (yet dramatically) saving the day and then stepping back into the shadows.

Yet after spending time with Carol on her recent trip to the Twin Cities, I came to realize that rigidity—either on the yoga mat or while pecking away at the computer—serves no one. Relax. Unwind (not to the point of incompetency but into the warmth of compassion). In the end, the editor must do what is best for the work, the reader, and the writer.

We are not avengers of grammar. We lay down our egos and feel lighter. We are swallows swerving amid sentences.

I have always liked keeping journals of my vacations, even day trips. And it seems that is the way it was meant to be. Once on a weekend geo-caching journey with my husband, I forgot my notebook. But guess what was in the first cache we found—a sweet little notebook with hearts and roses on the cover. Perfect for a young girl's secrets or a mature woman's meanderings: "Garrison, MN, has a giant fish guarding 200-square-mile Mille Lac. I like giant animals. May have seen first gopher, regular size." or "Willow River State Park, Hudson, WI: Grateful Dead quote in cache: 'Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most.'" 

When I started taking mini-vacations with my daughters, I converted my travelogues into lists. The key to travel lists is to pick a word and let the memories flow. Here is the journal list from our most recent trek to Madison, Wisconsin (June 27-28, 2009).

1. Bee balm: In late June, I-90 and I-94 from the Twin Cities to Madison are bursting with wildflowers— daisies, day lilies, bird's foot trefoil, chicory. But the flower of the trip is bee balm at the Olbrich Botanical Gardens in Madison.
   
2. Baraboo Chocolate Store: pose for a picture in the lap of a cow (a low-cow seat) then head inside for some definitely not lo-cal chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. We see sweets we haven't seen in years like Pop Rocks, old favorites like Cow Tales, irresistible meltaways of every flavor, and the ridiculously sublime Udderfingers and Moo Chews. But Baraboo's signature item is the Cow Pie, of course. No throwing, please.
   
3. Chazen Museum of Art in Madison: renaming the artwork or, in the case of untitled works, christening them. What do you think this is? 
   
4. Rain and snow: At the Chazen, we saw an exhibit of Kawase Hasui color woodcuts. Amazing lone Japanese figures struggling against the elements in snow laden or soggy scenes. Powerful landscapes delicately rendered.
   
5. Thai Garden at the Olbrich: red is for compassion, green is for healing, gold is for mindfulness, water jars for hospitality. Sala is a shelter from the rain or heat in Thailand. The pavilion is only one of four located outside of Thailand. The others are in Germany, Norway, and Hawaii. It was built in Thailand, disassembled, and packed in shipping crates. Seven weeks by sea, then rail, then truck to cold Wisconsin where it was reconstructed in three weeks and survives thanks to plantation-grown teak and weather-resistant ceramic roof tiles.
   
6. Pasqual's: best margaritas ever. They come from a tap in the wall, mixed (according to my imagination) in huge hidden tanks by margarita experts. So strong that by the end of the night I was simply calling them "tequilas."
   
7. Michael's Frozen Custard: named "Best in Madison" 18 years in a row. No argument here. Delicious frozen custard, cookie dough, and fudge in a cup. What is not to like?
   
8. Detours: Ah, summer in Wisconsin and Minnesota. We have winter and detour season. Does anyone like these? We got lost only once on the two-lane backcountry detour from Madison to Spring Green, Wisconsin, but it had the potential to ruin our timetable.
   
9. Cat spirit: Unfortunately, a black cat crossed our path on the detour. He was either too fast or not fast enough, just trying to get from one hunting ground to another. We swerved, honked, cried but alas the black cat was bound for a better world. Namaste.
   
10. Taliesin: A visit to the former home of Frank Lloyd Wright was the highlight of our trip. We toured the house and school, saw the Romeo and Juliet windmill, met Sherpa the lucky cat that gets to climb all over all those wonderful horizontal Wright lines instead of dueling with traffic on county roads. (Photo of Taliesin garden.)
    
11. Tension/release: The compression of the low ceilings and narrow hallways opening into high-ceilinged, window-wrapped expanses in Taliesin always makes me feel as if the house is breathing.
    
12. Nada on the bathrooms and closets: Apparently, these bored Frank. He thought no one needed to collect that much stuff anyway (thus the few and small closets) and one should do one's business (thus the utilitarian bathrooms) and get out into the rest of the house, which is breathing and waiting for you to get on with living.
    
13. Circumspect guide: The guide kept to the dates and the architecture and downplayed the personal aspects of the controversial Wright—not much on Mamah the mistress, murder, and mayhem.
    
14. Rock everywhere: Wright wanted to bring the local materials inside using limestone and rock on the exterior as well as many interior walls and floors. Not a barefoot-friendly place. Hard and impossible to heat. For a man so intent on creating spaces to live in naturally, Taliesin is incredibly unlivable.
    
15. Aliens and top secrets: On the way home to the Twin Cities, we swung through the Wisconsin Dells to find a restaurant named Moose Jaws. The Dells now resembles Myrtle Beach or Cancun or Vegas with big theme parks, water slides, and resorts elbow to elbow. The one that had us pulling over and gawking was Top Secret, a fun house in a structure that is the exact replica of the White House if it had been abducted by aliens and tossed into the Dells upside down. I asked what the tour was like but was only told, "It's a fun house; we can't tell you anything else." Not usually one to avoid poking the government in the eye when it needs it, I found this image oddly disturbing. Almost a desecration. I prefer my crass entertainment in the form of the Trojan Horse or the Roman Coliseum. Maybe I'll just stick with Ripley's Believe or Not.
    
16. Finally, family: What a wonderful invention, telling secrets over dinner, singing in the car, hugging at every rest stop, wondering when we can do this again. 

We used to read e-books on our Palm, but since the Kindle arrived in our home, it has assumed the status of top dog e-reader. In either case, as with any pet, the cost of kibble is an issue. Feeding any e-book reader in general and the Kindle in particular can get expensive.

Though it would be wonderful to have all the latest titles socked away in the Kindle's memory banks, more often than not, we end up scouring the bargain bins for free and nearly free e-books to enjoy on our wireless devices.

While there are are thousands of free e-books available in various formats, many of these are hastily prepared versions of the classics and other out-of-copyright books. Nothing wrong with the classics, mind you, but sometimes we're looking for something a little more contemporary. We figure if one of the classics has escaped our attention all these decades, maybe we're just not meant for each other.

We've found these sources useful in hunting for more current offerings at prices that please.

• Kindle 2 Review's Free Kindle e-Books
• Amazon's Kindle Deals Page

Maud's House e-Book for 99 Cents

Our own entry in this field is Sherry's Maud's House: A Novel.

Published a few years back by Papier-Mache Press and now out of print, Maud's House is a light-hearted exploration of the muses behind the creative process. What do you do when you know you have talent, but can't find a way to exercise it? You need not be an artist, to appreciate Maud's House. Anyone who's every had something not work out quite right will appreciate our heroine's dilemma.

An amusing read top to bottom, Maud's House is a can't miss proposition at 99 cents.  That's right, a full length novel for less than a buck. It's not free puppy chow, but it's also not a very big gamble. Still unwilling? You can always download the free sample before making your final decision.

In the end, we think your e-book reader will lap it up.

Here's where to get your copy.

• Kindle Edition
• Mobipocket Edition

By the way, if you're not already an e-book reader, what are you waiting for? The free Mobipocket reader is easy-to-use software that will work on your smartphone, PDA, laptop, or desktop PC.

My husband and I always thought we would invent the Kindle. We were two journalism grads who talked a lot about the future of newsprint and saving trees and words captured on a screen. Alas, we never got around to it.

Now, two children and several house payments later, our entrepreneurial energies churned into building a business specializing in editorial services, Web development, and book production services, we own a handheld wireless reading device not of our design. Now we format books for the Kindle, including our own books.

We read books on the Kindle. For our business, we explore the intricacies (and limitations) of presenting the electronic books of the future. We look up words instantly and effortlessly with the Kindle’s dictionary, far away from the 9.5-pound Webster’s Unabridged on my desk. I could be out in the middle of the ocean in a raft and find the definition of cirque: “a half-open steep-sided hollow at the head of a valley or on a mountainside, formed by glacial erosion. Also called corrie, cwm (pronounced koom)”—and discover a killer Scrabble word to boot.

The Kindle has much going for it; when you’re reading in bed at night, drifting off, and your book slams down on your nose, a Kindle may leave a smaller dent than the average hardcover.

There is also much one misses when using a Kindle: the feel and smell of turning pages, the softness of an often-read book, the feeling of being connected to some great literary tradition, the vast—and free—selections at the local library. Perhaps this is what concerns me the most: the Kindle’s impact on libraries and the people who depend on this free resource for information and their reading pleasure. Sure, you can download free books for the kindle, but if you want this month’s bestseller, it will cost you. Even though I am 573 on the waiting list for the next Janet Evanovich mystery, I don’t mind waiting. It teaches me patience.

I do like the Kindle’s adjustable text size feature. Those of us with eyes that threw in the towel at 40 appreciate the ability to control our squinting. And if I were in college, I would much prefer lugging a 10.2-ounce Kindle than a backpack of heavy textbooks slowing giving me curvature of the spine.

Still, there is one futuristic image I can’t get out of my mind. The Kindle holds more than 1,500 books. Would I rather walk into a library and see the shelves packed with 1,500 hardcovers, paperbacks, novels, gardening books, Harry Potters and Ernest Hemingways—or one Kindle?

No doubt the children of tomorrow will have no choice. So I am going to enjoy them—both my lovely books and my useful Kindle—while I’ve got them.