Kali J Desautels

I am home sick, and my kids found this book that they said was perfect for me at our neighbourhood Little Library. No, it’s not because of my all abiding love for the Beach Boys, or because they thought the cover looked interesting. They do not know what memoirs are. They thought it was perfect for me simply because it said Brian Wilson on the cover. To them, Brian Wilson is not the artistic genius behind the surfing music of the 1969s; to them, Brian Wilson is their mother’s favourite song. Yep, they were so excited to Brian Wilson on the cover of this book, that they had to bring it home for their sick mama, because my favourite song in the world is Brian Wilson by Barenaked Ladies. They were so incredibly excited and so earnest, that I am about to read all about the California music legend, and simply because my favourite musical band wrote a song and named it after him. ❤️

#iambrianwilson #brianwilson #beachboys #barenakedladies #bnl #lyinginbedjustlikebrianwilsondid #lovemykids #littlelibrary #sick #memoir #newtbr #tbr #book #blog #books #bookstagram #bookstagrammer #booksbooksandmorebooks #booklove #booklover #bookworm #read #readersofig #readersofinstagram #reading #readinglist #kalidesautelsreads

My province is in an official state of emergency. There are so many forest fires and so many evacuees that the entire province is in crisis. A full fire ban is in effect. If
You are caught around an open flame, not just the person who started the fire, but all those around the fire will be ticketed. If you are caught throwing a cigarette out your car window, you may have it impounded. Companies and individuals are working around the clock to gather money, supplies, and resources. People are opening their homes to the evacuees, preparing cots and air mattresses for those fleeing the disaster. British Columbians are coming out in force to help our neighbours. This makes me proud. I believe, sometimes to my own detriment, and often to the consternation of my husband, that as long as I have something, I have something to give. I have been known to stick a $20 bill into a fireman’s boot, even though that is the last $20 I have at my disposal. I have “adopted” children in Third World countries; I have added money to my grocery bill for kids to get books in schools; at a previous job, I faced my insane fear of heights to sit on the roof of the grocery store I worked in, to raise money for BC Children’s Hospital. This is not to make me sound like Mother Theresa. I’m not. I am just as self-centred and mean as the next person, but it is simply to demonstrate that giving is not something I avoid doing. I read a passage in Trevor Noah’s book Born A Crime where he says that instead of giving a man a fish, or teaching him to fish, we need to also give him a fishing pole to be able to fish. That strikes me as apt: what good is knowing how to fish, if you can’t afford to buy the tools to catch the fish? I do not believe that giving charity is wrong; I do not believe in everyone for themselves. I believe in giving.

Tonight, a well known charitable organization (globally, not just in BC) came to my door in the form of a charming young Irish man. If you know me, you know that I am a sucker for an accent, so I was content to let him explain why he was there. He asked me if I would be able to sign up to give $30 a month to help those affected by the fires. He made a joke that $30 a month won’t have me living in a tent on the street. I told him that unfortunately that it was more than I could afford at the moment, and was there another option for donating. He said that the website is always available, but rolled quickly into a shpiel about how that wasted valuable dollars by paying an administration fee that would otherwise go to relief. And then told me it was better to just sign up with him. I began to feel guilty and uncomfortable because my desire would be to simply say yes, and sign up for it, but due to financial issues of my own, I simply don’t have that much extra money, while caring for my kids. I told him I am sorry, but I really couldn’t commit to that, and thanked him for what he was doing for the victims. He then said “c’mon! What’s 4 quarters a day? The rest of your neighbours have given, you’ve got a generous neighbourhood. It’s true what they say about Canadians being nice! You need to continue the trend and be just as generous as your neighbours!” He continued to needle me in a cheerful way, and I continued to feel guilty, but simply could not say yes to this. I know that there are other ways to help, ways that I can afford, while still making a contribution. I reiterated that no, I’m sorry, but I would not be able to. He then asked me why I resisted, and feeling the flush of humiliation, while standing in the doorway of my own home, I clumsily explained that due to financial matters, I could not spare that much a month. Then he asked for a void cheque, saying it would give me time to save up before the cheque was processed, and that it would be easy to cancel if need be. I could not believe this: I had finally mustered up the ability to say no, and I was being not only
ignored, but pressured and made to feel like I was making a bad decision . I felt so ashamed at not being able to help, and also frustrated that he continued to push, while unable, due to some ingrained sense of politeness to close the door on him. The kicker for me, was that when my husband stepped in and said “I believe my wife already said no”, the young man stepped back, put his hands up and said “of course, yes, I do not mean to pressure”, and left quickly.

We all want to help. Ok, well, almost all of us want to help. It is natural to want to help our fellow humans. I believe this strongly and shake my head when I hear Randian me, myself and I arguments. I appreciate that I am an easy mark because of this. My own sense of guilt at not helping, my people pleasing tendencies and my difficulty with saying “No” are all blindingly obvious to those looking for someone to subscribe to a fund. What I do not appreciate is that in order to be taken seriously, my husband needed to step in. My no is the same as his no. My money and his money coexist quite happily in their mutual bank account. My budget and his budget are the same. We are both looking to feed and cloth our shared children. Yet his no is respected instantly, and mine is poked and prodded and harangued.

At this point, some of you can see where I am going with this, and are thinking “seriously? How did she make a post about the state of emergency in British Columbia into a feminist issue??” Well, folks, I’m glad you asked. I did not make it a feminist issue. The young man representing a global charity and relief fund made it a feminist issue when he demonstrated that to him what a woman says is not as valuable or as true as what a man says. I am home sick from work with bronchitis and a sinus infection, I can barely speak, and yet, I could not end the conversation with this fellow. My husband walks in the room, and he is gone within 15 seconds. This, my friends, is exactly why we still need feminism. This is why I will repeat myself like a broken record. This is why I will stand on my virtual soapbox. When my croaky sick voice is taken with the same seriousness as that of my husband, then I will step down, but not a moment sooner.

*seriously, though, if there is anything you can do to help those affected by the fires in BC, please donate. Whatever you can do, even spare some of your time, can make a difference.

BC Fires Red Cross http://www.redcross.ca/how-we-help/current-emergency-responses/british-columbia-fires

July 11, 2014 – do you remember what you were doing that day? Would you remember what you did if Facebook didn’t force the highlights of what you liked or shared that day? 

I do. I can tell you exactly what I was doing that day. It was a hot, sunny day. My extended family was descending upon my grandmother’s retirement facility to release butterflies in memory of my Grampa, who had succumbed to pancreatic cancer a year and a half earlier. After the release, I was leaving my daughter with my mom and sisters and was taking my son to an appointment at the hospital. I was then going to drive back to my mom’s house to pick up my daughter and rejoin my family for a barbecue. It was a busy schedule, but as a stay at home mom, it was a fairly typical day. 

During the butterfly release, I kept feeling overheated, and needed to sit down or lean on the wall. I thought I was coming down with a cold, or was simply too worn out by the emotional day. I could barely muster up the energy to smile when my nephew, one of my favourite people in the world, told me his butterfly had kissed his cheek. I then drove my son a half an hour back to our town hospital. I could feel my heart racing and began to worry that I should not be driving. I thought it was odd that I was so anxious about the non-invasive tests that the hospital would be running on my five year old son. When we pulled into the parking lot at the hospital, I was so anxious and hot that I sincerely wished I could have slipped out of my skin and into something cooler. I opened the windows and sat in the car, with my son, hoping that the feeling of anxiety, heat and the subsequent racing heart, shallow breathing and confusion, would pass and my son and I would be able to continue with our busy day. 

It didn’t pass. While waiting for my son’s exams, I messaged my mom and my husband and told them something was wrong. I told them my husband would need to pick our daughter up, and that I needed to go home. I told my mom that I thought there was something wrong with my thyroid, as I was shaking so much. At 13, I had been diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Hypothyroiditis, and had lived the subsequent 18 years listening carefully to what my body was telling me, and when it didn’t think it was getting enough of the Thyroid Stimulating Hormone (TSH). I did not feel “hypo”, as that presented, in me, as lethargy, exhaustion, confusion, coldness and depression. This felt “hyper”. My mom understood, and arranged to have my daughter brought home. When my son and I went home, it was all I could do to make it up the jack and the beanstalk- sized staircase (I could have sworn it was a regular staircase that morning…) and crawl into my bed. 

I laid there, my body shaking so badly that I could feel my bed moving. I did what I always do when I feel lousy – I called my mommy. I told her what was going on, and she agreed that it was not good. She asked me if I needed anything and I said no. She did not agree, and called my husband and suggested that he come home, and told him that I was in a bad way. 

That was The Day I Got Sick. Again. This time, I was a grown woman with two little kids who needed care. This time, I was a grown woman who would need to figure this out. This time, I could not convalesce in my bedroom plastered with Jonathan Taylor Thomas posters, while my mom ran interference with the doctors and my responsibilities. Or so I thought. My parents and sisters and friends turned to me to help. My parents took the kids to stay with them most of every week, all summer. My kids had fun, though I felt guilty that they would feel they had been abandoned by their Mama. They did not feel abandoned, they were having a blast, but I still felt guilty. 

The year that followed July 11, 2014 was one of the hardest of my life – I went to every specialist under the sun, had blood tests weekly, and could barely praise myself out of bed to get my kids to school. I had to explain to both of their teachers why they were consistently late for school, and  to please direct their annoyance at me, and not at the kids. 

It was really hard, and really awful, and I truly felt that this was the worst period in my life. The doctors didn’t know what was wrong with me, and therefore couldn’t tell me when or if I would ever feel better. My life was figuratively paused, while those of my friends and family carried on. 

July 11, 2015 – after a diagnosis of fibromyalgia, and treatment that helped, my sister and her best friend took me to get a tattoo. It was one year to the day of the Day I Got Sick, and I wanted to commemorate my survival and health with a permanent reminder that I was stronger than I thought I was. (I wrote of the story behind my tattoo here – (My Semicolon Story))

July 11, 2017 – to mark the three year anniversary of The Day I Got Sick, I went to exercise with one of my amazing friends that texted with me through it all. As I did squats and lunges, and whatever other form of private hell we could think of, I inwardly beamed. I am not as strong, or as fit, or as thin as I was in 2014, but I am infinitely happier. As I put my body through its paces, I was gentle with myself, and relished the fact that three years ago, I would not have been capable of doing any of this. The Mean Reds are gone, (most of the time) and my body and I are working towards a delicate trust. There is something so exhilarating about regaining lost health, and being able to swing a kettle bell, regardless of how light it is, when in recent memory, I could not even swing my legs out of bed. 

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The fifth and as of yet, final published book from George RR Martin’s A Song of Fire and Ice Series follows the adventures of the characters that were missing from A Feast For Crows – we find Tyrion, Jon Snow, Davos Seaworth, Danaerys, Theon Greyjoy, and a host of new POV characters as well; and, near the end of the book, the story moves forward, bringing back Cersei, Jaime and Arya. This is the longest of the books so far, but I enjoyed it more than I enjoyed Crows. As with the first of the series, A Game of Thrones, Martin revisits his habit of repeating imagery and wording throughout the book, especially when discussing Tyrion, and his new friend Penny. Along with this, my second complaint would be that he spends more time revisiting past events to describe what had happened in past books, however, in fairness to Martin, when he wrote this tome, there had been a lag of 6 years between Crows and Dragons, and most readers likely did not binge read the entire series in one month. So now, I join the rest of ASOFI fans, waiting impatiently for the twice delayed 6th installation of the series. (1125 pgs)

#adancewithdragons #georgerrmartin #asongoffireandice #gameofthrones #got #agot #westeros #fantasy #fiction #novel #series #bookfive #bookstagrammer #bookstagram #blog #book #books #bookclub #bookclubofinstagram #read #review #readers #reading #readersofinstagram #kalidesautelsreads 

“I to know more about you! I see your profile and I adore you!” – complete strangers
Since setting up my blog and public Instagram account for my book reviews, I have received countless private messages from men whom I do not know, professing a desire to know my age, marital status and whether I would be DTF. I had originally thought that all of these people were simply bots, and were set up to troll the internet, and my sites had just gotten in the way. However, now I am not as sure that this is the case for every one of them. 

I received an email through the address created specifically for my review site – for this blog – that told me that this person was a successful business person, and he was not successful in his personal life and would like to get to know me better. I do not usually respond to these sorts of messages, as they do not pertain to the topic of the blog. However, this day, I was particularly full of piss and vinegar, and decided to reply. I told him I was sorry about his lack of success in his personal life, and that I reviewed books, and  that that was what my profile told him. He replied that he knew this, but would like to know me better than that. I told him there was not much else to know, and who was he? So he suddenly became a single, tragic Roman banker, who travels the world for business and is currently settled in New York and was looking for someone to talk to. If you know me, you know that I absolutely hate small talk, and have no interest in carrying on ridiculous conversations with people that I am not even convinced exist. So, I did what I always do when I feel cornered by this type of person – I play the Married Card.

I have been married to my husband for nearly eleven years, we have been together for 18 years, we have two beautiful kids, and the fact that our relationship is still going strong is one of my proudest accomplishments; HOWEVER, I am also a feminist who has only recently felt brave enough to use my voice loudly and publicly, and now I feel that my old go-to shield of my wedding ring is not very feminist at all. Why should I allow the fact that my husband exists be the reason that I do not care for unwanted advances and flirtations? I don’t want them because they are rude, they are uncalled for, they are disgusting, and I am a human being who ought to be treated like one. The man who messaged me last week saying that he “came across [my] gorgeous profile” and wanted to know what I do said that he doesn’t care for books – the direct message came through my Bookstagram profile. When I told him I reviewed books and what sort did he like, he replied “I don’t read, but I just “adore you””. What sort of nonsense is this? What part of book reviews gives you the impression that I want you to hit on me? 

In the months since this blog has been live, I have been woken to a whole new world of male privilege – if a profile looks female, I shall hit on her, and she shall be honoured! I have friends who are single and deal with this sort of crap in “real life”, and this furthers my desire to break free of my easy reply of “married” – they do not have that to go to when a situation gets uncomfortable. I have had friends turn down dates because they weren’t interested to have the men lash out via text that they were not deserving of love or attention; I have had friends find their dating stories show up online and themselves dehumanized. Male entitlement and privilege is a thing in real life, but when we are just typing we, as people, feel safer to spew nastiness or innuendo than we would in person. I wonder if some of these messages would be spoken aloud should these people meet me in the street? I wonder if my friends’ would-be paramours would be so quick to switch to nasty name calling or depersonalizations if my friends had been sitting across the table? 

I wish I had a suggestion or a closing argument that would cause these things to stop. I wish there was a button next to the mute button on my Twitter that said “Chauvinist”. I wish my friends did not have their own insecurities thrown back in their faces by these men. And most of all, I wish… no, I am DETERMINED to defend myself and shut people down without making my “man” do it for me. 

Alllllllllmost done this dictionary-sized copy of A Dance With Dragons! I have to say that I found this one much more fun than a Feast For Crows, however, once again, the best part is when we are back to ALL the character POVs!!! I’m looking forward to finishing this heavy book, and thereby the series so far, but I am also sad that the next book has not yet been published! It will give me something to look forward to, I suppose. #adancewithdragons #asongoffireandice #gameofthrones #agot #got #almostfinished #coffee #ayawnisasilentscreamforcoffee #greenworldcoffeefarm #hawaiiancoffee #hawaiian #coffee #mug #muglove #book #bibliophile #blog #bookstagram #bookstagrammer #booksbooksandmorebooks #read #reading #readersofig #readersofinstagram #kalidesautelsreads 

This morning, while driving my kids to out-of-school care, my 9 year old daughter said from the backseat “Mama, why do I have to sit with my legs squished together?” A quick glance back showed me that she was wearing a sundress, so I told her it was because she was wearing a dress and she doesn’t want to show her underwear. She replied “but even when I wear pants I have to”, to which I replied that, no, as long as her pants were not split at the crotch seam there was no reason for her to sit like that. And then she mentioned HER (I’m sure every mother has a child that when their name crosses our child’s lips we shudder slightly at the mini-Mean Girl frenemy that we wished they didn’t have. In this case, let’s call her Anna). 

“Anna says that even when I wear pants, I ALWAYS have to sit with my legs squished together, or I am not ladylike. She said being not ladylike is rude,” my daughter sounded confused as to why Anna would tell her one thing and her mommy would tell her something else…(just wait, my darling, you are only at the beginning of Mama disagreeing with your friends! We haven’t even hit the teen years yet…)

Suppressing the desire to roll my eyes (after all, I am the grown up here…scary), I said “if she says anything like that again, tell her that your mommy doesn’t believe in ladylike. It is sexist and silly, and as long as you are not wearing a dress or a skirt, there is no reason to not sit however you feel comfortable”. I explained to her that no one tells her brother to sit “ladylike”, so why should she?

It made me think about how we indoctrinate our little girls from such a young age to be little “ladies” in more ways than just the pink, plastic Barbie way. (Case in point – one of my friends found pink Wonder Woman gardening gloves and tools… Wonder Woman does not wear pink, so why the colour choice? Little girls are perfectly capable of liking gardening gloves in Wonder Woman red, blue and gold!!) It may seem innocuous to tell our daughters to be ladylike, but it is a way of controlling their behaviour and teaching them to yield to gender norms. By teaching them that if they aren’t ladylike, they are being rude we are limiting them to two options – a feral ruffian child, or a polite little girl. It is a way to strip their equality away before they even realize it – their brothers jump and shout and kick and run, and we say “oh he’s such a boy!”; the girls try to jump and shout and kick and run, and we say “hush now! That’s not ladylike!” We tell them to sit quietly, we tell them to dress prettily, we tell them to brush their hair, and keep their clothes clean, we tell them to be like princesses, we teach them to be little ladies. And it needs to stop. 

So I say no. My daughter is never as beautiful to me as when she is unkempt and freckled and free. When her eyes are bright, her head tipped back in a loud laugh; when she stands on the seawall facing the great Pacific Ocean, hair and dress whipping in the wind, arms flung back and her face peaceful. She does not need to be packaged to suit the norms of her gender. She needs to be kind, accepting of all people, polite, willing to stand up for herself and for others. She needs to express herself, and be allowed to be herself, just the same way that her brother is allowed to be. So please, do not tell our daughters to be ladylike. Do not pose them prettily, as though they were dolls. Do not ask them to keep their dresses tidy. Teach them to be strong, and brave, and truly and utterly themselves. Let them sit however they please, and voice their opinions and explore; get dirty and loud and jump, and not keep their “legs squished together”. 

In honour of this week’s 20th Anniversary of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, a quote from the irrepressible Luna Lovegood – “You’re as sane as I am”. Those who knew Luna knew she was odd, and perhaps a bit insane, but she is a quirky, odd duck who is herself in all situations, no matter the circumstances. She may be a child in the series, but she is who I want to grow up to be. 

#harrypotter #harrypotteranniversary20 #lunalovegood #luna #youreassaneasiam #potterhead #potterheads #pottermore #jkrowling @msevylynch #evannalynch #summerreading #summerreads #read #reading #reading #readers #book #bookstagram #bookstagrammer #kalidesautelsreads 

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Harper Lee’s Pulitzer Prize winner novel is a classic, and upon reading the book, it is clear why. Dealing with racial tensions, racism, mob mentality and justice, Mockingbird tells the story of the widowed lawyer, Atticus Finch, and his two children, Scout and Jem, as he fights to defend a black man, wrongly standing trial for the rape of a white woman. Told from the perspective of 5 year old Scout, the reader follows the little girl through her education of white privilege and racism. Set in the sweltering South of the United States, Lee creates a world that feels so real the reader loses the sense that they themselves are not in Maycomb County, Alabama. Atticus Finch is, to this day, the zenith of the noble white lawyer stepping in to defend the black man, when no one else will. In our current day, this in itself is a form of racism, but in 1960, it was considered an example of an alliance that white people need to step in to protect their black neighbours from racism. In a way, Atticus Finch was an original Ally. Atticus teaches Jem and Scout that one must do right, no matter the cost. He encouraged independent and critical thought, and allowed his children to call him by his first name. While many will have read Mockingbird in high school, whether you did or not, and whether you enjoyed it or not, I beseech you to pick it up and read it now. It is well written, classic yet timely, and ideal for reading in the summer. (376 pgs)

#tokillamockingbird #harperlee #1960 #scout #atticusfinch #south #classicnovels #fiction #novel #racism #justice #law #race #racialjustice #racialtensions #americangothic #read #reading #readers #readersofig #book #bibliophile #books #bookstagram #bookstagrammer #wine #whitewine #bloubergwine #kalidesautelsreads 

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The 4th book from George RR Martin’s A Song of Fire and Ice Series is a departure from the previous books, and thusly, my least favourite. In this book, most of my favourite characters are missing – Tyrion, Danaerys, Davos – and we are following Arya, Cersei, Jaime and Brienne for the most part. Where previous books had balanced the politics and scheming of King’s Landing with the swashbuckling adventure of the Dothraki, the humour of Tyrion and the emerging power of Danaerys and her dragons, A Feast For Crows centres on Westeros, in particular King’s Landing. Without the balancing effect of the other characters, Cersei can, at times, be a laughable lunatic, and Brienne’s habit of repeating the same phrase again and again can be wearing. That said, A Feast For Crows is certainly not a bad book, it is merely a midway stepping stone in the series. It goes without saying that you must read this book if you are reading the series, but it certainly would not be a standalone book. (1061 pgs)

#afeastforcrows #georgerrmartin #asongoffireandice #gameofthrones #got #2011 #fantasy #fiction #novel #cersei #jaime #arya #book4 #bibliophile #book #books #bookstagram #bookstagrammer #booksbeforeball #booksbooksandmorebooks #read #review #reading #readers #readersofig #readersofinstagram #kalidesautelsreads