Sometimes an Island - Review

Sometimes an Island by Ellen Meeropol Sea Crow Press Pub date: March 6 2026 Beyond the jagged, beautiful coast of Penobscot Bay, scattered across the water, like stones thrown from a giant hand, lie hundreds of islands, some vacant, some settled by the sturdy folks of Down East Maine. One island is the home of the descendants of refugees, three cousins who fled the pogroms of Eastern Europe, to find safety in a new country. It is here that Ellen Meeropol sets her sixth book Sometimes an Island. Told in the voices of both present inhabitants and past ones interwoven, comes the love for the rock they call home, the relationships that both bind and separate, and a growing worry regarding the changes happening to the earth’s climate. Instead of being forced by violence to flee their homes to start anew like their ancestors had, the crisis of global warming impels some to leave the island in search of safety on the mainland, living off the grid, preparing for the worst. Some remain on the island, hoping for safety on their home for decades. Ms Meeropol has written a thoughtful, beautiful book, that crosses between generations as well as genres, to present different aspects of a coming disaster. Sometimes an Island delivers the unfolding preparation for a cataclysm, but also offers the deep, almost magical connections that can exist between people, even through time.

Today is the 7th anniversary of my childhood (and all the way through her life, still carried in my heart) companion and first friend. Reposting something I wrote for her after our last visit togethera few weeks before she died. Her yarzheit candle was lit at sunset yesterday. This year, as Javaczuk and I made our way back from a trip south, I stopped at the Garden of Remberance, in Clarksburg, our first reunion since 2018. It was wonderful.
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Tuesday, August 28, 2018
I remember joy

On a recent road trip, I had the chance to see my first childhood friend, my first best friend. Memories began to flow, as did laughter. At one point, she commented that my recollections of childhood were better than hers. I probably countered with a joke of some time, but the remark lingered long after our time together. It was a wonderful visit, a golden memory in itself, that I shall cherish the rest of my own remembering. Our time together sparked a flood that hasn't stopped yet. I've sent those following thoughts on to her, but this is the original piece. It's not polished, but I've decided to let it stand as it is. It was important to me for her to read it as soon as possible. She now has, and while she may have been better than me in swim meets and on the monkey bars, I apparently rock memory recall. (And also in looking up stuff-- the Cape Cod location we stayed in 1959 was Nobscussett Beach, Dennis MA.)

I remember joy
Our childhood filled with exploration
With the freedom we found
as we pumped our legs harder and faster
letting our swings carry us high in the air,
as our imaginations soared even higher
We flew, like the robins we watched for in the spring.

I remember lying on our bellies, tiny girls,  
watching the train circle the Christmas village at Mrs Piper's.
My mother told me once that we met through Mrs Piper, 
before we both could walk.
I secretly thought she was Mrs Claus, and had given me the gift of a best friend.
Plus, she always had cookies, more proof of magic.

I remember the playground behind my house at Oakview
Tumbling about on the tunnels and see-saw, riding the merry-go-round 
Graduating to the jungle gym and monkey bars,
on which you were faster.
Whenever I see two little blonde headed girls on a playground
I wonder if that's how we looked

I remember when your mother brought you to visit me 
when our families each were at Cape Cod.
We would turn 3 that September
We made sand castles, and played in shallow waves while my brothers 
dove the bigger ones.
My mother later took me to the town on the Cape where your family was staying,
So that in a two week vacation, our first apart from each other,
we saw each other twice.

I remember the magic in our own back yards
Where we climbed the mimosa tree in mine,
dug in the sandbox at yours,
Playing that ever wonderful game of "let's pretend"
building adventures far larger than the yard we were in.

I remember driving home from a cross country trip in 1962 with my family.
We'd been away for 3 months, while my father was at Stanford University.
We pulled up to our house at almost 9 pm.
I was inconsolable that I couldn't go see you.
My mother called yours, who said that you were awake, waiting for me to come home
You'd refused to even get in bed until we could see each other.
So, my mother walked me down the hill. 
Once we saw each other, it was ok. We didn't need to stay up-- just to check in.
Then we could sleep. Full reunions would come the next day.

I remember my father coming home from work,
pretending he couldn't tell the two of us apart;
calling you Ambo, and me Ab-the-Rab,
Eventually coining a mixture of our full names to call us both:
AbAm MarLiz HeNa.
And suddenly we were a club of two, giving new dimensions to our play,
hiding amidst the table legs, spying on mothers sipping tea or cleaning kitchens,
whispering, convinced we were invisible.
My mother swore she never read our minutes, and I almost believe her.

I remember the "what if's" about becoming sisters
The only problem was we each didn't want to give up our parents 
thinking the other should move in with our family.
We never worked that one out.

I remember hide and seek
How the best hiding place ever was when you curled behind your father
as he watched TV. 
You covered yourself with pillows.
I searched everywhere, finally when I called "ally ally oxen free",
you crawled out from behind him.
It was better than the time you folded yourself into the hamper, 
and had Nancy put towels on top of it, to trick me from looking inside.

I remember your cats. I remember Harry the parakeet. 

I remember playing in your basement, which was much nicer than ours.

I remember my mother being mildly insulted when I'd ask her to make tuna fish or

lamb chops like Mrs Herson did. 

I remember walking to Packets Pharmacy, Bernstein's Bakery, and Woolworths,

or going to visit your grandma with your mom. 

(She let us stand up in the back seat, which my mother never did.)

I remember Daleview and the swimteam. You were better at that, too, than I was

but I cheered so loudly for you in your first race that I lost my voice.

Summer was filled with those days at the pool, the mixed scents of baby oil and chlorine, 

while the jingle of the Good Humor man's Ice Cream truck played.

I remember how our parents put us in Nursery School together, 
my mother switching me from the one my brothers had attended because I got in on legacy, but they didn't have space for you;

how Mrs Alderton thought we needed to be separated in elementary, which we were until 6th grade.

I remember when my family moved away that summer, you gave me a surprise party.

I kept that pen with a huge feather, which you gave me, though two more moves, 

then it flew off.

I remember Greek Dodge on the blacktop, and kick the can on at the corner 

of Walden and Schyler

the kids our age we'd play with, 

or how my mother took a school picture every year of Abby, Amy, and Judy.

Only a few of those are left, but probably that's ok- none of us were at our best then.

I remember other stuff too:
being at your home when my mother was in the hospital,
or the day Kennedy died,
or the time you cut your hand when it when thought the glass door.
Or the Beatles were taking over the music scene, and we couldn't decide
which one we liked best. (though maybe that was me, and you knew all along.)

I remember going off to sleep-away camp with you (you didn't like the lack of plumbing).
Or you coming to visit me in St Louis after we moved, and me coming back to see you.
And when we moved to Charleston, you and your mom got tickled because there was a case of Elephantitis in the news and the person was from Charleston
Then later, discovering friends in college who knew you at Blair.
Or visiting you at Emory.

I remember how we kept in touch over all these years.
I came to your wedding. Your parents walked hand in hand. It was wonderful.
You didn't make mine, but only because your first child decided to be born within a few hours of the ceremony. 
Your pearl earrings were my "something borrowed"; 
I danced with Lenny at the reception.

I remember hearing a woman laugh, just a few years ago,
and thinking it was you.
It wasn't, but she and I have become good friends.
When she laughs, I hear two people--
her, plus that bubble in your voice when you're amused.
I can almost see that sparkle in your eyes.

Maybe we didn't see each other frequently,
but we've talked and written-- never missed a birthday, though once or twice the wishes might have been a little belated (probably me, late, but I always came through.)
We've helped each other through loss, and celebrated the good stuff
I wish I knew your family better, but revel in the bits that I've heard from you.
I have gained other friends, but hold the inaugural best friend spot entirely for you.
Seeing you this summer has been one of the most precious memories, 
not only of Abby and Amy, but of my life.
Your courage awes me, your spirit inspires me.
And I still love talking to you, like we did long after lights out on our sleepovers.

Quite simply, I cannot remember a time when you weren't in my world,
which is a better place for having you in it.
I have so many more memories of our childhood, 
as well as the years that followed.

One thing is clear, though:
I think I owe Mrs Piper a huge debt of gratitude.
Best Christmas present EVER.

Thoughts on "Automatic Noodle", by Annalee Newitz

It’s 2064, and the world has changed a bit. The countries of Yankee Land and California are in a state of shaky peace. In the independent country of California, robots are citizenz (with some restricted rights, until humans feel the time is right to grant them the right to own businesses, marry, vote etc.) In a San Francizco ghost kitchen, whose owners have fled town for both nefarious business dealings and bad food, a group of deactivated robotic workers left behind in the seedy crumbling space, re-awaken. They decide to try and create food, good food, scrumptious food, not the crap they’d had to prepare before. What follows is their path to opening the Authentic Noodle shop. The delicious journey through their beginning steps to opening the doors of Authentic Noodle is peppered with memories of the war and their past, their struggles being second class citizens (even in this brave, new world), and growing awareness of the gifts their new lives bring. Then, an online troll, bigoted against robots, begins to harass them, driving down ratings and morale. The robots fight back, their weapons are their wits, their resources in the cyber worlds, their individual talents, and most important, their community.
I read the journey of these robots and their noodle shop with a smile on my face, and a craving for hand pulled noodles. The journey from their Authentic Noodle kitchen to Automatic Noodle is a satisfying one.

It's the little things that help

When you have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (or any chronic condition) you play the cards you’re dealt, but you try to find the best way to do so. I have been grateful for all the assistive devices that have helped my body when bits of it aren’t working right, but while most braces, splints, tapes, and other assistives work, they call attention to the fact that something is wrong. My new finger splints made by @splintsbyevabelle are truly works of art that WORK! My hands are a mess, but these splints do the job they’re supposed to, and make me happy to wear them. Instead of being asked “what’s wrong worth your hands” when wearing the products usually pointed to for EDS, Arthritis,and other conditions, people are saying “your rings are so elegant. Where’d you find them?” True artistry can’t be hidden. I’m so grateful, and so happy to have found these beautiful splints that definitely are helping my hands.🫶🏻
My dream is to be able to hold a kistka again and write pysanky.
Pictures 1-2 a thumb splint for the MCP joint, and a small swan splint on my whacky pinky. Both arrived today and made me so joyful! Pictures 3-4 the original swan splints I’ve been wearing, which I adore.
I know there are people with EDS, OA, and other conditions who follow me, and just had to share this. I found these beautiful splints splints on Etsy and their site. Though there are less expensive types, I chose EvaBelleJewelry on the recommendation of my OT, and the awareness that tariffs will be applied to ones made outside the US so true costs are unknown.

Hello... Anyone out there?

Yes, I think I'm back. At least for a bit, if not longer. It's been a minute, but a very full and fulfilling one. For starters, we've left Charleston SC and now live in center city Philadelphia. An amazing journey in distance and our exterior world, but a wonderful one. Philly suits us both very well. Everything in my last post of 2020 is still true. But life is not the same in many ways.

My mother, who had Multiple Sclerosis, used to say that she was very healthy; she just happened to have MS. We always applauded her positivity. Since I last was here, I still applaud the sentiment, but also embrace it. Just before the pandemic, I was diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, a genetic disorder that embraces many conditions, but usually includes hypermobility, and connective tissue disorders. I have a couple of other associated medical issues sprinkled on my EDS sundae, but I also have an amazing team of medical professionals helping me travel on this new journey. And in this journey, I have been able to trace back through my family tree to see where that gene probably came from. I am the third generation in my family, that I can tell, who has had a hypermobility disorder. The other two generations are suspected, but went undiagnosed because EDS was not on medical radar at the time.

[ Side note :Oddly enough, I remember in Nursing School, the lecture about EDS. The instructor said we'd probably never see an EDS patient, and then went on to list the circus tricks they could do-- all of which I could do, too. But since it was genetic, and no one in my family had it, I just figured I was a klutzy freak.]

Anyhow all this to say that the summer of 2025 has been the summer I learned how to take care of myself in ways that medicine can't. It means giving myself time to rest (Chronic Fatigue is a part of EDS). To go on the walks we love, but in the summer heat always carry water, even if just walking in the city, wear a hat and sunscreen, and rest between every mile you walk, whether you feel tired or not. It's easier to avoid exhaustion than to recover from it. Take my word for it. Learn to be honest with yourself about how you feel: body, mind, movement, emotions. Talk with the people who support you. Find means of physical support, even if it's as simple as changing your phone case if it's too heavy or large to hold, or adding collagen into your daily diet. It's a journey; take it slow and be kind to yourself.

Anyhow, one of the things I have missed is writing, both on paper and on computer. Now the hand support and strength is improving, the mind is clearing (did I mention Brain Fog is a real thing). I want to try to reach deep and awaken my writing skills. It's time. I may not write much or regularly, but the wish to try hass reawakened. I have no idea of what the content will include -- probably some more on EDS, some book reviews beoynd "I liked it; nice cover" (Sorry LibraryThing and GoodReads. I'll do better now.) Also some life stuff. Philly is a whole new world.

Even if nobody reads this, I am glad to be doing it again. Journalling has always been a big part of my life and my blogs have always been more of a journal than anything else.

It's good to be back. Ive missed you.

bookczuk/Amy

2020 Wishes

                                                                        ANR 2020

 It's a pandemic and a holiday season. And my pod is just two people, both with the same last name, and married to each other. All of which is reason to pop in to send love and good wishes to anyone who might be reading this. 

We are both well. We still like each other, and there's still a lot of laughter in our home. I've taken to saying that as an introvert, a voracious reader, a retired nurse, and someone who likes to tinker creatively/artistically when able, I've been in training for this my entire life. We've kept to ourselves and done all that we can to stay healthy. There's some street art here in Charleston that says "I can't wait to hug you when this is over." It's currently right up there in my list of favorite art.

I'd wish for an exciting and precedent setting 2021 for everyone, but 2020 has taught me to be careful what I wish for. Instead, I'll wish you the chance to reconnect with what you hold dear, to experience joy, and much happiness-- and of course good health.

Here's to 2021. 

So Long, Farewell-- for now

I'm taking a break from blogging.  This is one of my happiest periods personally, deep into a wonderful life with the newly retired Javaczuk. There's a lot of laughter and a lot of love. It's the stuff from the outside that wears me down. I am deeply saddened by much in our world now, locally, nationally, and world-wide. So, I am going into protective mode, and taking leave of the internet where I can.

You can still find me as bookczuk on instagram, because pictures.  I am still on Telegram and What'sAp, though I rarely check them. The accounts at bookish sites I frequent are still active, though pretty much only for recording. If you desperately need me, my screen name @ gmail will probably work.

Be well, be happy. Take care.

Until later,

Bookczuk

Bernal Heights in days before the smoke from the Camp Fire hit San Francisco