Invasives, Pollinators, and the Oldest Independent Bookstore in PA

Last week I went to visit John's sister and her husband to help with some scheduling issues they had. My niece was traveling so my SiL was staying with her son and making sure he got to school, that there was someone at home when he got home from school, and then there was some nagging about homework to be done. My BiL also had to be driven to cardiac rehab that was an hour away, plus we hadn't seen them since his big open heart surgery.

It was great to see how well my BiL Bill is doing, gaining more energy and strength every week. He feels he'll be ready to return to Silver Sneakers at the YMCA in the next few weeks. It turns out that fourth graders don't seem to have nearly as much homework as I recall my own kids having, but I wasn't going to resort to searching my grandnephew's backpack. We did play quite a bit of Animal Crossing and being the "Grand Aunt" that I am, I gave him a million bells (Animal Crossing currency) to pay off his mortgage. 

But it wasn't all transportation and child tending. While we were in Williamsport for cardiac rehab, I got to browse the oldest independent bookstore in PA. Otto Bookstore was established in 1841 and is still going strong. They had a wonderful selection of books and it was so enjoyable to browse a real brick-and-mortar bookstore, something I haven't done in a long time. I was overcome by the book fumes and bought myself hardcover copies of The Comfort of Crows and The Backyard Bird Chronicles. I don't often have the opportunity to support an independent bookstore, but it was a win-win for me. 

 

We also attended a native plant and pollinator workshop. (The photos from that aren't the best because I was taking pictures of projected slides. Sorry; I hope you can read them.) I learned some new things, like Burning Bush, Norway maple, English Ivy, Pachysandra, Butterfly Bush, and Common Periwinkle are all invasive species. These plants are all quite common in my neighborhood! Our town cut down all the Bradford Pear trees that were lining Main Street and there was a big outcry, but now I understand why they got rid of them.

I also learned that there are many Native Bee species that are responsible for pollinating about one third of our crops. They tend to nest in the ground or in hollow pithy plant stems.

I might try making a bee house if I can gather enough hollow plant stems. I think this will be a good simple project as spring approaches, and it might even make me feel as good as supporting an independent bookstore!

It's National Poetry Month!

And we've got Hope! To celebrate National Poetry Month, several of us are sharing poetry with you on Thursdays in April. Today's topic is about something we can all use more of, wherever and whenever we can find it - Hope. 

 

A House Called Tomorrow

by Alberto Rios

You are not fifteen, or twelve, or seventeen—
You are a hundred wild centuries

And fifteen, bringing with you
In every breath and in every step

Everyone who has come before you,
All the yous that you have been,

The mothers of your mother,
The fathers of your father.

If someone in your family tree was trouble,
A hundred were not:

The bad do not win—not finally,
No matter how loud they are.

We simply would not be here
If that were so.

You are made, fundamentally, from the good.
With this knowledge, you never march alone.

You are the breaking news of the century.
You are the good who has come forward

Through it all, even if so many days
Feel otherwise.  But think:

When you as a child learned to speak,
It’s not that you didn’t know words—

It’s that, from the centuries, you knew so many,
And it’s hard to choose the words that will be your own.

From those centuries we human beings bring with us
The simple solutions and songs,

The river bridges and star charts and song harmonies
All in service to a simple idea:

That we can make a house called tomorrow.
What we bring, finally, into the new day, every day,

Is ourselves.  And that’s all we need
To start.  That’s everything we require to keep going. 

Look back only for as long as you must,
Then go forward into the history you will make.

Be good, then better.  Write books.  Cure disease.
Make us proud.  Make yourself proud.

And those who came before you?  When you hear thunder,
Hear it as their applause.

====

Rios, Alberto. "A House called Tomorrow." Not Go Far Away Is My Name, Copper Canyon Press, 2020.  

You can read more about the poet here.

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Be sure to check in with Kym, Kat, Sarah, and Vera (there is a linkup below) for more poetry full of hope today, and join us next Thursday for more poems in celebration of National Poetry Month. (And remember that any time is good for poetry, not just Thursdays in April!) 

Unraveled Wednesday: 4/2/25

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers today with a bit of progress on the pair of socks. 

 

I did cast on with the Wollmeise for a new Hitchhiker, but haven't gotten too far. I'd like to finish up the socks soon(ish) and concentrate on the Hitchhiker but I've got loads of laundry to do, lots of seeds to start, and too many ARCs that I need to read, so it will take as long as it takes. 

 

I finished Emma Pattee's debut novel, Tilt, a gripping narrative set against the backdrop of a massive earthquake in Portland, Oregon. The story follows Annie, who, at nine months pregnant, finds herself stranded at IKEA when disaster strikes. With no means to contact her husband and the city in chaos, Annie embarks on a perilous journey to find him, encountering both the depths and heights of human nature along the way.

Pattee's portrayal of Annie's internal struggles while making her way on buckled highways and past crushed buildings—her reflections on a faltering marriage, unfulfilled career aspirations, and impending motherhood—adds depth to the survival narrative. The novel effectively captures the protagonist's anxieties and desires, making her a realistic and relatable figure for many readers.

I found that the novel's pacing occasionally faltered, with the non-linear narrative and some of the introspective passages slowing down the otherwise tense story. Additionally, certain inconsistencies, such as descriptions of Annie's attire, may momentarily disrupt immersion. But Pattee's prose is well-written, so I could imagine Annie's sunburn, intense thirst, and the horrific magnitude of the chaos. I started reading the book without any idea of the storyline and found it quite unsettling, but that was mainly because it was such an intense subject. The ending felt incomplete and open-ended.

Overall, Tilt is a compelling exploration of human resilience and vulnerability in the face of catastrophe. While it has its imperfections, the novel's raw emotional portrayal and thought-provoking themes make it a worthwhile read. Three and a half stars but I couldn't round up because of that ending. 

 

What are you making and reading this week?

Unraveled Wednesday: 3/26/25

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers today with some progress on a sock. I was knitting along quite quickly and even dug out another skein of self-striping yarn from my stash. You know, just in case the knitting elves stopped by and finished this pair for me. It was a bit premature as I haven't even completed one sock of this current pair. But knitters' hopes spring eternal, so I will continue with the current socks and hope to cast on for a new Hitchhiker this afternoon.

I finished two average three-star books this week. Every Tom, Dick & Harry was a complete bit of fluff, with much of it bordering on preposterous. Emma Lewis takes over her parents' estate sale business and moves into their house when they retire; her high-school math teacher rents a room in the house; she ends up running the estate sale at a former B&B/"house of ill repute" in her hometown, and there is a tiny bit of a mystery thrown into the plot. But this book was entertaining enough that it provided a welcome diversion from the terrible current affairs, and for that I gave it an extra half star. 

 

Everything is Tuberculosis by John Green is an interesting, if at times meandering, exploration of how tuberculosis has shaped human history, literature, and public health. As always, Green’s writing is deeply personal, blending his curiosity with poignant reflection. He has a gift for making even the most niche subjects feel engaging, and his trademark footnotes and asides add to the narrative.

That said, the book sometimes struggles with cohesion. The essay-style structure occasionally feels disjointed here, with some chapters delving deeply into historical case studies while others feel more like personal musings with only a loose connection to the central theme. Readers looking for a more structured historical or deeper scientific analysis might find it lacking.

Still, Green’s passion for the subject is evident, and his ability to weave together cultural criticism, medical history, and personal anecdotes makes for an insightful (if slightly uneven) read. The book serves as a good reminder that tuberculosis is not a disease of the past, and we would do well to pay attention now and spend the necessary money on treatment so we don't end up with a greater number of cases that are multi-drug-resistant. Fans of his previous nonfiction work will likely enjoy it, but those expecting a more traditional deep dive into tuberculosis may want to supplement it with other sources. He does helpfully provide suggested books for further reading.

I'm up visiting John's sister and her husband (the one who had open heart surgery) so I won't be posting for a few days. Instead I'll be helping with transport to cardiac rehab., urging a ten-year-old to do his homework before we play Animal Crossing, and maybe doing a bit of cooking. I'll be back sometime next week.

What are you making and reading this week?

 

Read With Us: The Secret History Discussion

Today is the discussion day for our Read With Us winter book, The Secret History by Donna Tartt.

Kym, Carole, and I are each posting a discussion question or two on our blogs today, and you are welcome to respond in the comments. I would also encourage you to reply to others' comments if you choose.  This is a book discussion, after all, so there are no correct answers or right opinions. I've been looking forward to discussing this book, even though I've been thinking of it as The Bunch of Awful Privileged Characters and the Morally Bankrupt Man That Taught Them. I don't know of a better bunch of people for a book discussion than all of you.

So my questions are about Julian Morrow, the Classics professor. Julian finds out about the murders in the section after he receives that heartbreaking final letter from Bunny. When Richard sees Julian’s reaction, he mentally reclassifies Julian as no longer a “good parent” but someone “ambiguous, a moral neutral, whose beguiling trappings concealed a being watchful, capricious, and heartless.” What did you think of Julian? He is an enigmatic and charismatic presence in The Secret History, revered by his students for his deep knowledge of the Classics and his unconventional teaching methods. To what extent do you think Julian is a true mentor and father figure, and how much of his influence is merely performative? Does he genuinely care for his students, or is he more of a detached observer? Considering his role in shaping their worldview, do you believe he bears any responsibility for the events that unfold, including the murders? Why or why not?

 

I'll be glad to share my thoughts about these questions tonight during our Zoom discussion. These questions on our blogs and the Zoom discussion are your chance to express your ideas. So what do you think? I can't wait to hear your thoughts! (And I'm counting on our discussion to give me fresh perspectives in my own thinking about this novel.)

The in-person Zoom discussion will be at 7:00 pm Eastern this evening. If you haven't RSVP'd to Kym already you can send me an email (the email address is in the upper right) and I will make sure you get an invitation with the Zoom link. I hope to see you there!

 

On Food

Last weekend seemed to revolve around food. It started on Friday when Ryan had a pork roast, some chicken thighs, and a half gallon of milk all spoil in his refrigerator. I recommended that he get a refrigerator thermometer and check the temperature and then we would proceed from there. 

After a few hours, the temperature seemed to settle on 42 degrees which is really too warm for a refrigerator. I found a repair person who was willing to come Saturday morning to assess the problem and Ryan vacuumed the coils and cleaned the fans. When he woke up early Saturday morning, the temperature had stabilized at 35 degrees. We cancelled the repair person as there was no sense paying for a service call when there didn't appear to be anything to repair. 

I had planned to make a pork loin on Saturday and some crockpot tortellini on Sunday, but I switched them around. I wasn't sure if I would be going over to Ryan's to rescue all the things in his freezer on Saturday and if I would be back in time to do the pork loin. It turned out that my Saturday was essentially free after I had dumped everything in the crockpot, so I sat and knit on my sock while I watched Barefoot Contessa. I've never watched her show before, but I noticed some things during my viewing marathon that I thought might help with my own preparing and serving of food.

Daffodils in a vase are an arrangement low enough to see over.

• I need to use more adjectives when John asks what's for dinner. Instead of saying "pork", I should reply with "succulent loin of pork, marinated with fragrant garlic, rosemary, and wine".
  

• I should say "really good" more often, as in "I used good vanilla", or "This is really good olive oil". 

• Prosciutto wrapped around things (figs, melon slices) sound like easy and delicious appetizers, and they can be served at room temperature. She did make an accompaniment to a salad by wrapping hard salami around a breadstick, but that seemed a little ghetto for Ina.

• Always describe arugula as "peppery".  

• John will appreciate dinner more if I tell him that "I turned the flavor up."

• Ask loudly "How easy is that?" at frequent intervals while cooking.  

I do appreciate how she doesn't make really fancy and complicated dishes and her enthusiasm for good food is contagious, but after a whole afternoon of Ina, I was ready for a plain grilled cheese sandwich, made without turning the flavor up in any way.

 

A Gathering of Poetry: March 2025

It's the third Thursday of the month so I'd like to welcome you to A Gathering of Poetry. I don't know where I found this poem, but I love the word "swobtoggle", so I've been saving it until flowers and grass were beginning to get "high on the expensive chemistry of their mitochondrial explosion."

Happy Little Grass Cells (actually vascular bundles, xylem and phloem) as seen under magnification.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please Don't

by Tony Hoagland 

tell the flowers—they think

the sun loves them.

The grass is under the same

simple-minded impression

about the rain, the fog, the dew.

And when the wind blows,

it feels so good

they lose control of themselves

and swobtoggle wildly

around, bumping accidentally into their

slender neighbors.

Forgetful little lotus-eaters,

solar-powered

hydroholics, drawing nourishment up

through stems into their

thin green skin,

high on the expensive

chemistry of mitochondrial explosion,

believing that the dirt

loves them, the night, the stars—

reaching down a little deeper

with their pale albino roots,

all Dizzy

Gillespie with the utter

sufficiency of everything.

They don't imagine lawn

mowers, the four stomachs

of the cow, or human beings with boots

who stop to marvel

at their exsquisite

flexibility and color.

They persist in their soft-headed

hallucination of happiness.

But please don't mention it.

Not yet. Tell me

what would you possibly gain

from being right?

 

====

 

Tony Hoagland, "Please Don’t" from Application for Release from the Dream. Copyright © 2015 by Tony Hoagland.

You can read more about the poet here.

 

====

 

Thank you for reading and joining us for our monthly Gathering of Poetry. You are

more than welcome to add your link below if you would like to share one of your

favorite poems. The more the merrier!

Unraveled Wednesday: 3/19/25

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers today, with an FO. Here is the Classy Hitchhiker!

And because I feel somewhat classy when I'm wearing it, here's a rare self-portrait of me. 

After Sarah shared Molly's Neutral Socks along with the link to Fibernymph Dye Works, I went to the web site to look at the yarn. I was quite taken with the socks and when I saw that there was one skein available, I took it as a sign that I needed it. Sarah had encouraged us to treat ourselves in honor of her birthday, so that's what I did! I cast on for the first sock and am enjoying knitting My Own Neutral Socks. I also wound the new Wollmeise yarn, but haven't cast on yet. I have a plan, or more accurately, I have a concept of a plan and am thinking about the best way to use these color-saturated skeins while I knit with neutrals. 

 

 

 I finished two books this week. Sarah put The Strange Case of Jane O. by Karen Thompson Walker on my radar and it sounded intriguing. I found it a thought-provoking exploration of memory, identity, and the complexities of the human mind. The novel follows Jane O., a 38-year-old single mother who experiences unexplained blackouts and hallucinations, leading her to seek help from Dr. Henry Byrd, a New York City psychiatrist. As their sessions progress, both Jane and Dr. Byrd confront unsettling questions about reality and consciousness.

Walker's writing is both profound and evocative, drawing readers into a speculative mystery that intertwines psychological intrigue with emotional depth. The narrative structure, presented through Dr. Byrd's clinical notes and Jane's personal letters to her son, offers a unique and intimate perspective on their evolving relationship and the enigmatic circumstances they face.

While the novel's deliberate pacing allows for deep character development, some readers may find the progression slow, particularly in the middle sections. Additionally, although the open-ended conclusion might raise interesting questions, it's also possible that it might leave those seeking clear resolutions somewhat unsatisfied.

Overall, The Strange Case of Jane O. is a compelling read that challenges perceptions of reality and self. It is well-suited for readers who appreciate literary fiction infused with psychological and speculative elements. Three and a half stars rounded up.

Thank you to NetGalley and Random House for providing me with a copy of this book. It was published on February 25, 2025.

I have Kat to thank for recommending Lights on a Ground of Darkness by Ted Kooser. This five-star book is a beautifully rendered, deeply personal memoir that feels like sitting on a porch with an old friend, listening to stories woven from memory, love, and loss. With his characteristic warmth and poetic precision, Kooser reflects on his childhood in Iowa, his family’s history, and the small but profound moments that shape a life.

This book is a masterclass in storytelling—elegant, understated, and brimming with quiet emotion. Kooser’s ability to capture fleeting moments of beauty and sorrow makes this slim volume feel expansive. It is a quiet, heartfelt tribute to a way of life that has largely disappeared. The author recounts the struggles and joys of his family with tender detail, from his grandfather’s slow descent into blindness to the resilient and self-sacrificing women who held the household together. His descriptions of childhood—summers spent playing in the creeks, the smell of fresh-cut hay, the dusty aisles of the local hardware store—evoke a nostalgia that is both personal and universal. Initially, I was a bit disappointed that this wasn't a volume of his poetry, but I quickly got over that after reading the first page. What makes Lights on a Ground of Darkness so compelling is Kooser’s ability to find meaning in the ordinary. His prose is unadorned yet luminous, capturing the weight of time and the inevitability of change with a poignancy that lingers long after the book is finished.

What are you making and reading this week?

 

A Conglomeration of Photos

I didn't do anything too exciting or blog-worthy this weekend so I was at a loss for anything to write about today. I did wind all twelve of my Wollmeise mini-skeins along with a full skein of sock yarn, but none of them are terribly impressive, even wound into balls. 

So I went through a folder of photos that I have saved for occasions like this. I'm not sure they will be interesting to anyone else, but I had some fun reminiscing. First is a screenshot of my character from Guild Wars II when I reached Level 80. Ryan played this game and it sounded like fun so I gave it a try. It was fun but I was terrible at fighting, so I basically wandered around the worlds and did things that would help me level up. Level 80 seemed like some sort of milestone, so I quit playing after I reached that. By the way, this looks just like me. (Insert uproarious laughter here!)

The next one actually does look like me, or how I looked in 1978. I was in my dorm room at Juniata College, playing my dulcimer like all the cool college kids do. I had just cut my own hair because my boyfriend had broken up with me and I wanted a change. I'm pretty sure there was beer in that refrigerator behind me and I think I might have had one or two. My roommate thought my hair looked surprisingly good given the circumstances and wanted to capture the moment.

 

 

 

But enough about me. Justin worked at a ranch in TX for a year or so. It was at least an hour away from everything, but there were lots of ponds and waterways on the ranch and Justin loves to fish. He called us one morning quite excited because he had caught two fish at the same time on the same lure and they weren't little fish. I'm glad he was fishing with a co-worker so he could record this momentous occasion.

 

 

When we visited Glacier National Park I was enthralled by the color of the water. I asked a ranger what made it that distinctive turquoise color, and he told me all about "glacial flour". Glacial flour is the smallest size of sediment (much smaller than sand) produced by the grinding of glaciers against rocks. It is responsible for the milky, colored water in the rivers, streams, and lakes that are fed by glaciers. Glacier waterways can have a wide range of beautiful colors that arise as sunlight scatters when it hits the sediment particles in the water.

 

 

I'm beginning to think about starting seeds indoors so the plants will be ready to place in the garden in six or eight weeks. I won't be starting carrots indoors but this anatomically correct photo reminded me that there are always things to provide entertainment in the garden. 

 

And one last picture:

 

 

Ho'oponopono

I recently signed up for Max just so I could watch The Pitt. It's a medical drama set in a Pittsburgh ER starring Noah Wyle and I think it's far better than ER or Grey's Anatomy. The characters have to juggle personal crises, workplace politics, and the emotional toll of treating critically ill patients. Each episode covers one hour of a single 15-hour emergency department shift, and so far the show has dealt with a patient who was pushed onto a subway track, a mother who has made herself ill in order to get help for her son, a pediatric patient who has ingested one of his father's marijuana gummies, sickle cell disease, a patient who overdosed on Xanax that had been laced with fentanyl, and many other medical crises.

I think it's a great show, but I was struck by something more emotional than medical. An elderly patient is admitted from a nursing home with breathing difficulties but he also has advance directives that say he doesn't want to be be put on a ventilator. His adult children are unsure about the best course of action and they do end up putting him on a ventilator, but it's only helpful for a short time. The patient's daughter especially is not ready for her father to die, but Noah Wyle tells her and her brother about something his mentor taught him concerning how to say goodbye to a loved one. It's a Hawaiian prayer/process called Ho'oponopono that has a difficult to pronounce name but is really simple. It roughly translates to “cause things to move back in balance” or to “make things right.”

 

 

It's simply saying to loved ones, "I love you, thank you, I forgive you, please forgive me." There are variations; sometimes "I'm sorry" is used instead of "I forgive you", and I've seen the phrases used in different orders. But however they are used, these four phrases seem to cover most of the "big things" like love, repentance, forgiveness, and gratitude you might want to express at the end of someone's life. I wish I had been aware of this when my parents were approaching death, but I know I said similar things in my grief. 

 

I enjoy watching entertaining TV and The Pitt certainly does that in terms of medical drama, but it's a big plus when it's more than just a medical soap opera and can provide some real and emotionally honest moments that also teach me something. That's why The Pitt is my current favorite!

 

Unraveled Wednesday: 3/12/25

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers today, with yet another look at the Classy Hitchhiker. I didn't/couldn't get through the 88 rows I had left to finish it, but now I only have 24 rows to go. There's a possibility I might knit a few more teeth, but I'll judge that after I finish the 24. That is probably going to be plenty because then I'll have 60 teeth total. I like my Hitchhikers on the large side, but not so large that I drag the ends in my soup. Then I get to wind my Wollmeise and cast on. I still haven't allowed myself to open the packages, but soon my pretties.

I finished the best book this week. A reading friend said that The History of Sound was probably the best collection of short stories she has read, and I wholeheartedly agree (Thank you, Debbie!). This is an exquisite collection of twelve interconnected stories that masterfully weave together three centuries of New England's rich tapestry. Each pair of stories offers a unique perspective, revealing the profound ways in which art, love, and loss resonate across time. The author's lyrical prose captures the essence of the natural landscape, immersing readers in vivid settings that serve as silent witnesses to the characters' deeply human experiences. The innovative structure of the collection, with each story paired to unveil deeper layers of meaning, showcases Shattuck's narrative brilliance. This book is a testament to the enduring power of storytelling and its ability to connect us across generations. The History of Sound is a luminous achievement that will linger in the hearts and minds of readers long after the final page is turned. This will undoubtedly be one of my favorite reads of this year.

What are you making and reading this week?

 

Help in the Kitchen

I bought myself a bread machine. 

It's a relatively inexpensive one from Amazon; not the cheapest one, but also not the $400 Zojirushi that King Arthur Baking is always trying to convince me that I need. 

 

 

It's a "Kitchenarm" brand with the delightful catchphrase of "Your extra arm in kitchen". I wish that extra arm would also scrub the kitchen floor, but I digress.

It supposedly has 29 different settings, but I'll probably use it mainly to make dough that I shape and bake myself. I like that it tells me what it's doing (kneading here) and it did a really good job of that considering that this recipe has almost five cups of flour in it.

It also did a good job of providing a warm atmosphere for the dough to rise in. This is the result of rising for just about an hour.

All I had to do was remove the dough, roll it out, spread it with cinnamon sugar, roll it back up, and put it in the pan for a second rise. That took a lot longer than the initial rise because my kitchen is cold, but eventually it was ready to bake (and then eat)!

I'm happy with the bread machine so far and may even try some of the recipes that came with it. Dark rye, zucchini bread, and pizza dough all sound like interesting possibilities. I might even make bread more often now that I have help in the kitchen.

I hope you have some help in the kitchen and some good things to eat this week!

Humankind: Are Humans Kind?

Last week when I was complaining about Jeff Bezos and writing about applesauce and reading more poetry, a kind anonymous commenter left me an intriguing comment: 

"Hi Bonny,

Long time reader but lurker. Love your book reviews and your hitchikers, although I am yet to start one of my own.

May I recommend the book "Humankind", by Rutger Bregman, as an excellent antidote (rather than a temporary escape) to the current state of the world?"

I replied:

"Thank you for taking the time to leave a comment and the book recommendation. I'm heading to a used bookstore tomorrow to look for some Ted Kooser poetry books, but I've just borrowed Humankind from my library and will start listening to it tonight. I could surely use an antidote to the current state of things and I'm hopeful that this book might provide it. The subtitle (A Hopeful History) sounds promising!"

And then she replied with an even more thoughtful comment:

"Thank you for taking the time to reply to an anonymous comment so kindly.

I have been thinking over my wording and I think rather than antidote, maybe a better description of the effect of "Humankind" is that it has made a permanent change in my state of mind; it is easier to take the news with a grain of salt sometimes, ignore it without guilt when I need to, and find a place of mental comfort. It has made it much easier to be hopeful about the future."

I will always read and consider kind, helpful, and thoughtful comments, especially those that contain book recommendations. This was especially nice, since most of the previous anonymous comments I've gotten have called me a crazy Democrat, berated me for talking about politics, and telling me I need to stick to knitting. This was a welcome change!

So I did read the recommended book and I've thought about it for a couple of days. I'm sharing my review here in case some of you might also be interested in a hopeful book.

Humankind by Rutger Bregman is an engaging and optimistic read that challenges the notion that humans are fundamentally selfish or cruel. The book is filled with fascinating anecdotes—from real-life Lord of the Flies scenarios to historical acts of kindness—but it lacks a strong foundation in scientific studies to back up its central claim: that “most people, deep down, are pretty decent.”

One of the book’s big weaknesses for me is that Bregman never clearly defines what it means to be “pretty decent.” Does this mean we should expect people to be kind and helpful in most situations? Or simply that they have the capacity for decency under the right conditions? Without a more concrete definition, his argument feels slippery.

The author does discuss the Holocaust as evidence of the human capacity for evil, and argues that power, influence, and survival play a bigger role than a lust for violence in the decisions people make. He suggests that social conformity and camaraderie between soldiers may explain the Holocaust, but the Holocaust was just too big and beyond horrendous to be explained simply by wanting to conform. Bregman thinks that the idea that humans are inherently selfish may have created a self-fulfilling prophecy. These all seem to be a matter of degrees, and I think that power influence, survival, and a rather large capacity for evil and cruelty all played a part in the Holocaust.

While I appreciated the book’s hopeful perspective—especially in an era where cynicism, selfishness, and just plain cruelty often dominate—some real-world events have made me question his thesis. If more than half of people in the US vehemently resisted something as straightforward as mask mandates during COVID-19, can we really say that “most people” are fundamentally good? It seems more accurate to say that some people are decent some of the time.

That said, Humankind offers a much-needed dose of optimism, and Bregman is a gifted storyteller. If you’re looking for an uplifting perspective on human nature (even if it’s a bit idealistic), this book is worth a read. Just don’t expect a deeply scientific or airtight case for its claims. Three and a half stars rounded up.

And because it's Friday at the end of a long week and this post only has one picture of a book cover, here are a couple of photos of adorable Valais Blacknose sheep. 

 

I hope you have a wonderful weekend!

Unraveled Wednesday: 3/5/25

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers today, but I'm not subjecting you to yet another photo of the Classy Hitchhiker looking much the same as it did last week. I am approaching the end, and by that I mean I've got 88 more rows to go. They are long ones, but I hope to be done by next week. 

Instead I'm sharing my excitement at receiving some good mail that serendipitously arrived yesterday. What could be hiding in this box? 

It's my Wollmeise!

 

 

I love the colors as much or more in person, and I even love the name that Wollmeise has given the collection.

Dracula sounds just a tiny bit creepy but I think the skeins are beautiful. I haven't unwrapped them yet because I want to make myself finish the current Hitchhiker first, and I know if I open the package, I'll wind them and maybe even cast on. So they'll remain safely sealed until the Classy Hitchhiker is done. I better get knitting!

I read a book last week that I began with high hopes. Dream State started off as a solid 5-star read—beautifully written, immersive, and filled with sharp insights about family, identity, and Montana as a dream state. Puchner’s prose is exquisite, and the early chapters immediately pull you in with their emotional depth and well-drawn characters.

However, the middle section drags considerably. The pacing slows, and some parts feel bloated, making it a struggle to stay engaged. What started as a mesmerizing read turned into a slog at times, barely holding onto a 3-star level of interest for me. Certain sections felt repetitive, and I found myself longing for the momentum and magic of the beginning. It is a rare book that has male friendship as a topic, and even rarer to have an author that follows the ups and downs of that friendship over the years, especially when there is a woman between them. One of my biggest problems with the book was this woman's motivation for a crucial action she takes near the beginning. I pretty much finished the book to try and understand her better but any explanation was sadly lacking. In the beginning, the climate change aspect felt like part of the story, but by the end I felt like I was being hit over the head with it at every turn.

Thankfully, the book regains its footing in the final stretch. The ending is just as strong as the opening—poignant, thought-provoking, and beautifully executed. If the middle had been tighter, this could have easily been a 5-star book for me. As it stands, it’s a mixed experience—worth reading for the highs, but expect some big lulls along the way.

What are you making and reading this week?