Reading My Way Towards the End of the Year

There are still 11 days left before the end of the year, so these are not the last books I'll read in 2024. But because I read four of them this week, I thought they deserved a post of their own.

My Last Name was a pleasant, three star short story that I won from goodreads. The author tells the story of Lottie, 95 years old, infirm, and living in a care facility. She struggles with her memory, understanding exactly where she is, and who is with her, but she still clearly recalls important moments in her life. A longer book would have enabled me to better understand Lottie and her life, and while I found it a bit too religious, it was still a sweet end-of-life story. 

I was pleasantly surprised at how delightful the four stories in The Mistletoe Murder were (well, as "delightful" as murder can be). The prose was descriptive and made the settings easy to picture, and although each of the stories featured a murder, there wasn't any blood or gore. Dorothy Sayers wrote, "Death seems to provide the minds of the Anglo-Saxon race with a greater fund of innocent amusement than any other single subject." James was a master of this amusement and this Christmas-adjacent collection of stories is four-star evidence of her mastery. 

Our Wives Under the Sea is a quirky and original novel that for me was mainly about the process of grieving, even if the person we are missing may not actually be dead. Miri and Leah are married, and Leah finally returns several months after a deep sea mission that was thought to have been lost. Leah is present in physical form but it becomes clear that she is not the same person. In alternating chapters, Miri and Leah talk about their lives now and how it no longer resembles anything like what they had before. If you like clearcut details and endings in your novels, this book may not be for you as it's all quite confusing and uncertain. I'm not sure I would call the book enjoyable, but I have found myself thinking about it. It reminded me of the long, sad months that my mother was dying of breast cancer. I found myself grieving the mother I had known even as she was still lying quietly and uncommunicative but still breathing in the rented hospital bed, just as Miri had to grieve for Leah. Three and a half stars rounded up.

Horse by Geraldine Brooks is a beautifully written historical novel that masterfully weaves together themes of art, science, history, and race, all through the lens of an extraordinary race horse. Brooks uses this horse as a central figure around which she explores various narratives across time, blending the past with the present in a way that is both captivating and poignant.

The novel spans several timelines: the 19th century, during the time of the horse’s racing career; the early 20th century, when a painting becomes a symbol of race and power; and the modern-day search for the horse's origins. Brooks does an exceptional job of bringing these periods to life, making the historical aspects feel incredibly vivid and alive. Each timeline also explores deeper themes, from the complexities of slavery and racism to the enduring human obsession with beauty and mastery in both the artistic and sporting worlds.

What stands out most in Horse is the careful, nuanced exploration of race and its intersections with power. The narrative provides a vehicle for discussing the often painful history of slavery in America and the ways that race has shaped both history and culture. Brooks doesn't shy away from these uncomfortable truths, and her characters are rich, multifaceted, and deeply human in their struggles with identity, belonging, and ambition.

In terms of pacing, the book takes its time, which may not appeal to all readers, but it allows for a deep dive into both the historical and emotional elements of the story. The novel is meticulously researched, and it’s clear that Brooks has a deep respect for the story she’s telling. The prose is elegant and evocative, making it a pleasure to read even as the subject matter delves into difficult areas. While the novel is rich in detail, the multiple timelines occasionally felt a bit disjointed. This made the overall flow of the narrative feel uneven at times. But Horse is a remarkable work that offers so much more than a typical historical novel. It’s an insightful exploration of the ways that art, history, and race intersect as I think only Geraldine Brooks is capable of. It's even more extraordinary to realize that Brooks completed this book in the time after her husband Tony Horwitz died. Four and a half stars rounded up. 

 

What have you been reading lately? 

A Gathering of Poetry: December 2024

It's the third Thursday of the month so I'd like to welcome you to A Gathering of Poetry.

I've written several times here about how I worry about finding the "perfect" poem to share here. But it seems like the best poem often just presents itself. This month's poem was a present from Juliann, who sent me this one after I wrote about my blanket plan coming unraveled. I think it's wonderful and definitely want to share this one with all of you.

 

The Work of Happiness

by May Sarton

I thought of happiness, how it is woven

Out of the silence in the empty house each day

And how it is not sudden and it is not given

But is creation itself like the growth of a tree.

No one has seen it happen, but inside the bark

Another circle is growing in the expanding ring.

No one has heard the root go deeper in the dark,

But the tree is lifted by this inward work

And its plumes shine, and its leaves are glittering.

So happiness is woven out of the peace of hours

And strikes its roots deep in the house alone:

The old chest in the corner, cool waxed floors,

White curtains softly and continually blown

As the free air moves quietly about the room;

A shelf of books, a table, and the white-washed wall—

These are the dear familiar gods of home,

And here the work of faith can best be done,

The growing tree is green and musical.

For what is happiness but growth in peace,

The timeless sense of time when furniture

Has stood a life's span in a single place,

And as the air moves, so the old dreams stir

The shining leaves of present happiness?

No one has heard thought or listened to a mind,

But where people have lived in inwardness

The air is charged with blessing and does bless;

Windows look out on mountains and the walls are kind.

 ====

Sarton, May. "The Work of Happiness". Collected Poems 1930-1993.1993: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc..

You can read more about May Sarton here. 

And a big thank you to Juliann!

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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!

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

Unraveled Wednesday: 12/18/24

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers today with an FO - the completed Sparkly Hitchhiker. I was especially pleased with the finish since I feel like I won a gold medal for yarn chicken. I bound off with just 12 inches left, not enough for another row so I used every last bit of yarn possible. 

Ryan and John were in the room when I finished and while they didn't give me a standing ovation and break into applause, I know that you guys get it. 

This Hitchhiker has 56.5 teeth and is 79 inches long. I love to make my Hitchhikers long enough to wrap around my neck a couple of times, and because it's sparkly, I'm sure this one will be the perfect addition to my New Year's Eve attire. I will most likely be at home, but I'll be sparkly and warm. The photo above is one I took accidentally while I was getting up from arranging the Hitchhiker, but I like how it shows the sparkles so I couldn't just delete it.

This is the 29th Hitchhiker I've knit, which sounds a little obsessive (even to me). What can I say, Hitchhikers are my comfort knitting, so I almost always have one on the needles. Except for now! While I was looking for a pattern for fingerless gloves for my Tunis skein, I came across a hat that spoke to me. I've knit something for everyone except John for Christmas, so as soon as I finish typing here, I'll be casting on a Westerly hat (ravelry link) for him. He'll probably say he's got enough hats but the cables and braids called to me and it looks like it will be a fun knit. 

I read four books this week, so I'll post about them separately on Friday, but I'll be back tomorrow with A Gathering of Poetry. 

What are you making this week?

O, Christmas Tree

There has been some discussion of tinsel recently (from Carole and Vicki) and they've gotten me thinking about tinsel throughout my childhood. I was born in 1957, so we used real tinsel on our trees, the kind with lead in it. 

My father was almost a tinsel tyrant. After we decorated the tree with ornaments, he got out the tinsel and we all started carefully placing it on the branches, one strand at a time. That was fine for the first five minutes, but my sister and I quickly tired of one strand at a time and moved to the back of the tree where we could put on clumps of tinsel. After a few minutes, we were even more impatient and tried to get away with the Cardinal Christmas Sin of throwing tinsel at the tree. My father always noticed, reprimanded us, and gave us the annual lecture about how one strand at a time placed carefully and thoughtfully on each branch was the proper was to decorate. By this time my sister and I had often started crumpling the lead-based tinsel into balls to throw at each other.

But tinsel (properly placed!) did make our trees look like this:

"Real" tinsel was discontinued in 1972. I think my father stockpiled several boxes and we actually took it off the tree and tried to save it for a few years, but the strands broke and looked quite bedraggled. I wonder if I might have ended up a bit smarter if I hadn't been exposed to so much lead while decorating one strand at a time throughout my childhood and my sister throwing lead tinsel balls at me? I do kind of miss our tinsel-draped trees but this is my second year of not putting up a tree so there's nothing to put tinsel on. 

How about your trees - tinsel or not?
 

Dangerous Content Ahead!

Never fear, there isn't anything really dangerous in this post. It could be dangerous if you're concerned about healthy eating, your consumption of cake, or maybe your cholesterol level. But if you've got a bag of cranberries in your refrigerator or freezer, I have a delicious way for you to use them. 

I have a couple of recipes for Cranberry Cake/Pie in my recipe box. I've made them a couple of times, but I seemed to be the only one who ate it, and eating a whole cake (even if it is in a pie pan) by yourself is dangerous. So I haven't made either one for probably five years or more. But the other day I was perusing the King Arthur baking website and came across their recipe for Nantucket Cranberry Cake. Dinner was already in the crockpot (Venison Taco Soup if you want to make some good soup), but I was feeling the need for some type of slightly sweet dessert. So once I dug the bag of cranberries out of my freezer, I made this cake to satisfy my craving. 

 

And it's seriously good. I limited myself to one piece after dinner, but since I was writing this post, it seemed necessary for me to put a piece on a plate so I could take a photo. And once I had a piece of cake on a plate, I was pretty much committed to eating it. See how much I care about you guys and putting together posts with photos? I'm willing to eat a piece of cake for breakfast just so I can provide you with a better blog post. :-)

There is just something about the tart cranberries, buttery moist cake, and sugary topping that I find hard to resist. I might need to buy some coarse sugar and I'm wondering if the addition of orange zest or orange oil might be good. I didn't use walnuts because I'm not a big fan plus the fact that I didn't have any. I do like pecans so I might try them in place of the walnuts. So I've pretty much talked myself into making this cake again, maybe with some modifications. If you want to try an easy, delicious cake, maybe you want to try it, too!

Unraveled Wednesday: 12/11/24

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers today with some slightly different making than my usual. After looking at my pile o' presents, I realized that I didn't have anything for Nugget. I spent some time on YouTube (okay, quite a bit of time after I started watching cats riding Roombas) and found some ideas. So I'm sparing you another week with the Sparkly Hitchhiker and you get to see some sewing for a cat instead.

These are "kitty kickers", basically little pillows sewn and stuffed with polyester fiberfill and catnip. Nugget has one that she uses by flopping on her side, grabbing the toy and doing a cute little bunny kick with her back feet. I'm not sure how she feels about ribbons, so I made two with ribbons, and one without. John thought I was sewing pillows for Nugget to lay her head on, which I guess she could do if she wanted to. The plaid one is even nice and fuzzy.

Reading this week consisted of an average short story and an exceptional memoir. My Last Name was a pleasant short story that I won from goodreads. The author tells the story of Lottie, 95 years old, infirm, and living in a care facility. She struggles with her memory, understanding exactly where she is, and who is with her, but she still clearly recalls important moments in her life. A longer book would have enabled me to better understand Lottie and her life, and it was a bit too religious for my personal taste, but it was still a sweet end-of-life story.I gave it three stars.

It feels quite wrong to review the memoir of someone else's grief at the death of a spouse, but that is my task here. I read several reviews of Memorial Days and wanted to see if I would appreciate Geraldine Brooks' nonfiction writing as much as her fiction. I also knew that I didn't want to wait until the book was published in February, and I'm happy that I didn't have to. I found this to be every bit as good as her fiction writing.

Memorial Days recounts the time after Brooks' husband Tony Horwitz literally dropped dead on a Washington, D.C. sidewalk in May of 2019. The author tells the more immediate story of frantically trying to travel from their home on Martha's Vineyard to Washington and all the bits and pieces of what happened next. These chapters alternate with her thoughts and feelings after she has flown to Flinders Island off the coast of Australia to truly grieve three years later. Brooks and Horwitz met in journalism school and they lived and reported from many locations around the world before settling in Martha's Vineyard to raise their two sons. On Flinders Island she she writes about the varied ways other cultures grieve, such as Australia's Indigenous People, the Balinese, and the Iranian Shiites, and how she might move through similar practices herself.

The author enjoys some amount of privilege, like having the resources to fly to a sparsely populated island to process her grief, and having her cancelled health insurance reinstated because she had some connections and the right people were on her side. She writes about the consolation she and her son felt reading Tony's obituaries in The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, and The New York Times. But she also recognizes this and writes about it, noting that these are not things the average person is likely to benefit from. Brooks is honest about dying in the Unites States, from receiving the news from an exhausted and overworked resident, to the red tape involved in getting Tony's body released to a funeral home, to having her credit cards and health insurance cancelled because they were in her husband's name. Geraldine Brooks' memoir is every bit as good as her fiction writing, and now I need to reread Horse. I didn't realize that she was only half done writing that book when her husband died, which makes Horse an even more remarkable novel.

Thank you Edelweiss and Viking for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on February 4, 2025.

What are you making and reading this week?

I've Got a Plan

Correction: I had a plan, but it seems to have fallen apart. Last Friday, Mary wrote that she had ordered some royal blue alpaca/merino yarn to knit the Wavelength Wrap. She wrote, "1,200 yards of worsted weight yarn can weather a crisis. (right?!)" This got me thinking that maybe some new yarn could help me get through the cold winter months and any unfortunate events that might be happening on or around January 20th. 

 

I looked at lots of patterns and yarn, and finally decided that I needed to knit an afghan. I found a relatively easy pattern, appropriately called Look for Happiness (ravelry link). Designer Mary Lee from Fifty Four Ten Studio encourages knitters to "Look for happiness under your own roof,” to actively look for happy moments on ordinary days… within our own homes." That seemed like a great start to my plan, so next I looked for yarn. 

I settled on Berroco Vintage in a lovely dark green. It's machine washable,  contains wool, and Webs was having a 40% off Black Friday sale. I ordered enough to knit my chosen pattern and patted myself on the back for finding a yarn I liked so I could knit an afghan for a reasonable price. I ordered a 60" size 8 circular needle from Amazon and was pleased that my plan had come together so nicely.

Until Monday, when I got an email from Webs that my order had been cancelled. No explanation, no reason, just cancelled. They still had the yarn in stock so I was puzzled. I looked around for a different yarn, but many of them were prohibitively expensive. I decided to think about it for a while, and then Amazon delivered my circular needle. They had sent a size 4 instead of an 8, so my plan had been scuttled by two different sources. I know I could easily fix the plan, but paying quite a bit more for the yarn and reordering a needle made me seriously question whether I really wanted to knit an afghan. 

I got this lovely skein of 100% Tunis from Glenfiddich Farm the last time I visited my SiL. I intended to knit some warm fingerless mitts for myself with it, so now my plan has been modified. I'll wind this beautiful, squishy skein sometime before Jan. 20th, decide on a pattern, and be knitting by the 20th. This plan is completely doable, and mitts knit from wool from such adorable sheep (lambs are born with red fleece and their faces stay a reddish color) will surely help to make me happy.

Unraveled Wednesday: 12/4/24

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers today, with the Sparkly Hitchhiker still in progress. You've seen it quite a few times before and it looks pretty much the same except for more rows of garter and yarnovers. 

Sorry for the poor photo, but I'm taking pictures on Tuesday night and this is the best i could do. Never fear, you will probably see this Hitchhiker another time (or two). 

I was also looking through my Christmas pile and decided that I felt like weaving another potholder for Ryan. He has told me numerous times and quite emphatically that he has enough knitted items (hats, fingerless gloves, and scarves) and doesn't need any more. So I have made him more potholders than he probably needs or wants, but he can always put the extras in a drawer. He likes turtles and I had this idea for a pattern that would produce rows of turtles. I spent several afternoons this week trying to draft the pattern on paper, but finally gave up and just started weaving. 

I wove about 10 rows starting from the bottom and was feeling frustrated that it wasn't looking like I had pictured it. Then I turned the loom over, and there they were!

 If you look at the green rows, you can (hopefully) see four turtles in a row. They're kind of stylized, with just one green square for the head, five for the front legs and body, three squares for the main part of the body, five squares again for the back legs and body, and one square for the tail. I'm letting it sit on the loom for a night and it will bind it off after a day or so. Maybe I'll circle a turtle in a photo next week after it's bound off. It's not really a spectacular design accomplishment, but I was glad that I could weave a piece that looked something like I had imagined. 

I read a couple of books last week, one that wasn't really my cup of tea and an ARC that I enjoyed. I don't usually mind unlikable characters in fiction, in fact, sometimes they can add interest and reality to a tale. But that was not the case for me with Jane Gibson, protagonist of Colored Television. Jane is a biracial untenured college professor, struggling to finish her second novel that she's been working on for a decade, that her husband Lenny calls a "mullato War and Peace". Early on in the book there is a flashback to a party Jane has attended after she has consulted an “intuitive psychodynamic counselor with a specialty in racial alchemy,” (a psychic). He told her that she’s about to meet her future husband, a funny, tall, handsome Black man who would be wearing “West Coast shoes.” This is Lenny, a painter and the moral compass in the relationship. Jane lies to the people around her and to herself in order to portray herself as a better person than she really is when she tries to break into television writing. Appearances are important to Jane; her life revolves around race, parenting, money, and art, with never enough money or responsibility on Jane's part for any of these things. Her husband asks, "Ever think that instead of trying to be rich you should try not to be homeless?," when they need to leave their fancy house-sitting gig. Maybe it's because I'm not a big television watcher, but many of Jane's ideas for tv just sounded inane to me. Maybe that's just TV? Jane seemed far too malleable, taking on the personality and ideas of those around her and saying what she thought they wanted to hear. I wish that Lenny and their children had been developed more because they were far more interesting characters to me. I gave this one three stars.

I've enjoyed the four books by Curtis Sittenfeld that I've read, so I looked forward to reading this collection of short stories when it was offered to me. Show Don't Tell is a witty and insightful collection of short stories that delve into the intricacies of human relationships, self-perception, and the complexities of everyday life. Known for her sharp observations and emotionally resonant writing, Sittenfeld brings her signature style to this collection, exploring themes of love, loss, identity, and the human condition.

The title itself is a nod to one of the key principles of writing, and throughout these stories, the author masterfully shows rather than tells, allowing readers to experience the characters' emotions and struggles in a deeply visceral way. Her prose is clear yet nuanced, often leaving room for interpretation and reflection long after the stories have ended.

One of the collection's strengths is its diversity in both character and setting. From the perspective of a teacher navigating a complicated relationship with a student to a woman reckoning with her past during a reunion, Sittenfeld explores the complexities of individual experiences with remarkable empathy. Each story feels like a small window into a larger world, showing the quiet moments that shape people’s lives in subtle but profound ways.

While some stories are more reflective and contemplative, others are charged with a certain tension or urgency that keeps the reader engaged. The characters are flawed and relatable, and their journeys feel honest, poignant, and relatable.

Like most short story collections, several of these stories left me wanting more depth or a clearer resolution. There were one or two stories that ended so abruptly I wondered if I had missed the last page. But the last story, "Lost But Not Forgotten" was so good that I could overlook the few with sudden endings. In this story, we get to revisit Lee Fiora when she attends a reunion decades later at the boarding school Sittenfeld wrote about in Prep. I remembered that I liked Prep but didn't recall any details about why so I'm re-reading it now, decades later.

Overall, Show Don’t Tell is a four-star, beautifully crafted collection that will resonate with fans of literary fiction. The author's sharp eye for detail and her ability to weave complex emotional truths into every story makes this a highly recommended read for those who appreciate thoughtful, character-driven narratives.

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

What are you making and reading this week?

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Wishing all who are celebrating a very Happy Thanksgiving, and a very Happy Thursday to those that aren't! I'm grateful for you and that you take time out of your day to read my thoughts and share yours. Thank you!

(I post this same picture every year on Thanksgiving, but it's simply because I like it so much and it says exactly how I feel.)

Unraveled Wednesday: 11/27/24

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers today with the re-knit, improved, and finished blue hat. 

After unraveling the original blue hat, I re-knit it with size 5 needles for the ribbing, added the fold line in the ribbing, and repeated the cable pattern a second time. This made the hat 9.5" deep which is so much better than the original 7.25". 

Now I've got two hats for Justin for Christmas, and the only thing on my needles is the Sparkly Hitchhiker. It hasn't yet reached the boring stage but I would like to finish it up before it becomes a tiresome knit. I've been working on it while I bake pumpkin pies, apple crisp, and croissants for our Thanksgiving meal tomorrow. And speaking of giving thanks, I'd like to offer a big thank you to Kat for hosting Unraveled Wednesday every week. I'm grateful that she provides a place for all of us to connect, along with talking about our making and reading. It's truly one of the highlights of my week and I thank you, Kat!

 

Last week I did a fair bit of reading. The first book was The Serviceberry by Robin Wall Kimmerer. It is a poetic and thought-provoking exploration of our relationship with nature, community, and the concept of giving. In this essay-length work, Kimmerer, who is known for her blend of Indigenous wisdom and scientific expertise, asks readers to reimagine their place within the natural world.

Using the serviceberry tree as a focal point, she reflects on the idea of reciprocal relationships, challenging the scarcity mindset of modern economies. The serviceberry becomes a symbol of generosity, as its fruit nourishes birds, animals, and humans alike without expectation of repayment. Kimmerer draws from her Potawatomi heritage, blending ecological insights with stories that emphasize interdependence and gratitude. One of the most powerful aspects of the book is its call to embrace a "gift economy," where the act of giving nurtures bonds between people and the land.

At just over 120 pages (two hours for the audiobook version read by the author), this small but impactful work reads like a meditation, making it perfect for those who appreciate reflective, nature-focused literature. It doesn’t delve into as much detail as her other works like Braiding Sweetgrass, it serves as an accessible introduction to her philosophy and writings. This essay is ideal for readers who want to deepen their appreciation for the natural world and consider the broader implications of generosity in both ecological and human communities. I gave it three stars.

I also finished The War I Finally Won by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley.  It is a gentle, poignant continuation of the story that began in The War That Saved My Life. This sequel dives deeper into the emotional complexities of Ada, as she navigates the struggles of World War II, trauma, and healing, while also confronting and accepting her own growth and newfound sense of family. In the first book, she found her strength and voice; in this one, she learns to face her fears and embrace her place in the world. The war may be on the horizon, but Ada’s personal battles—against self-doubt, guilt, and the scars of abuse—are just as formidable. It’s a reminder that courage isn’t just about facing external battles, but also about confronting the emotional scars we carry inside. Bradley has written the setting of wartime England, with its small yet significant moments of joy amidst the chaos, with care and detail so readers can almost feel the weight of wartime anxiety. I enjoyed this four-star read almost as much as the first book. 

Lastly, I read an ARC entitled Mothers and Sons by Adam Haslett. It tells the story of 40-year-old Peter Fischer, an immigration lawyer, and his mother, Ann, an Episcopal priest who runs a spiritual retreat. Anne and Peter have been estranged since Peter was a teenager, and Haslett very slowly reveals details about their sexuality (they are both gay) and the harrowing event that drove mother and son apart.

The author has woven many heartbreaking details about Peter's work with those seeking asylum into the story. Ann has been hurt by the distance from her son but she also enjoys the life she has built after leaving Peter's father. When Peter becomes unusually involved with Vasel Marku, a young gay Albanian man seeking asylum over fears he’ll face homophobic persecution, the estranged mother and son are forced to face their own fears and guilt. Haslett takes the long way around to tell this tale, and while I kept reading to see what had driven mother and son apart, I'm not sure that the slow narrative was the best way to tell their stories. Three and a half stars rounded up.

Thank you to Little, Brown and Company and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on January 7, 2025.

What are you making and reading this week?

Dusting

I hope the title didn't mislead you into thinking I was actually dusting! Well, maybe just a little bit; I did dust the dining room table before I arranged the tablecloth on it. I wanted to have a place to set the pumpkin pies and apple crisp that I'm making today. But I digress. While I was doing this small amount of dusting, I found myself admiring the motes dancing in the sun coming through the window. I thought, "Surely, there must be a poem about this," and I was not surprised to find a perfect one. I'm sharing it with you, in case you might also be doing the tiniest bit of dusting .

Dusting

by Marilyn Nelson

Thank you for these tiny
particles of ocean salt,
pearl-necklace viruses,
winged protozoans:
for the infinite,
intricate shapes
of submicroscopic
living things.

For algae spores
and fungus spores,
bonded by vital
mutual genetic cooperation,
spreading their
inseparable lives
from equator to pole.

My hand, my arm,
make sweeping circles.
Dust climbs the ladder of light.
For this infernal, endless chore,
for these eternal seeds of rain:
Thank you. For dust.

====

Nelson, Marilyn. "Dusting". Magnificat, Louisiana State University Press, 1994.  

You can read more about Marilyn Nelson here.  

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 I hope you are enjoying the dancing dust motes, or maybe appreciating it just a little bit.

A Gathering of Poetry: November 2024

It's the third Thursday of the month so I'd like to welcome you to A Gathering of Poetry.

I often worry about finding a good poem for each month's Gathering of Poetry, but I really shouldn't despair. I always come across something wonderful, and this month is no exception. I first read this poem in The Washington Post Book Club newsletter, just three days after the horrifying election. It struck me as perfect (as so many poems are) so I'd like to share it with you. Ron Charles (book critic at The Post) introduced it this way: "At a moment when hate and criminality seem to have triumphed, many people feel the urge to withdraw in despair. This poem reminds us that deliberate burrowing can be an expansive, enriching pursuit." I wholeheartedly agree. 

Lumbricus terrestris 
by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

On a day when the world is weighty,
  dark and dense with need,
    I want to be the earthworm
      that gives itself over to tunneling,
  its every movement an act
    of bringing spaciousness.
      And when minutes feel crushed by urgency,
  I want to meet the world wormlike,
    which is to say grounded,
      consistent, even slow.  
No matter how desperate the situation,
    the worm does not tunnel faster
      nor burrow more.
  It knows it can take decades
    to build fine soil.
      To whatever is compacted,
  the worm offers its good worm work,
    quietly bringing porosity
      to what is trodden, compressed.
  So often, in my rush to repair,
    I end up exhausted.
Let my gift to the world be
  my constancy, a devotion to openness,
    my willingness to be with what is.
      Let my gift to myself be patience
  as I tend what is dense and dark.

====

Trommer, Rosemerry Wahtola. "Lumbricus terrestris". The Unfolding. Wildhouse Poetry, 2024  

You can read more about the poet here.

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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!

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

Unraveled Wednesday: 11/20/24

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers today with the blue hat once again. I had hoped to be finished but I managed to do a bit more reading this week, so I'm just on the crown decreases. Twelve more rows and I'll be done. 

I'm really enjoying the simple cable crossings every other row so I might look for another project with similar characteristics. I do have the Sparkly Hitchhiker waiting in the wings so I'd also like to finish that soon-ish. 

Jane recommended The War That Saved My Life last week and I thought it was wonderful. It's a deeply moving historical novel that takes readers on a journey of resilience, healing, and the transformative power of love. Set against the backdrop of World War II, this middle-grade novel doesn’t shy away from complex emotions and difficult topics, making it equally compelling for both younger readers and adults.

The story follows Ada, a young girl born with a clubfoot, who has endured a life of abuse and neglect at the hands of her mother. When the evacuation of children from London begins, Ada seizes the opportunity to escape her grim existence. Along with her younger brother Jamie, she is sent to the countryside, where they are placed in the reluctant care of Susan Smith.

Bradley’s portrayal of Ada’s inner world is extraordinary. Her growth from a terrified, self-loathing child to a brave and self-assured young girl is beautifully paced. The story doesn’t oversimplify Ada’s trauma but instead shows how healing is a gradual, often painful process. Susan’s own struggles with loss and loneliness add depth to the story, creating a poignant parallel to Ada’s growth. The author’s depiction of wartime England is vivid and immersive, bringing the historical setting to life without overshadowing the emotional core of the narrative.

This book is as heartwarming as well as heartbreaking. It’s a story that reminds us of the enduring human capacity for kindness and courage, even in the face of cruelty and adversity. I haven't been able to concentrate very well on reading since the election results and both the subject and the fact that this is a middle grade novel made it a perfect book for me at this time. I am anxiously waiting for the sequel The War I Finally Won from the library. This was 4.5 stars for me, rounded up because Jayne Entwistle is a wonderful narrator for the audiobook.

I also read several other books. One was The Wood at Midwinter by Susanna Clarke.  It was a quirky little story but the illustrations were quite captivating; I gave this one three stars. What Does It Feel Like? by Sophie Kinsella is an interesting semi-autobiographical novella. While Kinsella is best known for her light, feel-good romantic comedies, this is slightly more introspective. Kinsella was diagnosed with glioblastoma and to help process her feelings she wrote these vignettes about her brain tumor and treatment.

I found tender insights (especially because Kinsella and the novella's protagonist, Eve, are both mothers to five children) along with humor. I don't know if Kinsella and her husband are like this in real life, but she has written Eve with a lot of humor.

My main critique is that the novella's short format left me wanting more emotional depth and development. I realize it may be unfair to criticize the way the author chose to write the novella as she wrote it as a way to better deal with her feelings. Glioblastoma is a serious disease, and while humor is needed and necessary, I would have welcomed a more thorough work of non-fiction to better deal with the medical realities or the impact on family and relationships. This one gets 3.5 stars from me.

The last book I read this week was The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig. It's a poetic exploration of emotions and experiences that feel deeply familiar yet are unnamed. A mix of a linguistic treasure trove and a philosophical journey, this book turns the ineffable into language, offering readers the words they didn’t know they needed to articulate the complexities of their inner lives. John Koenig opens the book with this quote:

“I read the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything.” --Steven Wright

 and this book is just that. Each definition is more than a cold description; it’s accompanied by a narrative, vignette, or reflection that reads like poetry. Koenig doesn’t just define emotions—he evokes them, and his prose captures the deeply personal nature of these experiences.

Yes, the book is a collection of made-up words, but if you're a fan of poetry, philosophy, linguistics and the conjunction of them, you will most likely enjoy this four-star book as much as I did. As an example, here is one of my favorites:

aimonimia n. The fear that learning the name of something—a bird, a constellation, an attractive stranger—will somehow ruin it, inadvertently transforming a lucky discovery into a conceptual husk pinned in a glass case, leaving one less mystery to flutter around in the universe.

I read The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows and was entranced. 

What are you making and reading this week?

Poetry for a Monday

I find myself without anything much to say today but I am trying to maintain what is working and is good for me. Some of that includes sustaining a connection with this lovely community, so I've got a poem to share with you. Another thing that is working for me is spending time at my kitchen table - watching the birds, enjoying the sun, planning what I might want to cook, and thinking I really do need to scrub the kitchen floor. Maybe someday I'll actually do it. 

Perhaps the World Ends Here
by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

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Harjo, Joy. "Perhaps the World Ends Here". The Woman Who fell From the Sky. W.W. Norton and Co., 1994.

You can read more about Joy Harjo here. 

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I'm hoping there is peace and acceptance at your kitchen tables.