I'm sad to not actually be joining Kat and the Unravelers today, just posting that I may have come a bit unraveled myself so I will be taking a break for a little while. With any luck I may even have a completed pair of socks to show you when I return next week. Who knows, there could even be two pairs!
And because every blog post needs a photo, here's one of my random favorites:
It's the third Thursday of the month so I'd like to welcome you to A Gathering of Poetry. I had glimmers of this poem in my memory, but what I mainly recalled was tables and chairs abandoned by a pond. It took me a while to find it, but I knew it as soon as I read it, and was glad to see that chairs, tables, and a lake were actually mentioned.
====
Collins, Billy. "The Chairs That No One Sits In". Poetry, November 2008.
You can read more about Billy Collins here.
====
I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers with some very slow progress on the second rainbow sock. Behold, three quarters of a heel flap!
I did find the watermelon yarn I talked about last week and it's sitting here by my knitting spot as incentive.
It was a not-terrific week in reading but that's to be expected once in a while. The first two are ARCs and the last book is one that was definitely not for me.
I requested Next of Kin from NetGalley
solely because I thought I might enjoy a memoir written by a chef, but I
knew nothing about Gabrielle Hamilton. I should have started with her
first memoir, Blood, Bones & Butter as that one was more
becoming a chef and opening her restaurant. The best way I can describe
this book is that it is sharp, unsentimental, but not very cohesive. It
is more meandering and introspective, at times to the point of feeling
closed off. I might know a little bit more about Hamilton after reading Next of Kin but not much.
The
themes—family (chosen and otherwise), aging, duty, and estrangement—are
compelling, and there are moving moments, particularly when Hamilton
explores the unspoken bonds and emotional labor that come with caring
for someone out of obligation rather than affection. Still, I found the
pacing slow, and at times the narrative felt stuck in its own head,
circling the same emotional territory without offering new insight. I
admired the honesty, but I also felt like I was being kept at arm’s
length.
One moment that especially stayed with me involved the
death of one of Hamilton’s siblings by suicide. Their father’s
reaction—"Well, if you have to lose one, at least it's the one you liked
least"—was staggering. Hamilton’s response, “I had known, of course I
had, that we were ranked,” is chilling in its quiet acceptance. I can’t
begin to understand what it would be like to grow up in a family like
that. My own experience with family offers no frame of reference for
that kind of hierarchy or cruelty, and I found myself wondering what
kind of people her parents really were.
That said, Hamilton’s
prose is often incisive, and readers who enjoy character-driven,
reflective nonfiction might find more to appreciate here than I did. A
worthwhile but uneven read.
Thank you to NetGalley and Random House for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on October 14, 2025. Three stars from me.
Like Family by Erin O. White is a
thoughtful, emotionally layered debut that explores the complexities of
chosen family, parenthood, and the invisible threads that bind people
together. Set in the picturesque town of Radclyffe, New York—a place so
idyllic it almost feels like a lifestyle catalog—the novel offers a warm
and often touching portrait of three interconnected families trying to
live out their values in real life while holding onto long-held secrets.
The
heart of the story lies in Ruth and Caroline’s deep, decades-long
friendship, and White does a lovely job capturing the quiet intimacies
and unspoken loyalties that define such relationships. The novel
thoughtfully examines how love—romantic, platonic, parental—can be both
sustaining and messy, especially when secrets and unresolved tensions
are involved.
However, the book sometimes feels a bit too serene,
even when major emotional revelations or crises occur. The stakes don’t
always land with the weight they should, and some of the
characters—especially the men—come off more like supporting cast than
fully realized people. There are moments when the prose veers into
overly reflective territory, slowing the pace and dampening the tension
that the story hints at but never quite fully delivers on. I often found
myself confused by the number of characters, particularly the adults
and their many children, who sometimes blended together. Many of the
characters had similar voices or traits, making it hard to keep track of
who was who or feel fully invested in each of their stories. While the
writing is warm and reflective, the pacing occasionally drags, and some
emotional revelations felt muted by the calm, almost too-peaceful tone.
Still, Like Family
is a compassionate and earnest exploration of modern family life and
the blurry lines between friends and kin. It's not a book that will
shake you, but it may leave you quietly moved—and grateful for the
complicated people who make up your own chosen family.
Thank you to Random House and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on November 4, 2025. This was another three star book for me.
I'll admit that I placed These Summer Storms by Sarah Maclean on hold at the library because I liked the cover and
it had a Kirkus starred review. It's my fault for not realizing that the
author usually writes historical romance novels and this is her first
foray into contemporary fiction. I am not her target audience but I was
curious enough to find out how the premise played out. Sadly, I found
cardboard characters, contrived conflict, and dialogue so over‑explained
it felt like a never‑ending game of “tell, don’t show.”
The
premise has promise but it is never realized. A dead billionaire
patriarch forces his heirs to stay on the family’s private Rhode Island
island for a week and complete a series of “tasks” if they want their
inheritance. Each assignment is supposed to expose hidden desires and
deep wounds; instead, they’re little more than petty errands that
telegraph their moral lessons from a mile away. The family's last name
is Storm, so there are far too many storm, ocean, sand, and saltwater
similes and metaphors.
The one-dimensional characters include
Greta, the eldest daughter desperate for approval; Alice, the
“black‑sheep” sibling is defined almost entirely by how often she
reminds us she left the family fortune behind and how badly she wants to
leave again. Brother Sam, the presumptive heir mansplains, while
youngest sister Emily provides crystals and whimsy and Mom weaponizes
grief. Jack Dean, the rugged executor of Dad’s will, exists to smolder
and provide romance for Alice. That’s it for depth.
The pacing
alternates between glacial and frantic. We crawl through heaps of
internal monologue (often the same revelation repeated in slightly
different words) before racing through a final act pile‑up of twists
that feel tacked on for shock value. I was not shocked, just let down by
the final "twist".
I admire Sarah MacLean for leaving her historical comfort zone and she seems fairly successful there, but These Summer Storms
reads like an early draft. At best I was entertained by dialogue like
this: "The moment Jack's big hands slid into the back pockets of her
shorts, activating a number of as yet undiscovered neural pathways,
clear-mindedness was lost at sea." And this: "Jack made it feel like
fantasy, slanting his kiss over hers, like the pirate that dived into
the sea leaving his ship behind to follow her to shore." I've also
learned to question what Kirkus Reviews considers exceptional merit and
high quality. One puny little star and a lesson learned.
What are you making and reading this week?
Our summer Read With Us book is The Friend by Sigrid Nunez, winner of the 2018 National Book Award for Fiction. A quiet yet powerful meditation on grief, love, writing, and the unbreakable bond between humans and animals, this novel is sure to spark deep conversation and reflection.
After the sudden death of her closest friend and mentor, an unnamed writer inherits his Great Dane—an enormous, grieving dog she’s not entirely sure she can care for. As she adjusts to this unexpected companionship, the narrator finds herself contemplating not only the nature of friendship and loss, but the meaning of writing, solitude, and emotional survival.
The Friend is spare, elegant, and emotionally resonant. It’s not your typical dog book—though fans of animal stories will appreciate it—but a literary exploration of the way we tether ourselves to others, and what happens when those ties are severed.
Why Read with Us?
This is a perfect book for discussion. It blends narrative with philosophical musings, literary references, and dark humor. Whether you’ve experienced loss, wrestled with loneliness, or simply love a story that digs below the surface, there’s something here for you.
Together, we’ll explore questions like:
How do we grieve in silence, and how do we make meaning from absence?
What role do animals play in helping us heal?
Can a relationship endure even after one person is gone?
Kym, Carole, and I will be talking about the book, giving additional information, and doing promotional posts through July. Discussion day for The Friend is scheduled for Tuesday, September 16, 2025 at 7:00 pm Eastern time, so mark your calendars. We'll ask questions on our blogs that day and then host the always fun, educational, and entertaining Zoom discussion.
We can’t wait to hear your thoughts on this unforgettable novel.
Grab a copy, find a quiet corner, and Read With Us!
... is a good day to quit Duolingo.
I seem to have run out of things to blog about, so today I am reduced to writing about that. Summer doldrums have hit before, usually in August when it's desperately hot and dry. This is just the beginning of July, but I think I have arrived in the doldrums.
 | ||
| NOAA's picture of the doldrums. I thought it was kind of pretty |
It seems that I found a few things to write about even if none of it was of any real consequence. I wish you a lovely weekend and I'll leave you with a quote that I like:
There is no panacea, or utopia, there is just love and kindness and trying, amid the chaos, to make things better where we can. And to keep our minds wide, wide open in a world that often wants to close them.
I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers with SiPs yet again. Kat is having some tests done and I'm sending her all the good juju, so while there isn't an official Unraveled linkup, Wednesday is the highlight of my blogging week, so I'm here with a sock and a start on the second.
I only finished one book this week, but it was a good one. Finding Grace is a book with a really unique premise, told in an
equally unique way. There’s a reason the publisher’s synopsis is a bit
vague — and I’d recommend going in without reading detailed reviews or
searching for spoilers. I began reading not knowing much, and I’d
suggest the same to others. You’ll likely know by the end of the first
chapter whether this one is for you.
This is a deeply felt
character study that dives into grief, loss, obsession, and the weight
of regret — especially how a bit of honesty at the right time could have
prevented so much pain. The characters are what make the story shine. I
loved how they surprised me — sometimes with their wisdom, sometimes
with their staggering stupidity, but always in ways that felt fully
human.
Finding Grace is an impressive debut. Though I
didn’t like the ending much at all and subtracted a whole star because
of it, I loved the rest of the book. I’ll definitely be watching for
whatever Loretta Rothschild writes next.
Thank you to St. Martin's Press and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book. It was published on July 8, 2025.
What are you making and reading this week?
John left yesterday morning to get his truck fixed so I took the opportunity to get started on blanching all the peas and beans that we have picked this week. I have a system that works for me, and not surprisingly, it works much better without any extra "help" in the kitchen.
First, fill the blancher with water and get the water boiling. Get your peas and beans out of the refrigerator and line them up next to the stove. This photo was taken after I had already done one bag of peas.
Boil the peas for five minutes. Be sure to use any spare moments while waiting to read the book that you are really anxious to finish. In my case, it was Finding Grace by Loretta Rothschild, but any book can be substituted.
I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers with SiPs, just a bit further along than last week. I finished one of the blue and green striped socks (except for kitchenering the toe), and the heel flap has been knit, the heel turned, and gusset stitches picked up on the rainbow sock. All that remains is knitting down the foot. (Oh, and knitting the second sock in each pair.) I'm not setting any speed records for knitting socks, but that's okay because I'm not even a contestant in the race.
Unfortunately, once the story shifts
to a private island, things begin to unravel. The plot veers into the
ludicrous — not necessarily in a fun, campy way, but in a “wait, what is
happening?” sort of way. The audiobook didn’t help matters either;
Yu-Li Alice Shen narrates the entire book in a breathless, high-energy
tone that might suit a thriller or action-packed drama, but here it just
wore thin and made the more surreal or absurd elements (and there were
plenty) feel even more exaggerated.
Still, despite its flaws, the
book entertained me when I needed distraction most — and for that, it
earns its stars. Recommended for an unhinged summer read when you're
stuck inside and forced to boil vegetables (definitely a niche book)!
A Walk in the Park by Kevin Fedarko is a
deeply immersive account of a truly epic and ill-advised journey across
the length of the Grand Canyon—a hike so grueling and dangerous it’s
rarely completed. Fedarko’s lyrical writing and obvious reverence for
the Canyon make this a compelling read, especially for lovers of wild
places and armchair adventurers.
That said, like the hike itself,
the book went on a bit too long. The narrative sometimes loses momentum
under the weight of Fedarko’s personal backstory. While his reflections
help explain his fascination and obsession with the Canyon and his need
to test himself against it, trimming some of those tangents might have
allowed the central story to breathe more naturally and move at a better
pace.
Still, this is a book packed with tension, awe, and
hard-earned insight. Fedarko doesn’t shy away from the physical, mental,
and emotional toll of the journey, and the lessons are clear: prepare
obsessively, listen to those with more experience, and maybe, just
maybe, don’t hike into the Grand Canyon unless you’re truly ready for
what it asks of you.
A bit indulgent in places, but overall a
gripping, humbling read about pushing limits—and learning how to judge
when you’ve gone too far, hopefully before you die.
What are you making and reading this week?
... is a day to wonder what this might mean.
I'm going down to see Nugget tomorrow and have bagels with Jess but other than that, I've got a blissful weekend to myself. I hope you're anticipating an equally satisfying weekend!
I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers with some SIPs (Socks In Progress). It's been too d*&n hot to do much else beside sit in front of the air conditioner and knit small things. There were several hours of awfulness where I had to pick snow peas in John's garden at Ryan's but it was as terrible as you might imagine so I won't dwell on that.
The blue and green striped one is ready for me to start on the toes, and the rainbow one is ready for the heel flap and turn if I can gather some gumption. Today it's supposed to reach 100 again, but motivation might be just around the corner tomorrow when the temperatures (hopefully) begin to drop.
I read only one book this week, but it was a memorable four-stars. Ocean Vuong’s The Emperor of Gladness is a tender, quietly
powerful novel that explores the fragile beauty of human connection, the
resilience of the working class, and the long, difficult journey toward
self-worth. This is Vuong’s first full-length work of fiction since On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, and once again he brings his signature lyrical style to a narrative that is emotionally rich and deeply humane.
At
the heart of the novel is Hai, a 19-year-old Vietnamese American who
survives a suicide attempt only because it’s interrupted by Grazina, an
elderly widow with dementia and an unshakable sense of presence. In a
move that serves both of them, Hai agrees to become her caretaker. What
follows is not a conventional redemption arc, but a deeply nuanced
exploration of grief, shame, dignity, and the strange, sometimes
stubborn ways people come to care for one another.
Vuong’s prose
is spare but luminous, filled with quiet observations that land like
revelations. He gives dignity and emotional texture to the lives of
people often overlooked—immigrants, the poor, the aging, the young who
are barely hanging on. The relationship between Hai and Grazina unfolds
with the slow trust of real life, becoming a kind of found family that
neither of them expected but both desperately need.
Some readers
might find the narrative more reflective and "dreamy" than event-driven,
but that’s part of its strength. Vuong doesn't seem interested in
melodrama—he's invested in emotional truth. And in that sense, this
novel delivers in every line.
The Emperor of Gladness is a
poignant meditation on what keeps us alive, and who we might become
when someone—unexpectedly, stubbornly—believes we are worth saving.
Quietly devastating and deeply compassionate, this is a novel to read
slowly, and remember long after.
What are you making and reading this week?
We’re thrilled to announce the Read With Us summer selection: The Friend by Sigrid Nunez!
Winner of the 2018 National Book Award for Fiction, The Friend is a deeply moving and quietly powerful novel about grief, literature, and the unexpected ways love and healing enter our lives. At the center of the story is a woman mourning the sudden loss of her closest friend—and the large Great Dane he left behind. What begins as an act of reluctant caretaking becomes a meditation on loss, solitude, the creative life, and the profound companionship of animals.
Nunez’s writing is spare, elegant, and laced with both literary reflection and emotional honesty. It’s the kind of book that feels intimate and expansive all at once—a perfect choice for thoughtful discussion.
Why we chose The Friend
Kym, Carole,
and I will be talking about the book, giving additional information,
and doing promotional posts through July. Discussion day for The Friend is scheduled for Tuesday, September 16, 2025 at 7:00 pm Eastern time, so mark your calendars. We'll ask questions on our blogs that day and then host the always fun, educational, and entertaining Zoom discussion.
Whether you're new to Sigrid Nunez or already a fan, we hope you'll Read With Us and discover (or revisit) this beautifully written novel.
... is a day when you just want to lie in front of the air conditioner with a wet washcloth on your forehead. Our weather this week looks quite warm too d**n hot, like much of the rest of the country:
I hope your Monday is a good one and you can find a way to stay cool this week!
It's the third Thursday of the month so I'd like to welcome you to A Gathering of Poetry. Today I made sure I didn't forget about A Gathering of Poetry like I did last month, and this month Billy Collins came to my rescue.
I had a lime tree that died and I recently bought a new one. It's outside and growing well and I recently caught myself thinking, "I just love this little lime tree." A few days ago I was washing my hands with a bar of Ivory soap and found myself thinking, "I really love the smell of this soap." Thankfully, Billy Collins had already written a poem about these moments.
Aimless Love
by Billy CollinsThis morning as I walked along the lake shore,
I fell in love with a wren
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.The love of the chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.No lust, no slam of the door—
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor—
just a twinge every now and thenfor the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.After I carried the mouse by the tail
to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught the scent of lavender and stone.
====
"Aimless Love". Collins, Billy. Nine Horses: Pan Macmillan and Random House Trade Paperbacks, 2003.
You can read more about the poet here and here.
====
I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers with the slightly sad tale of a broken needle. I did order a bamboo circular so I could attempt the four-stitch decreases in Soft Current (ravelry link) on needles that aren't too slippery, but they arrived with a broken point in the sealed package, so I've ordered a different type. The replacement should arrive sometime this week, but I'm not sitting around waiting impatiently. I cast on for a pair of socks with some self-striping yarn in my favorite colors. I'm really enjoying working on them and am heading down the foot on the first sock.
I finished two books this week. The first is entitled Bad Company: Private Equity and the Death of the American Dream. I wasn't sure this was a book for me when I was first offered the ARC, but I decided it was worth reading to educate myself about what private equity firms really are and how they operate.
In Bad Company, Megan Greenwell pulls
back the curtain on the destructive influence of private equity firms,
whose sole mission—to generate maximum profit for investors—often comes
at immense human cost. With sharp reporting and deep empathy, Greenwell
explores how this opaque, powerful industry has reshaped American life
in ways most of us aren't aware of until it’s too late.
From
retail chains gutted for parts, to nursing homes where patient care
declines as profits rise, to newsrooms stripped of staff and mission,
Greenwell brings the consequences of financial chicanery down to the
ground level—where ordinary workers and communities are left to pick up
the pieces. The sections on housing and health care are particularly
chilling, showing how private equity firms insert themselves into
essential services, extract wealth, and then leave ruin behind.
What
makes this book stand out is its focus on people—not just policies or
profit margins. Greenwell never loses sight of the lives destroyed,
dignity eroded, and communities disrupted when decisions are made purely
in service of capital.
While some readers may wish for more
policy prescriptions or structural analysis, Bad Company succeeds as a
necessary, accessible, and often enraging look at an industry that
thrives in the shadows. It’s a wake-up call to anyone who’s ever asked,
“Why does everything feel like it’s getting worse?”
Thank you to NetGalley and Dey Street Books for providing me with a copy of the book. It was published on June 10, 2025.
The second book, The Beast in the Clouds, is a fascinating
blend of adventure, history, and science, chronicling a little-known
chapter in the lives of the Roosevelt brothers—Theodore Jr. and
Kermit—on their ambitious and dangerous 1920s expedition to China in
search of the mythical giant panda. Nathalia Holt brings a sharp eye to
the historical detail, placing this journey in the broader context of
Western imperialism, scientific exploration, and family legacy.
The
book shines when it digs into the Roosevelt family dynamic,
particularly the pressure the brothers felt to live up to their father’s
name. Their psychological struggles, especially Kermit's lifelong
battle with depression, are handled with nuance. Holt also gives us a
vivid portrait of the expedition itself, from treacherous mountains to
cultural misunderstandings, and paints a complex picture of China at a
moment of political upheaval.
That said, the pacing occasionally
lags, particularly in the midsection, and the book sometimes feels torn
between being an adventure story and a historical analysis. I also would
have appreciated more in-depth coverage of the ecological and
zoological significance of the panda, beyond its role as a symbol or
trophy.
Still, Holt’s research is impeccable, and her prose is
accessible and often poetic. This is a compelling story about obsession,
legacy, and the fine line between scientific curiosity and colonial
arrogance. A great read for fans of narrative nonfiction and those
curious about forgotten corners of exploration history.
Thank you to Atria and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on July 1, 2025.
What are you making and reading this week?
Carole asked "How does Ciara’s story shed light on systemic failures—particularly in social services, housing, and financial support—that make it nearly impossible for her to break free? What form of social safety net—safe housing, child allowance, legal aid, emotional support networks—might have changed Ciara’s odds? Where does the novel suggest these are absent or inaccessible?" Several people were a little surprised that resources were in such short supply in Ireland and we all agreed that there are not enough resources of any kind for housing, financial assistance, or other support, in Ireland or the United States. Debbie made a point about how limited resources are in rural areas, and even if safe houses exist, there may be a 3-4 month waiting list. We felt that reading about the lack of resources along with the bureaucracy Ciara endured really helped pull the reader into the book.
My questions had to do with the epigraph O'Donnell used, a poem called "Mother Ireland. The final lines are “Now I could tell my story. It was different from the story told about me.” Why do you think O’Donnell chose this poem? How is Nesting different from the story normally told about women like Ciara?" Kat said that she felt it was powerful when Ciara said, "This is my voice" and she realized that she had her own story to tell, and it was not the one her husband had been telling. Vicki made a point that everyone involved has their own story - Ciara's children, her mother and sister, and even all the people she was dealing with in the bureaucracy of housing, but Ciara eventually learned to own her story and tell it.
Kym wondered "What does the title Nesting suggest in the context of the novel? How does it relate to themes of home, safety, and survival? How does the ending leave you feeling? Does it offer hope, realism, or something in between?" Most participants felt that Nesting was a good title for the book, as it made us think of making a safe and secure home for our family. Ciara had to leave her house to do that for herself and her children, but she was able to do that in the hotel and eventually her own home. Many of us were a little unsure about the crow shown on the cover and what the crow meant in the story, but someone mentioned that since Ryan may have taken it from the nest, it represented power over innocents and was another way to show how cruel he could be.
We all liked the book, despite the fact that the ending felt like it was a bit too easy. When Kym, Carole, and I are choosing a book, we're often concerned about whether it will be discussable or will everyone just say they liked it so much that there's nothing to talk about. Most likely because of the intense subject matter of abuse, we had plenty to talk about even while we all enjoyed the book.
I have come to rely on our Read With Us discussions to clarify ideas and participants often bring up points that I have not considered. It's a valuable thing for me, and I think that was especially true for this discussion. Several of you shared your personal experiences with family or friends in the same abuse situation and your willingness to share made this book even more personal and understandable. I'd like to thank all of you for reading, participating, and sharing.
I heard something about a big birthday/military parade in Washington, D.C. on Saturday. My birthday was yesterday and while there didn't seem to be a parade in my honor, I've been thinking about what I would like to see in my parade:
This parade wouldn't last long so I could leave with several pieces of cake, some yarn, and a new book to go home and read on the porch. Maybe a nice cat would even follow me home.
In case you're wondering what this might look like, it could be something like this:
Forty-four is the number of years we've been married, so Happy Anniversary to us. That is kind of an amazing number to me, especially when I consider that John retired three years ago and that means he's always around. This has meant some big adjustments (mainly on my part), but I'll bet that we make it to 45.
Here's what we looked like on June 14, 1981.
I'd post a picture of what we look like now but we don't have any recent photos of us together. Maybe I'll ask Ryan to take one when we see him later today, but that's probably not necessary. We look exactly the same and haven't changed at all. (Insert hysterical laughter here.)
I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!
