Sometimes Monday ...

 ... is a great day to Vote by Mail. 

 It's "just" the primary, but it's still important and I hope it actually gets counted!

Three (Book reviews) on Thursday

I read three books this week, so I decided to post all the reviews together today. Edited to add: It turns out that I actually finished four but didn't want to ruin the alliteration of Three on Thursday. 

The first is one that Sarah read last week, and I read the second one in an attempt to try and make more sense of the first. Abigail Thomas’s What Comes Next and How to Like It is a quiet, contemplative memoir that reads less like a traditional narrative and more like a collection of fleeting thoughts, small, intimate moments stitched together in a non-linear, almost stream-of-consciousness style. Comprised of short vignettes, the book moves through grief, friendship, aging, creativity, and the strange, often unanswerable question of how to keep going when life keeps taking.

Thomas’s prose is undeniably sharp and direct. There’s a spareness to her writing that I appreciated; she wastes no words, and many passages carry a kind of understated honesty. Her reflections on long-term friendship offer glimpses of something deep and sustaining, even when the rest of life feels uncertain or diminished.

That said, the fragmented structure, while stylistically interesting, made it difficult to fully engage. The vignettes often felt more like impressions than explorations, and I found myself wanting more depth and more cohesion. While there are moments of insight, they felt fleeting, and I struggled to come away feeling truly enlightened, moved, or even particularly educated, which are qualities I tend to look for in a memoir.

Ultimately, this is a book that seems more about sitting with life as it is rather than drawing meaning from it. For some readers, that may be enough. For me, it felt a bit too slight to leave a lasting impression.

I came to A Three Dog Life after reading What Comes Next and How to Like It, mostly hoping to better understand the events that shaped Abigail Thomas’s later reflections. In that sense, this book provided some helpful context. It fills in the emotional and practical realities behind the fragments of her more recent work.

This memoir centers on the aftermath of her husband’s traumatic brain injury, and the life Thomas builds in response to that devastating shift. While her signature style is still present, with brief sections and a somewhat impressionistic structure, it felt more cohesive here. Her emotions are written more clearly, and I was better able to follow the arc of her experience, from shock and guilt to a kind of fragile stability.

Thomas’s prose remains spare and direct, which works well for the subject matter. There are moments of genuine insight, particularly in how she grapples with what it means to remain connected to someone who is, in many ways, no longer the person you knew. I also appreciated that I did learn something from this memoir, about care giving, adaptation, and the ways people continue living after unimaginable disruption. That’s something I tend to look for in memoir, and this book delivered more of it than her later one.

Dogs, as the title suggests, play a central role here, not just as companions, but as emotional anchors. Thomas’s deep affection for them is evident, and they help shape the quieter, rebuilt life she describes. It’s striking, too, that despite everything, she manages to carve out a decent, even meaningful life.

Still, while I admired much of what this book was doing, it didn’t fully land for me on an emotional level. The distance created by the fragmented style sometimes kept me from feeling as immersed as I wanted to be. I gave it 3.5 stars, but couldn’t quite round up.

Maxim Loskutoff’s Old King is a quiet, unsettling novel that lingers in the spaces between men, between ideologies, and between the myth of the American frontier and its unraveling. Set against the rugged backdrop of Lincoln, Montana, the story follows Duane Oshun as he runs away from a divorce in Salt Lake City and stumbles into a logging community and the orbit of a reclusive neighbor, Ted Kaczynski, along with some other reclusive and stubborn men. There are few women in this book, and they are definitely secondary characters.

I’ve always had some degree of interest in Kaczynski, with my own connection to Lincoln through having a cabin there. That familiarity made this novel feel quite grounded. Loskutoff captures the place with an authenticity that’s hard to fake, the rhythms of the town, the isolation, the quiet tensions simmering beneath everyday interactions. Lincoln is more than just a setting; it’s a force that shapes these men and their choices.

What makes Old King particularly compelling is that it isn’t really about Kaczynski, at least not in the way one might expect. Instead, it’s about the intersection of several lives of along Stemple Pass Road, men who circle one another, sometimes barely aware of the impact they’re having. Their connections are loose, almost accidental, yet deeply consequential. Loskutoff explores how proximity alone can bind people together, for better or (more often) worse.

The author's portrayal of Kaczynski is especially fascinating, neither sensationalized nor excused, but rendered as one thread in a larger tapestry of disillusionment, masculinity, and environmental grief. The “Old King” itself, the ancient Douglas fir, stands as a powerful symbol of what’s being lost, and of the competing values that drive these men toward conflict.

This is not an easy or uplifting read. There’s a quiet inevitability to the tragedy that unfolds, and it’s striking how none of these men emerge unscathed. Their lives, shaped by isolation, stubbornness, and a kind of muted longing, seem destined to collide in ways that can only end badly. Still, Old King is a deeply rewarding novel, thoughtful, atmospheric, and sharply observant. It asks difficult questions about progress, connection, and the stories we tell ourselves about independence. Three and a half stars rounded up. 

Yesteryear is an ambitious, unsettling debut that’s at its best when it leans into its sharp social critique, even if it occasionally stumbles under the weight of its own ideas. 

The premise was irresistible to me: a carefully curated “tradwife” influencer suddenly forced to live the actual reality of early 19th-century life. Burke wastes no time stripping away Natalie’s glossy, performative existence and replacing it with something brutal, filthy, and deeply disorienting. The contrast between the Instagram fantasy and the physical toll of survival is vividly rendered, and often genuinely disturbing. There’s a visceral quality to these sections that kept me turning pages.

What worked well for me was how pointed the novel is about performance, of femininity, of faith, and of morality. Natalie’s confidence in her own superiority, built on a curated life and a rigid belief system, feels uncomfortably real. I actually know a woman very much like this; she professes to be deeply religious, but she has also openly expressed that her faith makes her better than others. That familiarity made Natalie less of a caricature and more of a recognizable and unsettling type. Burke clearly understands the psychology she’s writing about, and that lends the book a sharp, sometimes biting authenticity.

That said, the novel doesn’t always balance its themes as smoothly as it could. At times, the satire feels heavy-handed, and the story’s central mystery, what exactly is happening to Natalie, loses momentum as the book toggles between possibilities. I found myself much more invested in the idea of the story than in its eventual direction. I'll admit that I childishly wanted Natalie to get her comeuppance, but I'm not sure that happened. Parts felt rushed, particularly given how extreme Natalie’s transformation is meant to be.

Still, Yesteryear is a thought-provoking read, especially for anyone interested in the intersection of social media, gender roles, patriarchy, and belief. It’s sometimes uncomfortable and unafraid to ask questions, but sadly, it doesn't explore those questions in any depth.

 

Some different reading for me this week, but that's what keeps things interesting. What are you reading? 

 

 

Unraveled Wednesday: 4/15/26

I’m happy to join Kat and the Unravelers today with the Hitchhiker still in progress, and I've finally received all of the colors of Palette from Knitpicks that I need to knit and duplicate stitch Justin's hat. 

We're on our second day of unseasonably warm temperatures in the 90s. This is supposed to last until Friday and then we'll return to more seasonable temps next week. To be honest, the Hitchhiker looks much the same as last week so I'm not even going to stretch it out, but I have added another skein. I knit on it a lot yesterday, but my hands get sweaty so I may be forced to set it aside temporarily until next week. That's okay, I have quite a bit to knit on Justin's hat and then the duplicate stitching will probably take even longer. That pile o' Palette is a good reminder that I should get going!

I read three books this week and seemed to write wordy reviews, so I'll post them all together tomorrow.  

What are you making this Tax Day in April? 

Happy Reblooming Day!

I've had a bunch of these little orchids over the years, but I'm down to just two of them. I've never successfully rebloomed any of them ... until now!

I can't pretend that I did anything special; it pretty much happened on its own. I did read that lowering the temperature might help in reblooming orchids, and our kitchen where the orchids live was really cold during much of the winter. That may have contributed but it's nothing I can repeat.

 

The flower stalk has had buds for a couple of months and they finally started to open last week. It's a little bit hard to see, but the flowers have a tiny little "dogtooth" or "v" thing at the end of the lower purple petal that fascinates me. I'm looking forward to more buds opening up and seeing lovely flowers for a while. I may even have to get another little orchid the next time I'm at the grocery store!

 

Friday Letter

 

Today I'm taking my virtual fountain pen in hand to write just one Friday letter. This has been a week and then some, filled with deadlines, threats, and global terror. I think that very often poetry is one of the best ways to deal with feelings and concerns this deep, so I wrote another poem. I've been thinking about it all week, so I'm sending this letter to all of you, to presidents, prime ministers, supreme leaders, really everyone, as we're all in this together.

Earth from Artemis II

To Everyone,

A quiet thing at first,
no louder than a breath,
kindness passing hand to hand
like a small, steady flame.

Respect grows in its shadow,
roots threading under borders,
lifting what was hardened
into something we can feel.

Hope arrives without spectacle,
just a door left open,
a chair pulled close,
a voice that chooses truth.

And peace,
not distant, not impossible,
but here, in the fragile work
of seeing one another whole.

Sincerely and with love,

A Global Citizen In Search of Peace

==== 

Wishing you a very peaceful weekend. 

Unraveled Wednesday: 4/8/26

I’m happy to join Kat and the Unravelers today, with a bit of unraveling due to my own carelessness, but I'm back on track now.  

I have been doing six teeth between eyelet rows, but I was happily knitting along when I noticed that I had only done five teeth between the last two eyelet rows. I tried telling myself that nobody would notice while I was wearing it, but I would know. And I knew it would bug me, so I ripped out a bunch, made sure to knit six teeth before I did the eyelet row, and then kept going. I'm just a little bit past where I was last week, but I know I'll be happier in the long run. 

I finished one book this week. Once and Again is one of those books that worked for me in spite of itself, or perhaps more accurately, in spite of my own reading preferences. It leans heavily into two elements I tend to avoid: magical realism and romance. That’s on me for not reading the description closely enough, but I’ll admit I was a bit skeptical. And yet, I was still drawn in.

The novel’s central premise, that each woman in the Novak family can turn back time once, was undeniably compelling. Serle uses this idea to explore the weight of choice, regret, and the quiet, persistent question of “what if.” I found myself especially taken with the way this one-time power shapes not just decisions, but entire outlooks on life. Knowing you only get a single do-over would inevitably make you more cautious, or maybe more reckless, and the book captures that tension well.

The Malibu setting and the layered family dynamics added warmth and texture, even when the plot drifted into more predictable romantic territory. The rekindled first-love storyline didn’t fully win me over, but it was handled with enough sincerity to keep me invested.

I was quite taken with the idea of being able to turn back time once and how that might make you live your life differently. At times, I wanted the novel to dig a little deeper into the emotional and philosophical implications of its premise. The concept is so rich that it occasionally felt underexplored, especially when the narrative leaned more toward romance than introspection.

Still, this was an enjoyable read overall, thoughtful, easy to read, and anchored by an idea that lingers after the final page. Even if it didn’t completely align with my usual tastes, I’m glad I gave it a chance.Three stars from me. 

 

What are you making and reading this chilly April day?

Poetry Month (In a Way)

You might have remembered that April is Poetry Month, that month where several of us celebrated by sharing poems we had found. Sometimes these were centered around an author or a theme, sometimes they were just poems that we loved. We were careful to provide citations, and I (mistakenly) thought this meant we were respecting the author's copyright. It became clear that if we were posting poetry written by someone else, then that is against copyright law unless the work is in the public domain or you have permission. Using small excerpts (~ two lines) from other poets' work may be allowed under "fair use," but reproducing entire poems requires permission. 

None of us wanted to be stealing poetry, so despite the fact that our intentions were good (solely to share and enjoy poetry), we couldn't figure a way around this. We decided it was better to not to do our usual celebration of Poetry Month, which saddened many of us, but sometimes you just have to be a grownup and do the right thing. 

But ... publishing your own poetry on a personal blog is not against copyright law, so that's what I'm doing today. I read an article about Zip Odes and was intrigued. Invented in 2015, the Zip Ode is a five-line poem about where you live, written in the form of your zip code. Write the numbers of your zip code down the left-hand side of the page. Each number determines the number of words in that line. If you have a zero in your zip code, that line is a wild card! You can leave it blank, insert an emoji or symbol, or use any number of words between 1 and 9.

Lucky me! My zip code is 08822, so I get a wild card line, along with two lines with eight words. I wrote my own Zip Ode, focusing on some of the things I love about this area. 

Fog drifts low across the Delaware River at dawn

Backroads wind past barns, farms, and weathered histories

Wind carries church bells across fields at dusk

Stone walls
Home again 

 

 

Feel free to give your own Zip Ode a try. You can even publish it on your blog without any fear of copyright infringement! Happy Poetry Month; be sure to read and maybe write some poetry today. 

Friday Letters

Today I'm taking my virtual fountain pen in hand to write a few Friday letters. I've been to the grocery store, come across something unique and interesting, and had some reactions. You might, too. 

======

Dear Utrecht Fish People,

I can't thank you enough for your fish doorbell! There is just something so undeniably fun about staring at an underwater camera, hoping to see a fish so I can ring the doorbell. I've enjoyed myself quite a bit, sitting with my knitting, waiting, and watching in hopes of letting a fish through on their journey to spawn. It would be a real accomplishment if you could teach the fish to ring the doorbell themselves, but until that happens, I'm happy to help. 

Sincerely,

A fish-watching friend

======

Dear Peeps,

Last week it was Protein Pop-Tarts, this week it's some sort of meta Pop-Tart flavored Peeps? I'll admit that I was a little bit tempted to buy a box just so I could see how bad they tasted, but I'm fairly sure they are just as bad as I'm imagining. 

I would also like to voice my objections over the Dr. Pepper flavor. Dr. Pepper is my favorite soda and it should not be tarnished by using it as some sort of marketing gimmick to sell your chick-shaped blobs of marshmallow. But if I do happen to see some of these at half price after Easter, I may not be able to resist. (But only if they're half price!)

 I can't wait to see what you come up with next. (Maybe Protein Peeps!),

 A Dr. Pepper lover who only imbibes in liquid form

====== 

I wish you a wonderful weekend, a Happy Passover or Happy Easter if you celebrate either one, and maybe a handful of just the good-tasting jellybeans!

Unraveled Wednesday: 4/1/26

I’m happy to join Kat and the Unravelers today with a Hitchhiker photo that looks much the same as last week, but if I had remembered to take a photo while it was still light out, you might be able to spy 9 more teeth. 

The temperature got up to 80 degrees for the past two days so it was kind of sweaty and uncomfortable to have the Hitchhiker on my lap. I think today is supposed to be another unseasonably warm day, but hopefully we'll get back to better temperatures so it will be more comfortable to work on this. I can see that I need to finish this before summer really gets going!

I finished two books this week; one was a decent read and one was spectacular. Set in 1977 suburban Rochester, Lake Effect explores a moment of restlessness that ripples through two families, beginning with Nina’s impulsive affair and radiating outward into her daughter Clara’s life for years to come. Sweeney is at her best when she captures the quiet dissatisfaction of adulthood and the way a single choice can fracture a family’s sense of stability. The writing is observant and often wry, especially in its portrayal of marriage, longing, and the stories people tell themselves to justify their actions.

But this is also a book where nearly everyone behaves badly, and not always in ways that feel illuminating. The adults make reckless, self-absorbed choices, but what’s more frustrating is how those patterns echo into the next generation. Clara, as a grown woman, remains stuck in the emotional wake of her mother’s decisions, yet she, too, makes choices that are difficult to sympathize with. Instead of deepening the novel’s themes, this generational mirroring sometimes makes the story feel repetitive rather than revelatory.

The title is a strong and fitting metaphor. A lake effect storm, when cold air sweeps over warmer water and produces sudden, intense snowfall, perfectly captures the emotional climate of the book. Small shifts in temperature lead to outsized, unexpected consequences, and Sweeney seems interested in how quickly lives can be altered by moments of desire or impulsivity. Still, like those storms, the impact here can feel more blustery than transformative.

In the end, Lake Effect has moments of insight and emotional truth, but it didn’t fully cohere for me. It was kind of a fun read for me to see just how badly the characters could behave, but not one that lingered much past the last page for me. This was three stars for me.

I’ll admit it: I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to leave Olive Kitteridge behind. There’s something about Olive, her sharp edges, her loneliness, her unexpected tenderness, that lingers long after the last page. So when I opened The Things We Never Say, I did so with a tiny bit of reluctance, unsure if I was ready to trade her in for Strout's newest character.

But Elizabeth Strout knows exactly what she’s doing.

Artie Dam is, in many ways, the opposite of Olive, gentler, quieter, more inwardly unsettled, but he is every bit as real. He’s a good man, simply trying to live in a world that often feels confusing and off-kilter. Strout captures his inner life with such precision that his questions, about marriage, about how little we truly know even the people we love, and about truth and the things we never say are ones that felt much like questions I've asked myself.

And that’s the magic here: nothing “big” needs to happen for everything to feel enormous. A single revelation ripples outward, forcing Artie (and the reader) to reconsider what a life is made of, what we say, what we don’t, and what it costs to keep certain truths buried.

What sets Strout apart, too, is her ability to write about the current political and cultural climate with honesty and restraint. She doesn’t grandstand or simplify; instead, she lets it seep naturally into her characters’ lives, the way it does in ours, through unease, conversation, silence, sometimes quiet division, and being appalled and horrified daily. It’s one of the few portrayals in fiction that has actually felt true. As always, her prose is deceptively simple, clean, precise, and deeply compassionate. She sees her characters clearly, flaws and all, and loves them anyway. And because she does, we do, too.

There’s a passing reference to Olive Kitteridge that made me inordinately happy, one of those small, perfect moments that reminds you all of Strout’s characters exist in the same emotional universe. It felt like running into an old friend when you least expect it.

By the end, I wasn’t missing Olive anymore (well, not quite as much). Artie Dam had taken his place beside her as another beautifully drawn, fully human character trying to make sense of things that don’t always make sense.

Five stars for a novel that feels both intimate and expansive, and for a writer who continues to illuminate the quiet, complicated truths of being alive.

Thank you to Edelweiss and Random House for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on May 5, 2026. 

What are you making and reading this April Fool's Day?