Sometimes Monday ...

... calls for tackling the zucchini mountain. We’ve been absolutely inundated, and while I’ve already made zucchini bread and fritters—and stashed away 20 cups of grated zucchini in the freezer for winter baking—I still had eight medium-to-large ones staring at me from the fridge.

I’ll admit, I briefly considered the classic “leave some in the neighbors’ cars” trick, but instead I searched for recipes that use a lot of zucchini. That’s when I found this casserole. Nothing fancy, but it calls for nine cups of grated zucchini, which sounded perfect. I actually ended up with 11 cups, so I tossed in an extra egg and it worked out just fine.

I used pepper jack cheese because that’s what was on hand, but I’m already dreaming of trying gruyere or havarti next time. Since zucchini doesn’t have much flavor on its own, it happily takes on the taste of whatever cheese and seasoning you add.

 

So tonight: zucchini casserole for dinner, zucchini bread for dessert. Honestly, meals like this make me think I could live quite happily on a vegetarian diet… at least for a while.

 

I hope your week is off to a good start and make sure to lock your cars. You wouldn't want somebody leaving zucchini on your front seat! 

Haiku Friday

Kym’s emotional rescue post really struck a chord with me. It inspired me to try writing a few haiku of my own, and I was surprised by how much fun it was—and what a refreshing little pause it gave me from my usual day-to-day worries.

I’m not sure if I’ll make “Haiku Friday" a regular thing but I enjoyed the process so much that I thought I’d share the two I came up with. I used a couple of my photos as prompts, and the words just seemed to flow naturally.

So here I am, happily seconding Kym’s idea: write a haiku! Whether you feel like sharing one in the comments or just jotting one down for yourself, I hope it brings you the same bit of calm and joy it gave me.

 

quiet and silent

curled up spotted fawn hiding

in a tiny ball  

 

 

 

pink glaze shining bright,
sprinkles whisper sweet secrets
a bite waits for joy

 

A Gathering of Poetry: August 2025

It's the third Thursday of the month so I'd like to welcome you to A Gathering of Poetry. I know I just shared a Billy Collins poem with you last month, but I've got another one that's just too good not to share now, as summer camp season is ending. A friend and I were talking about making lanyards (we actually remembered how!) and this poem just miraculously showed up. I did make several of these for my mother, although never out of boredom, and I was convinced they were beautifully crafted and infinitely useful.

(I'll try to choose a different poet for September!)

The Lanyard

by Billy Collins 

 

The other day I was ricocheting slowly

off the blue walls of this room,

moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,

from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,

when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary

where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist

could send one into the past more suddenly—

a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp

by a deep Adirondack lake

learning how to braid long thin plastic strips

into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard

or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,

but that did not keep me from crossing

strand over strand again and again

until I had made a boxy

red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,

and I gave her a lanyard.

She nursed me in many a sick room,

lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,

laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,

and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,

and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.

Here are thousands of meals, she said,

and here is clothing and a good education.

And here is your lanyard, I replied,

which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,

strong legs, bones and teeth,

and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,

and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.

And here, I wish to say to her now,

is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,

but the rueful admission that when she took

the two-tone lanyard from my hand,

I was as sure as a boy could be

that this useless, worthless thing I wove

out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

====

Collins, Billy, “The Lanyard”, The Trouble With Poetry: and Other Poems, 2005.

You can read more about Billy Collins here.

====

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

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

favorite poems. The more the merrier!

 

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

Unraveled Wednesday: 8/20/25

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers with some small sock knitting progress. I'm working on a small sock and there is a small amount of progress. 

 

The first sock is done and I even made myself weave in ends and graft the toe. The second sock is just barely past the ankle ribbing but it's started. 

 

I received the yarn that I ordered to knit a Christmas present, so I'm anxious to finish this pair of socks for Jess and cast on for the gift. Depending on how that goes, I may cast on a second pair of shortie socks for Jess in inverse colors. 

I finished two books this week. Wild Dark Shore is an atmospheric, slow-burning story that blends survival, family drama, and eco-thriller elements against the stark, haunting backdrop of Shearwater—a fictional remote island on the edge of Antarctica. Charlotte McConaghy has a gift for crafting setting as character, and the bleak isolation of the island is evident on every page. The descriptions of the storms, the encroaching sea, and the seed bank itself are immersive and often beautiful.

Rowan, the mysterious castaway, is a compelling figure. Watching her tentative bond with the Salt family—fractured, lonely, and desperate for connection—was one of the novel’s strengths. The interplay of secrets and distrust builds tension nicely, especially as Rowan and Dominic circle one another with wary curiosity.

That said, the pacing sometimes falters. Much of the middle leans heavily on atmosphere and introspection, which creates mood but can feel repetitive. The characters, while layered, don’t always feel fully realized, and the revelations at times arrive more conveniently than convincingly.

Still, McConaghy raises urgent questions about climate change, resilience, and the fragile balance between trust and survival. Wild Dark Shore isn’t flawless, but it’s a memorable, windswept read that lingers after the last page. Three and a half stars rounded up.  

The Impossible Thing is an especially original mystery. Belinda Bauer has a gift for taking unusual subjects and spinning them into taut, page-turning mysteries, and The Impossible Thing is no exception. The novel begins in 1926 with a haunting scene on the cliffs of Yorkshire, where desperate men risk their lives to steal rare seabird eggs. From there, Bauer bridges past and present, weaving a story that combines historical intrigue with a modern-day crime.

Patrick Fort stumbles into a case that seems small at first—an apparently simple robbery—but it quickly expands into something far stranger and more dangerous. The stolen object, a scarlet egg in a carved case, connects the present to a century-old legacy of obsession, cruelty, and greed. Bauer balances suspense with thoughtfulness here, raising questions about the human drive to collect, to own, and to risk everything for beauty.

What I enjoyed most was the subject matter of collecting eggs (I had no idea!) and how seamlessly Bauer blended the dual timelines. The historical passages on egg collecting are vivid, atmospheric, and at times harrowing, while the contemporary storyline provides momentum and wit. Patrick is both prickly and compelling, and his relationship with Nick adds warmth to the darker undercurrents of the plot.

If I have one tiny quibble, it’s that the pacing occasionally falters—there are moments when the narrative lingers a bit too long on background or exposition—but Bauer always manages to pull the story back into sharp focus.

Overall, The Impossible Thing is an inventive, intelligent thriller that marries history, natural history, and crime in a way that feels both surprising and deeply satisfying. A strong recommendation for anyone who enjoys mysteries that step outside the ordinary. This one was four stars for me. 

What are you making and reading this week?

 

Another Quote From Justin

Back in June, I wrote about a quote Justin had shown me and I wondered what it might mean. You helpfully provided some interesting answers and gave me plenty to think about. I've got another quote from Justin today.

 

This one is a little easier to grasp than the last quote. To me, it’s a reminder that real confidence and self-worth come from within—not from other people’s approval. Justin has been dealing with some challenges at work lately, and he said starting each day with this thought has actually helped him stay grounded. Ryan has some things going on this week, so I've passed it along to him. 

 

I've found it's helping me, too—at least a little. I may not be able to control the world burning around me, but I can choose to act like a thoughtful, rational, moral, and decent human who still gives a damn. Nugget, of course, always carries herself like royalty, so this regal photo felt like the perfect companion to the quote. 

 

I hope your week is off to a strong start—and may you keep striding through it like the absolute queen you are. 👑

 

Unraveled Wednesday: 8/13/25

I’m joining Kat and the Unravelers this week with a little unraveling and a little sock progress. A couple of weeks ago I mentioned my watermelon sock yarn, and I finally cast on with it—planning to make shortie socks for Jess. That’s when the unraveling began, both literally and in my head.

First attempt: knit the cuff in the watermelon yarn. Didn’t like how the “seeds” (the black speckles) looked in ribbing. Rip. Second attempt: cuff in solid green, then straight into the heel flap after only three rows of watermelon yarn. Didn’t like how the seeds looked in my usual eye of partridge heel. Tried solid green for the heel—looked silly with just those three watermelon rows in between. After the third unsuccessful attempt, I admitted defeat. The watermelon yarn is in time-out.

 

 

While putting it away, I spotted some bright green yarn that matches Jess' new scrubs, along with some purple yarn I’d wound ages ago. Inspiration struck! I cast on shortie socks with the green for the cuff, purple for the foot, and I’ll probably go back to green for the toe. The second sock will match—but if time allows, I might knit another pair with the colors reversed for fun. (You know how quickly I knit in my mind, even if real life is slower!)

 

I also finished and grafted the second sock of my blue-and-green striped pair, which I love almost as much as my rainbow socks. Now I just need some crisp fall weather to wear them.

 

 

Reading-wise, I caught up with the books I've finished on Monday. I'm currently reading The Impossible Thing and The Friend (our Read With Us selection), so I'll probably be sharing my thoughts about them next week.  

 

What are you making and reading this week?

Books: Part II

I hope you've had a good weekend and that it included reading something good. I'm here today with some more of my thoughts on books I finished recently.

Family Drama by Rebecca Fallon is an ambitious, emotionally layered novel that straddles the line between glitzy soap-opera glamour and quiet New England melancholy. At its heart is Susan Bliss—soap star, mother, enigma—whose life and death shape the trajectory of her fractured family.

Fallon sets a striking opening scene: a Viking funeral on a snowy beach, two bewildered children watching their mother disappear into the water. It’s a bold start and full of promise. The novel then shifts between timelines and perspectives—tracing Susan’s passionate, bifurcated existence between L.A. stardom and New England motherhood, while also following her twins, Sebastian and Viola, into adulthood.

There’s a lot to admire here: vivid prose, clever structure, and emotionally sharp moments. Sebastian’s longing and artistic obsession with his mother feel tender and well-realized. Viola’s storyline—particularly her entanglement with her mother’s old costar—is messier, and sometimes uncomfortably so.

That said, Family Drama occasionally buckles under its own weight. The narrative momentum falters in places, and Susan herself—though often described as dazzling—feels more like a symbol than a fully inhabited character. The emotional payoff promised in the beginning is somewhat diluted by the novel’s more theatrical flourishes.

Overall, this is a solid, evocative read that touches on fame, family, memory, and identity. For fans of literary fiction with a dramatic flair, Family Drama is worth picking up—but be prepared for a slow burn rather than a soap-worthy explosion. This was three stars for me (despite the great cover).

Thanks to Edelelweiss and Simon & Schuster for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on February 3, 2026. 

Sarah Moss’s Ripeness is a quiet, layered novel that weaves together two timelines with characteristic intelligence and restraint. Set partly in 1960s rural Italy and partly in present-day Ireland, the novel follows Edith—first as a dutiful teenager sent to assist her pregnant sister Lydia through a complex and emotionally fraught birth, and later as a mature woman navigating a friend's unexpected family revelation.

Moss is at her best when writing about the subtleties of obligation, memory, and the undercurrents in female relationships. The sections in Italy are especially evocative, filled with tension, sunlight, and the heavy silence of things left unsaid. Edith's youth and the decisions she’s asked to carry out on behalf of others create a sense of unease that lingers well into the present-day narrative.

However, while the prose is typically sharp and the themes compelling—particularly the question of who gets to make life-altering decisions and why—the novel occasionally feels underdeveloped emotionally. The present-day plotline, involving Maebh’s surprise sibling and Edith’s role in unearthing that family mystery, doesn’t land with the same weight as the earlier story. There’s a detachment that makes it hard to fully invest in the characters' current dilemmas. Some of this may be due to the fact that the book feels overstuffed. Lots of issues are mixed up in this book—it deals with refugees, migration and immigration, Jewishness, rape culture, abortions, Irishness, the Magdalene Laundries, the war in Ukraine, toxic ballet culture, and much more. It often felt like too much and made Edith a frustrating character.

A thoughtful, readable novel that explores the long reach of the past, Ripeness doesn’t quite deliver the emotional payoff it promises, but Moss’s elegant writing and insight into the lives of women still make it worth the read.

Thank you to Farrar, Straus and Giroux and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on September 9, 2025. 

Isola is a beautifully written survival story rooted in historical truth and elevated by Allegra Goodman's lyrical prose. Inspired by a real sixteenth-century woman who was abandoned on an island as punishment for an illicit relationship, the novel imagines what inner strength, longing, and faith might look like when stripped of society, family, and even hope.

Marguerite begins the novel as a privileged young woman—an heiress raised to expect comfort and refinement. But after a series of betrayals by her guardian, she finds herself exiled to a remote, frozen island. What follows is not just a story of physical survival, but a spiritual and emotional reckoning.

Goodman’s writing is spare and evocative, especially when describing the stark beauty and brutality of the natural world. The island becomes a character in its own right—merciless, isolating, but also strangely liberating. Marguerite’s transformation from ornamented girl to self-reliant woman is subtle but deeply felt, and her voice—narrating from a place of endurance rather than drama—is compelling in its restraint.

Some readers might find the pacing slow or the emotional register too muted, but for me, the novel’s quiet intensity made it all the more powerful. It doesn’t sensationalize Marguerite’s suffering, but it doesn’t look away from it either. Instead, Isola invites us to sit with loneliness, resilience, forbidden love, and the aching clarity that can come when everything else is stripped away.

A contemplative, moving book that lingers after the final page. Recommended for readers of literary historical fiction and survival narratives with emotional depth. This was a solid four stars for me. 

 

Maggie Smith’s A Suit or a Suitcase is an introspective, tender, and at times disorienting collection that blurs the lines between mind and body, past and present, self and world. Smith has a gift for crafting images that feel both fragile and sharp-edged, offering moments of clarity that catch you off guard. Many of the poems linger in that liminal space between what we know and what we can only guess at—asking questions about identity, continuity, and the limits of human perception.

That said, while the language is often gorgeous and contemplative, the book can feel somewhat diffuse. The thematic repetition sometimes risks dulling its impact, and a few poems felt more like sketches than fully realized pieces. Still, when Smith’s words and ideas land, they land well, and the best moments have the kind of quiet resonance that stays with you long after you’ve closed the book.

Not every poem here will speak to every reader, but for those who appreciate meditative, thought-tinged verse and a willingness to explore uncertainty, this is a collection worth spending time with—whether you’re in a suit, a suitcase, or somewhere in between. Three and a half stars rounded up. There is a Goodreads giveaway for this book if you're interested.

Thank you to Washington Square Press and Edelweiss for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on March 24, 2026. 

I'm grateful that I enjoy reading so much as it provides an escape, a respite, and it's also educational. I hope you have a good book in your hands or your ears and are also experiencing all the benefits that reading can provide.