Tradition

It's important to keep some traditions alive to help ensure feelings of continuity and groundedness. I have a piece of birthday cake for breakfast the day after my birthday and a piece of pumpkin pie with whipped cream is my breakfast the day after Thanksgiving. I’ll probably skip the news for a bit, just to hang onto this feeling of contentment a little longer.

I hope your long weekend is off to a delicious and relaxing start!

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: 11/26/25

I’m here (maybe, hopefully, joining Kat) with some actual unraveling for Unraveled Wednesday. After finishing Justin's socks, I knew I needed to finally cast on for a Hitchhiker. I went through my stash, culled and organized it a little bit, and thought these yarns might work nicely. 

I only have one skein of the black & white speckled yarn, but the gray is a delightfully soft blend of baby alpaca, camel hair, cashmere, and silk. I thought this would make something perfect to wear around my neck, but after I cast on and knit twelve teeth, I decided that I really needed more color. So there was a small bit of unraveling, more digging in the stash, and it produced three skeins I had completely forgotten about. They're Wollmeise; I think they go together perfectly, and are providing the color and comfort knitting I wanted. 

 

 

I wound the skeins for Justin's slippers and plan to cast on the day after Thanksgiving, right after I've enjoyed my leftover pie for breakfast. My plans for the weekend are simple and lovely: knitting, reading, and relaxing in my pajamas for a while. No shopping for me!

I read two books this week. I was really looking forward to Winter Stories, especially because I loved Rishøi’s Brightly Shining. She has a gift for writing about people on the margins with tenderness and precision. But while this collection showcases her talent for atmospheric, deeply humane storytelling, I struggled to make an emotional connection with the characters this time around.

Each of the three stories centers on people trying to make their way toward stability, an overwhelmed young mother, a father newly out of prison, and siblings running from a home that no longer feels safe. Rishøi captures their desperation and small hopes with her usual clarity, and in each story a stranger steps in with an act of kindness. Yet those gestures, while meaningful, only make things marginally better, underscoring how fragile and temporary relief can be.

There’s a quiet power in these pieces and moments of real emotional resonance, but for me they never fully added up to the immersive experience I found in Brightly Shining. Readers who appreciate bleak but compassionate realism may find more to hold on to. I admired the craft, but the connection I’d hoped for never quite landed.
This one was three stars for me. 

Thank you to NetGalley and Grove Press for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on December 2, 2025. There is a Goodreads giveaway if you're interested. 

 

Kat recommended this one and it was well worth reading. Run for the Hills is Kevin Wilson doing what he does best: taking a premise that sounds slightly absurd on the surface and turning it into something surprisingly heartfelt. The novel has his signature blend of offbeat humor, dysfunctional family dynamics, and characters who feel like they’re always one deep breath away from falling apart, but who somehow keep inching toward connection anyway.

The book’s energy is high from the start, almost chaotic at times, and while that momentum is part of its charm, it also makes some sections feel a bit scattered. There were moments when I wished for a little more grounding or emotional depth, especially compared to Wilson’s strongest work. Still, his dialogue snaps, his observations shine, and the way he captures the anxieties of modern life feels both sharp and forgiving.

What ultimately lingers is the tenderness underneath all the eccentricity; Wilson’s gentle insistence that even when everything feels unmanageable, people are worth loving and relationships are worth trying for. Run for the Hills may not be my favorite of his novels, but it’s a funny, affectionate, and consistently engaging read that will appeal to anyone who appreciates Wilson’s particular brand of oddball heart. Three and a half stars rounded up.  

 

What are you making and reading this week? 

Sometimes Monday ...

 ... is a good day for another poem. Yes, it's another one by Barbara Crooker but it felt right to share it for Thanksgiving week. I promise I'll move on to other poets (someday). 

Praise Song

by Barbara Crooker 

Praise the light of late November,
the thin sunlight that goes deep in the bones.
Praise the crows chattering in the oak trees;
though they are clothed in night, they do not
despair. Praise what little there's left:
the small boats of milkweed pods, husks, hulls,
shells, the architecture of trees. Praise the meadow
of dried weeds: yarrow, goldenrod, chicory,
the remains of summer. Praise the blue sky
that hasn't cracked yet. Praise the sun slipping down
behind the beechnuts, praise the quilt of leaves
that covers the grass: Scarlet Oak, Sweet Gum,
Sugar Maple. Though darkness gathers, praise our crazy
fallen world; it's all we have, and it's never enough. 

 

Crooker, Barbara. "Praise Song". Radiance. Word Press, 2005. 

 

Here's hoping you can find a reason or two of your own to praise our "crazy fallen world".

A Gathering of Poetry: November 2025

It’s the third Thursday of the month, which means it’s time for A Gathering of Poetry - welcome!

Last month I posted a poem by Barbara Crooker. She was a new poet to me then, but in the month since, I've been reading more of her poetry and I continue to be impressed. The poem I chose this month spoke so clearly of the landscape, what I've been seeing outdoors, and how I've been feeling that I had to choose Barbara Crooker again this month.  

 

Sometimes, I Am Startled Out of Myself

by Barbara Crooker

 

like this morning, when the wild geese came squawking,
flapping their rusty hinges, and something about their trek
across the sky made me think about my life, the places
of brokenness, the places of sorrow, the places where grief
has strung me out to dry.  And then the geese come calling,
the leader falling back when tired, another taking her place.
Hope is borne on wings.  Look at the trees.  They turn to gold
for a brief while, then lose it all each November.
Through the cold months, they stand, take the worst
weather has to offer.  And still, they put out shy green leaves
come April, come May.  The geese glide over the cornfields,
land on the pond with its sedges and reeds.
You do not have to be wise.  Even a goose knows how to find
shelter, where the corn still lies in the stubble and dried stalks.
All we do is pass through here, the best way we can.
They stitch up the sky, and it is whole again. 

 

====

Crooker, Barbara. "Sometimes, I Am Startled Outside of Myself." Radiance. Word Press, 2005.

 

You can read more about the poet here. 

==== 

 

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

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

favorite poems. The more the merrier!

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

Unraveled Wednesday: 11/19/25

I always look forward to Wednesdays, but after reading Kat's incredibly sad news yesterday, things are different. I'm still going to write about Justin's bigfoot socks and some books I read, but mainly I'm thinking about Kat, her son and daughter-in-law and wishing I had something more to offer than thoughts and prayers. But that's all I can do, so I will be thinking about the whole family, every day for a long time.

So I tried the darning egg to graft the toes on the socks, but I don't think it's the tool for me (for that job anyway). Maybe because it's new, I felt clumsy using it. I did one sock with the egg and the other one without it, and I think the one I did without looks slightly better. I will try to actually darn some threadbare sock heels with it at some point, but since I usually decrease my socks down to 12 stitches at the toe, grafting isn't really that big of a deal. I just need to put my head down and get on with it. 

 

  

So here are Justin's sock in all of their bigfooted glory.

 

I'll be starting on his slippers soon, but first I'm going to toss the stash and look for some Hitchhiker yarn. I hope I remember how to knit one! :-) 

I had another good reading week and finished two books. The Heart-Shaped Tin is a warm, contemplative blend of memoir and cultural history, and Bee Wilson shows her gift for uncovering the emotional lives of everyday objects and the people attached to them. The book begins with a quietly devastating moment: several months after Wilson’s husband abruptly walked away from their marriage, she stumbled upon the heart-shaped tin she had used to bake their wedding cake twenty-three years earlier. That discovery becomes the emotional spark for a book that manages to balance a scholar’s curiosity with a memoirist’s vulnerability, offering a reading experience that is both intellectual and profoundly heartfelt.

The author moves gracefully between her own post-marriage reflections and the stories of others whose wooden spoons, saltshakers, toast racks, and tongs become touchstones for grief, comfort, creativity, and connection. Some of the most memorable sections are the deep dives into objects with long histories: the 5,000-year-old Ecuadorian chocolate vessel, the stoneware inscribed with defiant poems by an enslaved potter, the ceremonial tools, the heirlooms passed down through families. These moments broaden the book’s scope beyond personal storytelling and remind the reader just how universal these attachments are.

This was four stars for me, but what kept this from being a five-star read for me is also part of its charm: the book meanders. While Wilson’s writing is consistently sharp and lovely, the structure can feel a bit diffuse, and some chapters linger longer than they need to. Still, the overall effect is soothing, curious, and unexpectedly moving.

If you enjoy reflective nonfiction, especially books that blend history, anthropology, and personal narrative, The Heart-Shaped Tin is a rewarding, empathetic read. The author has written a wide-ranging exploration of how kitchen tools hold memory, identity, and sometimes even a kind of quiet magic. It’s a reminder that the mundane objects we reach for every day often hold our most intimate stories.

Before I Forget is that rare novel that manages to be both warmly funny and quietly devastating, often in the same paragraph. Tory Henwood Hoen follows Cricket Campbell, stuck in neutral, grieving an old tragedy, and now reeling from her father’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis, as she abandons her running-away city life and returns to the family’s Adirondack lake house to care for her father Arthur. What unfolds is a late coming-of-age story that feels sharply contemporary yet deeply timeless.

Hoen writes beautifully about the disorientation of early adulthood, the slippery nature of memory, and the uneasy push-pull of family history. Cricket’s narration is wry and self-aware, but it’s her vulnerability that makes the novel so affecting. As she settles back into life at Catwood Pond, she has to confront the versions of herself she’s been avoiding and the ways grief quietly calcifies into habit.

Arthur, meanwhile, is a revelation. His Alzheimer’s is rendered with compassion and nuance, and the novel’s magical-realist twist, his growing ability to predict the future, is handled with surprising tenderness. Rather than feeling gimmicky, it becomes a thoughtful metaphor: as his past recedes, the future sharpens, and father and daughter meet each other in a liminal, often luminous space.

I loved how Hoen ties the emotional arc to place. The Adirondacks are drawn with crisp, lived-in detail, and the lake house and Catwood Pond become a site of both rupture and repair. Cricket’s slow reclaiming of memory, her own and her father’s, feels earned, moving, and often unexpectedly hopeful.

A funny, heartfelt, and insightfully crafted novel about what it takes to move forward when the past refuses to stay put. Four and a half stars rounded up. Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin's Press for providing me with a copy of this book. It will be published on December 2, 2025. This was a good one, but thankfully, you won't have a long wait before publication day. There is also a Goodreads giveaway if you are interested. 

What are you making and reading this week? 

  

Sometimes Monday ...

 ... is a day for letting go. 

Ryan enjoys cooking and has been pestering politely asking me for several years if I thought maybe we could have Thanksgiving at his house. I've always said that it's my favorite holiday because it's just about good food and good company, with no extra pressure for gifts. I really do love Thanksgiving leftovers, even more than the meal itself, so I've always said, "That's okay, we'll just have Thanksgiving here."

But this is the year I've finally let it go. After a lively group text with Justin and Ryan, we decided that dinner will be at Ryan's. I will still be making a couple of pies, apple crisp, and crescent rolls, and Jess is bringing macaroni & cheese and Brussels sprouts. (Those are two different dishes!) Ryan is doing everything else, and I'm happy about it. I may have to bring home a piece of pie so I can have my traditional day-after-Thanksgiving pumpkin pie with too much whipped cream for breakfast, but I think Ryan will be okay with that. 

Sometimes it's good to let go and do something a bit different.