I bought Thunder in the Soul from Plough Books by mistake. I’m generally not fond of excerpt books; they tend to display the mind of the editor better than the heart of the writer. However, I loved Abraham Joshua Heschel’s book The Sabbath. Egged on by Thunder’s subtitle, To Be Known By God, and a deal for subscribers to their scrumptious magazine, Plough Quarterly, I paid the paltry penny and ordered the book.
Having Our Say: The Delany Sisters’ first 100 Years, is an interesting, entertaining and enlightening book by Sadie and Bessie Delany both over 100 years old.
In November of 2009 I started a Reader's Journal. It was my mom’s idea. I had sent her a beautiful spiral notebook, Pausing for Beauty: The Heron Dance Poetry Diary. It featured small watercolor pictures by Roderick Maciver, little quotes and poems by an assortment of people, undated monthly calendars, and pages that were lined on one side and blank on the other.
Decluttering at the Speed of Life by Dana White appeared last March in my Amazon Prime monthly 'Free Reads' email. Since I'd made scant progress decluttering, I decided I ought to read it.
Painting by Lori Preusch • Used by Permission • Prints and Cards available at Dandelionpress.com
*A Gentleman in Moscow* glimmered at me through a friend’s review on goodreads. Perhaps I was attracted to the idea of house arrest in a grand hotel — even though the hotel was across the street from the Kremlin in 1922 Russia.
The Tender Bar is a memoir about growing up with a single mother, and an absent father, who was known only by his voice on the radio. The kid lived, most of the time, in a disjointed household comprised of a crazy grandfather and an assortment of aunts, uncles and cousins. The bar where his uncle worked, became his community, his male mentors, and the home of his heart.
I often wake up earlier than my husband, which can be problematic in the long dark mornings of winter. For a while the novel attributes of my Bible on the iPad and computer bridged the gap between his retirement and my desire to visit with the Psalms, stories, letters and parables first thing in the morning.
Eventually I wanted to write before the glow in the sky lit up the page. “Just turn on the light on your side of the bed,” my husband said. But it seemed so rude.
When my mom came to the end of her run in Colorado and I came to the end of my ability to help her stay there, I went out to bring her to a retirement home near me in California. She didn’t fight me on this, although she had resisted it previously; she knew she was no longer able to manage alone. Sitting in her living room, surrounded by half filled boxes, she said, “If I don’t like it there, I will come back.”
“No,” I said. “You’re not coming back.” The minute we left, her husband’s son would sell the condo. There was no turning back.
“Then I’m not going,” she said.
Lovely article by Andy Butcher about us in CBA's Market Magazine. He did a great job of catching the spirit of the place, even though he has never been here.
Check it out: The Word Shop Runs on Love
*A Child’s Christmas in Wales* wandered into the store one day. I had heard of this poem by Dylan Thomas, and even though poetry challenged, I sat down and read it. Wonderful.
As for bathrooms, I would like to say that I am for them: Lots of bathrooms. This is due to being 7 - 9 months pregnant three times, where-in my sons practiced trampoline moves on my bladder and I had to make mental maps of every available bathroom around my favorite haunts.
These mental maps proved useful in ensuing years when messy diapers were dripping down my left hip, or that period when the little darlings had finally learned to say, “pee, pee,” which gave me 15 seconds flat to find the nearest toilet.
Some Kind of Fairy Tale by Graham Joyce
Saturday. Rain is dumping from the heavens. I have a good book, an empty house, no obligations. Sabbath. I make a breakfast bagel, peel a tangerine, settle in a chair.