The Word Shop Newsletters

BkBit: Thunder in the Soul

Alliee — Sun, 29 Aug 2021 15:11:06 +0000

BkBit: Thunder in the Soul Alliee August 29, 2021 - 8:11am

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.

Yes, I was disappointed when it arrived, having missed the fact that this wasn’t another book by Heschel, but excerpts from his writings, edited by Robert Erlewine. Sigh. However, having it, there seemed to be nothing to do but read it. An invitingly small book, this is one of Plough’s Spiritual Guide series. Being a book of bits, it lended itself to being read in bits, floating around coffee tables and bedsteads, or jammed into a purse or swim bag.

The most notable concept I gleaned from the fragments, was Heschel’s assertion that the Jewish God is a God of EVENTS. This idea attached itself to my native sense of the primacy of story. The little book also reminded me how much I appreciated Abraham Joshua Heschel, and encouraged me to look for another one of his (whole) books. Have you read one you particularly liked?

I’m happy to pass on Thunder in the Soul to anyone who wants it. Let me know if you’re interested.

BkBit:Having Our Say

Alliee — Wed, 02 Sep 2020 15:53:28 +0000

BkBit:Having Our Say Alliee September 2, 2020 - 8:53am

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.

Their father, Henry Beard Delany was a house-slave, seven years old at the civil war “surrender.” He became the one of the first negro Bishops of the Episcopal Church, and we celebrate his feast day on April 14. Their mother, Nannie James Delany, born free, was valedictorian of Henry’s class at St. Augustine, a North Carolina seminary and teachers college founded by Episcopal Clergy in 1867 for the education of freed slaves.

The sisters, two of ten children, recount their childhood on the school campus, where both parents eventually became faculty. Later the sisters’ paths led to Harlem where they graduated from Columbia University. Bessie, became a certified dentist, and Sadie with a MA in Education, a teacher. Eventually all of the siblings migrated to Harlem, and became successful professionals. Their mother joined them after their father died.

I had ignorantly thought that the Jim Crow, segregation laws were in place directly after the civil war, and was surprised to discover that they actually came much later. This created several amusing, and occasionally scary, stories and choices in a family of many shades of brown — “I prefer the word colored,” one of the sisters said.

The voices of the two very different sisters, and their perspectives of history is lively, easy to read, and uplifting. They were brilliant, incredibly hardworking, and solidly self-reliant, with strong faith, personal integrity, familial loyalty and dignity in the face of many difficulties. The Delanys were forerunners in lives that intersected with the ideological growth, shifting social mores, and historically important events and people of our country.

This book came my way through our monthly Literary Party. We decide on a theme and everyone brings a book to talk about. July’s topic was African American History / Experience. Melinda, who often finds an odd and intriguing memoir that matches the theme, brought Having Our Say. I recommend it highly. The book is available at the public library, and there’s also a few reads left in this copy which I’m happy to pass around.

Blessings,
Alliee +

A Reader's Journal for 2020

Alliee — Fri, 03 Jan 2020 16:28:18 +0000

A Reader's Journal for 2020 Alliee January 3, 2020 - 8:28am

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.

I’ll use it for a Reading Journal,” my mom said.

A marvelous idea, I thought. I’d often kept lists of what I read in the back of journals or binders, or mentioned books in the course of journaling, but I’d never considered keeping a journal just for books. I found a blank 6 x 9 spiral notebook and penned my first entry: Modern Library Writer’s Workshop: a Guide to the Craft of Fiction by Stephan Koch. (Lib) The book is starred with a quote below it:

“The cat sat on the mat" is not the beginning of a story, but "The cat sat on the dog’s mat" is. — John Le Carre

I now have a decade of books logged. Yes, it’s a bit spotty in places; sometimes coming across a pithy phrase would remind me of my Reading Journal. I’d write the title and author of the book, the quote, and then add any books I remembered reading since the last time I made an entry.

It’s been interesting to review a decade of books read; to look back at quotes and titles and favorite authors. While I can see potential value in having a computerized list, there’s something satisfying about grabbing the journal and pen, writing a cool quote and reading on with the notebook at the ready. There’s also less chance of getting distracted then there would be of bringing out my iPad — and suddenly finding myself lost in social media or email.

The last entry in November 2019 is Art and Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland. It’s not starred, but I love the quote:

“After all, someone has to do your work, and you’re the closest person around.”

I now have a brand new spiral notebook, a Reader's Journal for 2020, maybe for the next decade. Perhaps you’d like to have one, too.

Happy New Year!

Blessings,
Alliee +

Bkbit: Decluttering at the Speed of Life

Alliee — Wed, 09 Oct 2019 16:45:04 +0000

Bkbit: Decluttering at the Speed of Life Alliee October 9, 2019 - 9:45am

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

I didn't finish the book until August morphed into September.

The reason this took so long is twofold:

1. Reading books on my iPad is like reading a book in the middle of a cocktail party. Texts and emails fly in, questions occur to look up. I add ideas to lists, check the definition of a word, look up another book or author mentioned . . . I might read for five minutes and then find myself doing something else for a half an hour.

2. After reading a chapter, such as Decluttering the Kitchen, I had the bright idea that I ought to actually declutter-the-kitchen before reading more. It took several weeks of stoppage before I realized this was a BAD idea. In fact, why do you suppose The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up has been on my coffee table for a couple of years — with a bookmark half way through it?

Once I started lurching forward in several week intervals, I noticed that author Dana White was making inroads into my consciousness. “Do the easy stuff first,” she repeated endlessly. "Get rid of obvious trash, put away the things that have a definite home. Donate things you haven’t been using. Start in the most visible areas.”

I discovered that on my way between point A and point B, I was increasingly likely to grab a piece of trash and toss it on route, or snatch up something that belonged where I was going. I was looking around instead of functioning like a horse wearing protective blinders.

A breakthrough came from a line in Dana's blog: “Don’t make a project out of it!” I recognized that I often passed a shelf or a room and knew, with a thud in my stomach, that sorting it out would take several days, maybe even weeks, of focused activity. It was a Huge Project. A project I obviously didn’t have time for. A project I’d probably never have time for. No wonder I hadn’t been looking around.

I started looking for other easy stuff: I could deal with that one box, that one drawer, empty the overflowing trash bin. The second half of the title, "at the Speed of Life” settled into my heart. I could do this. Keep a donate box at hand, look at a room, declutter for five minutes before or after doing something else. Small improvements became larger improvements.

Now there are certain places in my house that no longer kick my stomach, that show actual progress, that hold a tantalizing suggestion of some small thing I could do next. There’s joy in that: a warm glow of accomplishment and hope for the future.

Yeah, I can’t exactly pass Decluttering around. That’s another downside of eBooks. The upside is that I don't have to figure out where to put it.

EndQuote: “No person who can read is ever successful at cleaning out an attic.” — Ann Landers

BkBit: A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles

Alliee — Mon, 02 Sep 2019 17:18:09 +0000

BkBit: A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles Alliee September 2, 2019 - 10:18am

*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.

Our Library had 41 copies in their system, including audio, hardback, paperback, and book-club groupings. All of them were out. The book group had seven holds on it. (Does that mean seven people from a single group, or seven book groups?) I read a few reviews that claimed this was the best book of the year. Finally I bought a used hardback on-line, $10. When it arrived I caressed it in that delightful, addictive anticipation of having a potentially great book in hand, and time ahead to read it.

I loved the book; the writing was excellent — not in that dense, overly detailed, descriptive way of writing, but light and airy with surprising metaphors and turns of phrases that took my breath away.

The main character, Count Alexander Rostov, is a kind, disciplined, philosophical aristocrat. I enjoyed watching how he adapted to the increasingly difficult situation. Other characters emerged on scene, which bought the novel forward in surprising ways. This was not a 'slam through the pages in one night' book. A few chapters at a time were enough. No car chases. I was rarely on the edge of my chair wondering what will happen next. Instead, ‘who’ happened next drove the intrigue. The end result was full of life-hacks, interesting things to think about, and a fully satisfying book.

I found myself wondering about the author, Amor Towles, in a Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid kind of way: Who is this guy? Very unusual for me. I sought out his first novel, *Rules of Civility,* which I also enjoyed — although not quite as much.

On one of my trips to the library, I discovered a hardback copy of *Gentleman* on the Friends of the Library bookshelf for $1. I grabbed it, stuffed a bill into the slot, and stomped inside, "Do you realize you have 41 copies of this in the system and the last time I checked they were all out?”

“You can donate that one back to library,” the librarian responded.

“No way!” I said, "I’m going to pass it around to my friends.”

That’s you. Let me know if you want it next.

Blessings,
Alliee +

BkBit: The Tender Bar

Alliee — Fri, 14 Jun 2019 15:34:36 +0000

BkBit: The Tender Bar Alliee June 14, 2019 - 8:34am

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 read this book after seeing a review on goodreads. Alcoholism had emerged in our Literary Party's Sea Stories discussion last March. I wondered aloud how many people, especially men, had become alcoholics because they were seeking and found community in a bar. Someone countered with a comment that there were many closet drinkers, which is, of course, true.

When alcoholism became our Lit Party them for April; The Tender Bar seemed like the perfect choice. I walked into Cathy’s a few minutes late, and found everyone drinking bourbon on ice, or scotch on the rocks. O the slippery slopes! Turned out it was ice tea served in small globe glasses.

Author J.R. Moehringer’s description of the characters and friendships in the bar, seen from a child’s point of view, is warm, riveting, and highly humorous. The sense of community, respect and love resonate beneath the zany antics, outrageous behavior and appalling realities of lives diminished by drink.

Like Frank McCourt’s books, the trajectory of the story sags as the child becomes an adult falling into his own, obviously expected, alcoholism. Without the child’s viewpoint, you become impatient with the adult’s consistently horrible choices. However the writing remains solid, the plot engaging enough, and for me The Tender Bar was good to the last drop.

This Little Light of Mine

Alliee — Sat, 25 Nov 2017 19:19:23 +0000

This Little Light of Mine Alliee November 25, 2017 - 11:19am

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.

Somehow I happened on the idea of a pen with a light in its tip. I spent a couple of hours on Amazon. researching pens with lights. I narrowed the field down to two options, all the while learning about professions where a light pen was a real bonus: nurses checking patients at night, waitresses in dimly lit bars, and yes, a lighted pen was great for signing the check or even reading the menu in romantic, candle lit restaurants.

Before I clicked buy, I checked our local office supply stores. They didn’t have any. However, walking around added more blood to my brain and I remembered that I am very picky about pens — the writing part of them. Since I particularly hate ballpoint pens, and these were all ballpoint, the chances that I would like writing with them, light or no light, were close to zero.

With the grace of a twirling ballerina, I shifted my research to book lights. I will spare you the hills and vales of this particular pursuit and jump to the joyful finis. I found a terrific light. Solid clip, warm glowing sunrise color, three levels of light, rechargeable, an easy way to check the battery, a lovely carrying case, superb and simple directions.

There is infinite pleasure in having something that is carefully thought out, well made, supremely designed. It is, you might say, only a book light. However, beyond the function of lighting up my page is the excellency of design which gives a pleasure all its own. It matters not that the item is only a book light. What matters is that the light plays its early morning part with grace, style and exquisite functionality. May I, somehow, manage to do the same.
(I bought this through Amazon; it was made by Ecologicmart.com)
Blessings,
Alliee +

Mother's Day Memory May 2017

Alliee — Sun, 14 May 2017 21:34:32 +0000

Mother's Day Memory May 2017 Alliee May 14, 2017 - 2:34pm

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.

I looked at her, my hands stilled from wrapping a figurine I had given her years before. “I could lie to you,” I said.

There was a long pause as she took that in, considered, rolled it around. “What if I don’t like it?”

“Then we’ll go on from there,” I said. “We’ll try to find something you do like.”

The next two years were not easy. For either of us. I was clueless, anguished in the face of multiple decisions. I always felt like I was running a month behind unfolding events. My mother had never died before. Yet looking back, I am amazed at the amount of mutual respect and trust that we functioned in. It was built, of course, over our long relationship, but that moment of truth among the boxes set the tone. I wouldn’t lie to her or try to manipulate her. I would do my best to give her what she wanted. In return she gave me her trust. It was a great gift.

Happy Mother's Day!

CBA's Market Magazine Article

Alliee — Wed, 29 Mar 2017 16:09:15 +0000

CBA's Market Magazine Article Alliee March 29, 2017 - 9:09am

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

Blessings,
Alliee +

Dylan Thomas and the Sanctification of the Specific

Alliee — Thu, 29 Dec 2016 16:41:21 +0000

Dylan Thomas and the Sanctification of the Specific Alliee December 29, 2016 - 8:41am

*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.

I bumped into it again, somehow, on the computer — you know how these things happen — and I thought it might be fun to read as a family on Christmas. We did, on Boxing Day, the six of us each staring at our devices — iPads, iPhones, MacBook Air, each reading a verse in succession around the circle. The ten year old kept up quite marvelously. Yes, it was a little long for him, but he wound his way through the run-on sentences and, during other people’s turns, ate blackberry sorbet, keeping one eye on the screen.

At the end some of us tossed out memorable phrases. I thought about EB White’s quote on the elegance of details. I looked around the living room at presents stacked in piles, bits of wrapping paper and ribbons floating through the dog hair on the carpet, ornaments dangling on the tree - some going back further than my childhood; fudge and eggnog and roast beef . . . Christmas is such a welter of details. And in the midst of them, Emanuel, “I am with you.” All is made Holy. Astonishing.

On Bathrooms: May 2016

Alliee — Mon, 02 May 2016 15:15:26 +0000

On Bathrooms: May 2016 Alliee May 2, 2016 - 8:15am

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.

No, I never told them to go right ahead and pee here on the floor, even when met with a fat faced clerk who insisted there were no public restrooms; although I knew perfectly well that the clerk didn’t sit all day talking on the phone, without nipping into the back where there was a perfectly good toilet with nobody sitting on it (in pale green pants).

I do remember reading about a mom who told her little one to use the floor when some skinny faced clerk insisted there was no public restroom. The mom got into all kinds of trouble; I saluted her silently from afar.

As far as sex in bathrooms, I’m against it. Too cold and uncomfortable and frankly dirty, especially the men’s, which I know about (full disclosure here) from occassionally rolling my eyes at the twenty three women waiting in line, and ducking into the empty men’s side, which usually stank. I will digress and point out that certain people have been blessed with an implement with which to AIM, complete with ample opportunities to practice. There is no excuse for such abundant evidence of regularly missing the mark.

The other problem with sex, whether in bathrooms or otherwise, is that it can lead to the aforementioned trampoline artists. Now, while all sorts have developed many ways to avoid that danger, I will say that my current favorite is the sexy sixties, which is what you get at the end of over 40 years of sharing the joys and sorrows, and exhaustion, of the mystery and wonder of two becoming one flesh — not just once but three times, each one unique, but still holding goofball family resemblances like the ability to quote Simpsons at the drop of the hat.

And while still rejoicing in the one-flesh miracle, I can now enjoy a quiet house, not to even mention spacious bed without little feet pummeling my kidneys or throwing miniature legs over my back, or being the baloney in a kid sandwich. Rather I can revel in wide, peaceful comfort, intimacy augmented by a long history, Baileys in icy glasses, candles on the window sills . . . except for in times of Visitation when grandchildren litter the bedroom floor, each with their unique family resemblance, that to date doesn't include quoting the Simpsons.

While I can’t imagine anyone being against lots of bathrooms, I remember my first toddler, who when being corrected for peeing in public, said with affronted righteous indignation, “but I went where the peoples don’t walk.”

I am totally in favor of going where the peoples don’t walk, unless you live on top of a dump where, I recently read, the technique is to go on a piece of paper and then bury it deeper in the dump. I am also reminded of countries where a hole is cut in the child’s pants in lieu of diapers. Presumably those babies also learn to go where the peoples don’t walk. After all, my dog learned that, and most toddlers are almost as smart as my dog.

In sum, I vote Yes on bathrooms, No on sex in bathrooms; and in emergencies, I am in favor of going where the peoples don’t walk.

Blessings,
Alliee +

BkBit: Some Kind of Fairy Tale

Alliee — Sun, 13 Mar 2016 19:40:10 +0000

BkBit: Some Kind of Fairy Tale Alliee March 13, 2016 - 12:40pm

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.

Occasionally I arise to make more food, shuffle laundry, noodle on the piano, walk the dog. I do this not only to keep from cramping, to give my eyes a break, but also to extend the pleasure. It’s tempting to read this book in one greedy gulp, but then it would be over.

The set up of Some Kind of Fairy Tale is that a young teen, Tara, disappears in the woods. The things you’d expect to happen do: searches, police, boyfriend suspect. Then she returns, 20 years later. Only she’s still a teen. She says that she was taken by fairies. Not that she calls them fairies. They wouldn’t like that. The things you’d expect to happen do: parents and sibling responses, psychiatrists, doctors, boyfriend. . .

It is a compelling, mult-ilayered book. A stealth book. Not squeaky clean. Some language and sexuality as the movie biz says. Still, a well written look at how people believe. Or don’t. Terrific.

Now it's over. Sigh. For a bit in there I was afraid it would end badly, but it didn’t. Graham Joyce brought it home. What a gift. I would write him a lovely letter, but he up and died two years ago. I’ll have to wait til the great crossing to give my appreciation. What else has he written?

One of the loveliest things about The Word Shop is the way books pass from hand to hand. “I think you'd like this,” Carol had said, giving me the book. I did. She’s in our First Tuesday Writers Group. You could be too.

Meanwhile, the Literary Party theme this month is Trashy Books. As in," one man’s trash is another man's treasure." Some Kind of Fairy Tale doesn’t qualify.

Blessings,
Alliee +

"When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract positive thinking." – Albert Einstein