Goooooood morning, team! I’ve been traveling for two weeks and I’m running on fumes, a little bit. After my business trip, I was home for two days, just enough time to turn myself and pack the kiddos with all the sports gear I could find before we all drove up to New York for the week. The kids got a week of grandparent time, and Steve and I headed up to the Adirondacks to work remotely for four days and squeeze in a few hikes. So as you can probably imagine, reading time was thin on the ground – when I wasn’t working last week, I was hiking.
I did manage to get through one book – The Jasmine Farm. It wasn’t as much fun as Father, after all, but any Elizabeth von Arnim is bound to be a good read and this one was, of course. And I started another – Excavations, which I’m excited about. Began it curled up in bed while the boys watched F1 right next to me. It’s another busy week ahead, so I don’t know how much reading time I’ll have, which made the cozy Sunday even more precious.
Adirondack high peak six of forty-six! Still a long way to go, but we enjoyed Tabletop.
Reading is my oldest and favorite hobby. I literally can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t love to curl up with a good book. Here are my reads for June, 2023.
My Garden World, by Monty Don – The last book on my spring stack (although this one would be a good candidate for reading throughout the year as it follows twelve months in Monty Don’s gardens): I enjoyed this so much. I am a huge fan of Monty Don’s gardening programs – we binge-watch them on Britbox – and he is a beautiful writer.
The Wisteria Society of Lady Scoundrels (Dangerous Damsels #1), by India Holton – This was an audiobook listen, mainly during commutes last month, and it was a lot of fun. A bit confusing to start out – it’s an alternate Victorian England where houses fly and lady pirates do magic and swashbuckle – but once you get into it, it’s a lot of fun. Warning for the prudes among us (raises hand): there is once scene that made me blush tomato red.
Crying in H Mart, by Michelle Zauner – This was a book club pick, and while we found a lot to discuss, I personally had a hard time with the structure. It felt a little disorganized and chaotic, which may have been an intentional choice but it makes for a difficult reading experience for me.
Poems for Happiness, intro Rev. Richard Coles – After Crying in H Mart I really needed to read something uplifting and a collection of poems around the theme of happiness was just what the doctor ordered. I was already familiar with some of the selections, others were new to me, and each poem was a delight.
Three Lives to Live, by Anne Lindbergh – This is one of my childhood favorites – one of the first time-slip novels I ever read, and I still love that genre – and I read it aloud to Peanut this past month. Mainly, I wanted to read it to her because there’s some stuff in there about siblings that I thought would be good to discuss with her. Bonus, though, we both really enjoyed it.
The Widening Stain, by W. Bolingbroke Johnson – I love reading in situ and when I heard – on an episode of the Shedunnit podcast – about this murder mystery that is set in a library at a fictionalized version of Cornell, I knew it was the obvious choice to read over Reunion weekend. I even spent an hour or so reading it in the actual library that forms the setting for the murders. (You don’t have to be a Cornellian to enjoy this, by the way – it was a lot of fun, the plot moved quickly and the main sleuth was a delight.) My only complaint was that while the author technically played fair with the conclusion, you don’t stand a chance of working out the solution unless you have a lot of esoteric knowledge about opera. I don’t, so once again I guessed whodunit but not why or how.
The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame – A re-read for me, but the first time listening on audio: it was as fun as it always is to revisit Mole, Ratty, Otter, Badger, and of course Toad. I do have a soft spot for that wild and irresponsible Toad.
The Small House at Allington (Chronicles of Barsetshire #5), by Anthony Trollope – I won’t say much here as a full review is coming for the Classics Club. This is the penultimate in Trollope’s Barsetshire novels and also the penultimate in my Classics Club reading challenge. It was the first Trollope I’ve read that did not include a tidy and conventionally happy ending, and I’m still deciding how I feel about that.
Appointment with Venus, by Jerrard Tickell – I’ve had this on my shelf to read in June (although most of the action, as it turns out, actually happens in September) for ages – and I can’t believe I waited so long. A World War II story of a daring rescue… of a prize COW… on the Channel Islands, this is funny, page-turning, and moving by turns. I read it in the midst of a move and could barely put it down.
Penguins and Golden Calves: Icons and Idols in Antarctica and Other Unexpected Places, by Madeleine L’Engle – Three audiobooks this month! That has to be some kind of record. So, this was okay but I didn’t love it. (I did, however, press through and listen to the whole thing.) I knew that it was one of L’Engle’s theology/philosophy books, but was still expecting a heavy dose of Antarctica and that wasn’t really there. And some of L’Engle’s comments about race and gender hit a little differently in 2023. For instance, at one point she muses “We can get a little silly about inclusive pronouns.” I couldn’t disagree more – there is nothing silly, in my view, about acknowledging the lived truth about a person’s deepest identity. It’s not all that surprising that a book written in 1993 by a 75-year-old doesn’t quite hit it on 2023 values, but between that and the insufficient Antarctica content, I think I’ll stick to L’Engle’s fiction.
Whew! What a month. If you’re still with me – thanks for hanging in. It was a busy June with not one, but two, moves – office in the middle of the month and house at the end. But through the chaos I still read – I will always read through the chaos – and had a couple of wonderful highlights. Appointment with Venus was definitely the high point of the reading month, and will probably be on my top-ten list for the year. And reading The Widening Stain at Cornell was such fun. (I wish the author had written more – I’d love to follow sleuth Gilda Gorham through more literary crime-solving.) In July, I’ve already finished a couple of good books, I have an excellent audiobook on the go, and I’ve got more summery reads on my stack. Happy summer reading, friends!
Happy… Tuesday! American friends, I hope you had a restful and reflective MLK Day yesterday. I usually try to do some special reading for MLK Day, to better educate and inform myself – I am ashamed to say I didn’t get to it this year, but will try to work some articles and info pieces into my reading over the coming weeks (as I always do, anyway).
As for other reading, as you can see, it was a productive reading week. I finished up Yours Cheerfully at the beginning of the week and just loved it – such a heartwarming story. I am really enjoying this series and looking forward to the third book, which I think is coming soon? Also around the beginning of the week, I finished my second audiobook of the year, Dinner with Edward. I really liked the writing and the personal narrative, but wasn’t thrilled with the reader. Especially at the beginning, I found her voice a bit grating; I did get used to her later on, at least. The rest of the workweek was devoted to How Much of These Hills is Gold, which was very hyped. The writing was certainly accomplished but I didn’t love it – possibly because it just wasn’t what I wanted to be reading last week, or possibly because I was juggling solo parenting (Steve was out of town on business from Thursday through mid-day Saturday) and that always leaves me depleted and unable to give much attention to a book.
Weekend reading was a little better. On Sunday, Nugget and I finished a read-aloud of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone – we’ve now moved on to Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (unpictured). And over the course of Sunday I read Philosophy for Polar Explorers – the first book in my pre-Antarctica reading stack. (It’s not entirely about Antarctica, but rather about life lessons the author gleaned from being the first person to complete the “three poles” challenge of walking to both the North Pole and South Pole and reaching the summit of Everest. And then I turned my attention to Winter in the Air, a collection of short stories by Sylvia Townsend Warner. Short stories are not really my jam, as longtime readers may remember, but I love Sylvia Townsend Warner’s writing and she’s one of the few who can hold my attention over an entire volume of short fiction. (I really enjoyed another of her collections, English Climate: Wartime Stories, which Persephone Books brought out fairly recently. But I prefer her novels – Lolly Willowes was a highlight of 2021 for me.) I’m a few stories in now and really enjoying it, and so far I’ve enjoyed the title story, “Winter in the Air,” best – but there’s plenty more good stuff to come. Finally, also unpictured, I started a new audiobook – Smallbone Deceased, by Michael Gilbert. I’m only about an hour in, so lots more story to come, but so far so good.
So, as you can see, a busy reading week indeed! Winter in the Air will be good for a couple more evenings, I think – especially because I read short stories more slowly than I do novels. (I have a habit of closing the book after every story and staring into space for awhile, which does add minutes to the reading time.) I’m thinking of picking up Brat Farrar, by Josephine Tey – that one has been on my TBR pile for awhile now. But I could decide in the moment that something else is calling to me more… who knows?
Guess who “leveled up” (I keep explaining there are no levels, per se…) on the mountain yesterday? I finally caved to Nugget’s constant badgering and agreed to let him try his hand at a blue square (those are intermediate runs, for my non-skiing friends) and he did GREAT and loved it! I couldn’t be more pleased. He did a great job controlling his speed and avoiding other skiers, and he had fun – and if he can ski intermediate runs that opens up so much more of the mountain. Including the much less crowded back side of our local mountain, which made a big difference given the wall-to-wall people and apocalyptic lift lines on the front side thanks to holiday weekend crowds yesterday. We had the best mountain day!
Happy Fourth! I’m taking the day off blogging to hang out with these two chuckleheads. If you’re celebrating today, I hope you have a safe and fun holiday. See you on Wednesday!
Every weekday, I get an email newsletter about the gig economy and the future of work, authored by my friend Susan. I love her pithy take on the news items she selects, and there are usually a few links that interest me. She also includes a “fun thing” each day – a new development dating from the beginning of COVID; it used to just be a “Friday fun thing,” but Susan decided we all needed more fun and she bumped it up to daily. Last week, one of the “fun things” was a RECIPE FOR ROASTED CICADAS, which NO. JUST SO MUCH NO. (For the record: it’s a NO for Susan, too.)
In introducing the fun thing, Susan mentioned that one way to have a conversation with someone from D.C., without them bringing up the weather, is to mention cicadas.
If you’re not in the know (or you’re not from the D.C. area and therefore not as obsessed with cicadas as we currently are), we are in the midst of a cicada invasion. “Brood X,” as they’re known, are a cyclical bunch of cicadas that appear every seventeen years. I lived in D.C. proper seventeen years ago (seems crazy!) but I don’t remember the last cicada invasion; maybe it just wasn’t as big of a thing then? Less social media? Or maybe just not as noticeable from a Foggy Bottom apartment when you’re consumed with law school final exams?
Because I’ll tell you – it’s cicada central in the exurbs. They’re literally everywhere; the other day I took my computer out to the sunroom for a conference call, and glancing out the window I realized – to my horror – that the back of my house was encrusted with dozens of cicadas. Just walking to the car is like navigating a minefield, unless you want a crusty layer of crushed cicada on the bottom of your Birkenstocks. Which I don’t.
The male cicadas arrived last week, and the females surfaced this week – and the decibel levels are noticecable, even for me. (I grew up listening to cicadas humming in my Grandmama’s backyard on Long Island, and I barely hear them; it’s just white noise to me.)
And then there are the exoskeletons.
Ohhhhhhh, the exoskeletons. There are abandoned cicada exoskeletons clinging to every leafy plant in my yard. I don’t even want to weed my garden.
In case it’s not obvious, I’m not thrilled about this development. I don’t mind the noise, but the dive-bombing bugs and the sickening crunch every time you step on one… shudder. Is it over yet?
Have you been following the D.C. cicada chronicles? Are you as over it as I am?
Just to get one thing out of the way to begin with: all of Jane Austen’s books are on my life bookshelf. Of course. So why mention Sense and Sensibility specifically? Well – it was my first. And you never forget your first, do you?
As with so many of my formative books, my mother handed me this one. She wasn’t a Janeite, as far as I know. (Mom?) I believe the line of thinking was more along the lines of, my daughter has read basically all of Montgomery, maybe it’s time for Jane Austen. I don’t know why Sense and Sensibility, specifically – perhaps she chose it because it was Austen’s first published novel, or maybe based on the plot synopsis. It’s not Austen’s most famous (Pride and Prejudice) and I don’t think anyone would argue that it’s her best (I believe the debate raging there is Pride and Prejudice vs. Persuasion vs. Emma). Although anything Austen writes is basically perfect, so there is that.
I vaguely remember my first paperback copy of S&S, but what stands out more in my memory was my mom’s suggestion that I tell my ninth grade English teacher, Mrs. Stone, that I was reading my first Jane Austen, and ask her for her advice. I can’t recall if I had that conversation, although I suspect I probably did – I was a dutiful kid who generally did what she was told, and I would have viewed my mom’s suggestion as an instruction and complied. I also loved my teacher, and the opportunity to casually mention to her that I was reading a real grown-up classic and then have a discussion like a real grown-up reader would have been irresistible.
One of Jane Austen’s several residences in Bath.
Sense and Sensibility made a huge impression on me, obviously. (How could it not?) I identified with diligent, practical Elinor and rolled my eyes at whimsical, dramatic Marianne. (As an adult, I have some different opinions about the events and characters of Sense and Sensibility. I have much less tolerance for Edward Ferrars and his sticky situation, and much more sympathy for Marianne – although I still maintain that Colonel Brandon should have married Elinor.) Most valuably, Elinor Dashwood opened the door to a lifetime membership in the Janeite society; this is a society that has brought me endless hours of entertainment and many friendships, both “real life” and online – for sheer emotional riches, I don’t think any other author on my life bookshelf can compete with Jane Austen.
My fourteen-year-old self would have been delighted to know that my almost-thirty-year-old self walked in Austen’s footsteps in Bath, trailed by a non-bookish but very indulgent husband, and turned the pages of Persausion while treading the same footpath that provided the setting for Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth’s climactic scene. Now to plan a trip to Chawton.
Morning, friends! It’s a holiday weekend here in the U.S. (how are you honoring MLK’s legacy today?) and the start of the long-awaited Inauguration Week. I am staying home all week – no desire to repeat my experience of driving white-knuckled over the Key Bridge on January 6, and I couldn’t get to my office if I tried, since it’s in the “red zone” where all traffic other than official vehicles is banned, anyway. I plan to watch Joe Biden and Kamala Harris be sworn in from the comfort of my couch on Wednesday.
So, how were your weekends? Coming off of two weeks of nonstop work and nonstop stress, I was ready to turn my brain off for a while. I finally finished my gauntlet of depositions, filings, discovery and sundry other stressful matters at 9:30 on Friday evening, flopped down on the couch and declared myself burnt out. Two weeks into the year! I think that’s a new record. Steve and I declared Saturday “chores day.” With me being completely unavailable for two weeks, Steve was in survival mode trying to juggle work and the kids’ virtual school by himself. (It’s unmanageable with two parents. With one – yikes.) The result was that he heroically made it to the end of the gauntlet with neither kid expelled from school and the house still standing, a major achievement – but the place was trashed. We spent the day with sleeves rolled up, tackling everything that got back-burnered while I was working 65 hour weeks. Steve did another massive clean-out of the playroom, some light plumbing, a bunch of laundry, a kitchen deep clean, etc. I went from room to room in the common spaces, clearing out debris from a two week long kid tornado. We had help from one kid and active resistance from the other (names withheld to protect the guilty and the brown-nosing). By the end of the day the house was looking fantastic, and it was so satisfying. Sunday, we reserved for hiking and we drove down to Huntley Meadows, one of our favorite parks for spotting wetland birds. Unfortunately, when we got there we found it overrun with people – parking lot completely full and cars spilling into the access road – so we quickly pivoted to Plan B: Mount Vernon. We hadn’t been in months, and it turned out to be just what we all wanted. We walked the grounds, so familiar to us, checked out the animals, gazed at the river, and Peanut chattered on about Felicity Merriman from the American Girl collection. Rest of the day – simple. I ran a couple of errands, Peanut watched Felicity, an American Girl Adventure; Nugget watched Dinosaur King; Steve watched football; I read and cleaned up the woodpile. So yes, a simple weekend, but just what I was craving.
Reading. Amazingly, despite all the work last week, it was a good reading week! I finished up The Mitfords: Letters Between Six Sisters and really enjoyed it. (Hard to believe that this 850+ page volume only represented about 5% of their correspondence!) But man alive, were they catty towards one another – I’m glad I have a brother. My sole criterion for my next read was: it had to be short. The Provincial Lady in London (American title; the original UK title was The Provincial Lady Goes Further – which does make sense, as the PL spends time in Brittany and Devonshire as well and is only in London for half the book, approx.) was a hoot. I didn’t love it quite as much as the first in the series, but I still loved it A. LOT. Finally, ended the week with Word from Wormingford – slow, seasonal, and comforting, just what I wanted. I’m a little less than halfway through as of press time, so I’ll finish tonight or tomorrow and then turn to my Inauguration reading – The Truths We Hold, by our soon-to-be Vice President, Kamala Harris.
Watching. We are still loving Big Crazy Family Adventure. The Kirkby family has just crossed the border into India on the final leg of their trip, and it has been such fun – and so fascinating – to follow along with them. We all love this show, which is really saying something; usually there is at least one family member who is just tolerating it. I’m not sure how many episodes we have left but I think we’re getting near the end; I am going to miss it when we’re done.
Listening. Bunch of podcasts, as usual. Highlights were a few episodes of Shedunnit (of course!) and The Mom Hour on storage solutions for all the STUFF that comes into our houses at the holidays. The Lego struggle is real.
Making. Lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of work product (hopefully some of it was good/competent). More happily, a clean house and a tidy woodpile, and a few rows on a seed stitch cowl I’m knitting, while watching hockey. (Will someone please alert the Sabres to the fact that it’s regular season hockey now, not an exhibition game? The Caps got the memo. Sheesh.)
Moving.Oooooooof. Not. moving. Multiple entire days spent on Zoom are not conducive to movement. The epic day of cleaning on Saturday was kind of a workout, though. And Sunday’s walk, and dragging tree limbs all over the yard – same. Running shoes WILL be back this week, though.
Blogging. More New Year’s content! Recap (and lament) of 2020 goals on Wednesday, and Part III of my annual reading retrospective on Friday. The ever-silly Book Superlatives! Check in with me then.
Loving. Look what I got! A Bonsai tree! One of my errands yesterday was a stop by the garden center, for a decent-looking tray to catch drips from my lemon tree, which I have moved inside for the winter. (It’s already perking up, which is good news – it was looking quite peaky out in the sunroom.) It happened that my local nursery had just gotten in a new stash of Bonsai – well, I couldn’t resist. I remember when I was a kid, my mom took in a Bonsai temporarily while her BFF was on a lengthy family vacation in Europe, and I was fascinated by the perfect little miniature tree. In my recollection, my mom’s friend’s Bonsai was like a very demanding little pet, but when I read the instructions on this one, it seemed surprisingly low maintenance. Here’s hoping I don’t kill it. Peanut has named it “Bonnie” so we’re clearly already getting attached.
The other night I was laying awake, turning over a thorny strategy problem for work when I should have been asleep, and suddenly out of nowhere I was hit with a memory from over a year ago – followed by another wave of sadness at everything the pandemic has taken from us.
Nugget’s best bud has an October birthday. He didn’t have a party this year – obviously – but in 2019 his mom (my friend Helena) threw him a farm birthday, complete with goat petting and a hayride. Nugget, who is here for anything involving vehicles, was one of the first onto the wagon; gotta secure that money spot with a good view of the tractor, right? I followed him up, and behind me came his pal A. A was as stoked as the other little guys until he saw his mom, my friend Meredith, waving from the grass. She was sitting out the hayride in order to feed A’s baby brother.
A’s lip started to tremble and I could see the tears welling up, so I patted my lap and motioned to him to come up. “Want to sit with me?” I asked him. A nodded tremulously and climbed onto my knee. Nugget immediately clambered onto my other knee. I put an arm around each of them, cuddled them close, and dropped a kiss on top of each blond mop head, and the tractor pulled out, towing us behind.
A and Nugget stayed planted in my lap for the entire hayride. When the tractor rolled back to the parking area, Meredith was waiting. A popped off my lap and rushed to his mom. Picking him up, she thanked me for holding him on the hayride.
“I enjoyed it,” I assured her. “He was very snuggly.”
She laughed. “He can be!” (I knew just what she meant. Those preschool boys are like puppies – running around wild, rolling on top of each other, roughhousing and jumping on the furniture and piling all over one another one moment, then cuddling up in your lap the next.)
I’m not sure why this memory came back so vividly the other night. But it drove home another thing that I am missing: my mom tribe. With a few exceptions, I never really connected with the other moms in Peanut’s class, especially after we moved home to Virginia. But Nugget ran in a herd with a gaggle of boys in his preschool class, and the moms ended up drawn to one another, too. We clustered together at back-to-school nights, birthday parties, Thanksgiving picnics and holiday concerts. We arranged play dates and openly shared frustrations and triumphs – and it fostered a bond of trust. I thought nothing of scooping Meredith’s little guy up and comforting him when I saw storm clouds starting to gather; she’d have done the same for me if I had to sit out a hayride and Nugget started to tear up.
There’s been so much talk about the connections we’re all missing during these long months of pandemic. The strong connections – grandparents not able to hug grandchildren, siblings missing out on family gatherings, dear friends unable to see each other for months. And the weak connections – that barista who knows just how to make your favorite morning drink, the favorite yoga instructor or peewee swim teacher, the supply room guy who always makes sure to stock your favorite snacks and pens at work. But there’s a middle level of connection, and I think I might miss that most.
I’ve had a few moments of those middle connections with the mom tribe during pandemic-times. Hiking in Rock Creek Park with my law school BFF Carly, her daughter, and Nugget. Peanut and her bestie stomping in a clear creek while my pal Rachel and I chatted as hard as we could through our face masks. Doling out marshmallows to Nugget and his best buddy as Helena and I stood around a backyard bonfire, catching up on school gossip and reminiscing about our college days (we were both at Cornell in the early 2000s and have a handful of friends in common, although we didn’t meet until our sons bonded at school). But those connections are few and far between lately, and I miss them more than I’d realized. Having those trusted friends who you can count on to pick up your baby, kiss an owie if you’re looking the other way when it happens, remember who has a nut allergy, make sure your kiddo has his goodie bag – that’s surprisingly huge. Not having that is a sort of bereavement.
Just another thing COVID has taken from us, hopefully not forever.
Let’s be real: if there was ever a year to go all-in on Festivus, it’s 2020, right? I feel like we all could get particular satisfaction out of the airing of grievances. I’ve got a lotta problems with you this year.
But, BUT, I’m trying to be positive here. Trying to overlook the fact that there’s a global pandemic, a seemingly hopelessly divided country, and – in my house, at least – so much backtalk and rudeness, and so little listening or cooperation. While we try to figure out what Christmas is going to look like this year, a look back at happier times.
It’s lucky I took so many pictures of fresh holiday wreaths on our traditional Old Town Christmas walk last year.
I am taking it on faith that Santa did, in fact, roll through Little Washington this year.
Our Christmas tree has already stopped taking on water, so I think we’ll definitely be back at the cut-your-own farm next year. It’s not pressing the easy button if your roadside stand tree becomes a fire hazard by mid-December.
Squeezing into a little room with hundreds of strangers was not in the cards this year, but maybe next year we’ll be back at the U.S. Botanic Garden’s holiday trains display. Hopefully without getting stomach bugs, like we did two – or was it three? – years ago. Come to think of it, maybe this is a holiday tradition that should stay in the past.
Join the Dark Side. We have eggnog.
This is the first time in four years that we have skipped our girls’ theatre date for Christmas. I miss this tradition. Next year I’m pulling out all the stops and taking Peanut to the fanciest Nutcracker performance in town. Unless I have to spend all of my money sending her to military school, which is a distinct possibility at this point.
Onward to our socially distanced, bubble-centric holiday, with hopes for a merrier Christmas in 2021.
Are you also missing pre-pandemic holiday traditions this year? How young is too young for military school?
Late post this morning – sorry. Last week was a doozy, the weekend was a doozy, and this week ahead is looking like a doozy. (In other news, I am submitting my application to the Guinness Book of World Records for most over-use of the word “doozy.”) On Saturday, I had big plans to get stuff done around the house. We were staying home all day because we were expecting our new dishwasher delivery after a month of eating off paper plates and hand-washing everything. I spent the morning folding and putting away laundry, cleaning out the linen closet, and organizing the guest bedroom storage situation in anticipation of delivery of some new closet organizers I am expecting today. I felt productive, which was the good news, but the bad news was we were totally ghosted by the dishwasher delivery people. No dishwasher, no call. Steve reached them this morning and they were mildly apologetic but won’t be delivering until Thursday – six days after they were supposed to come, and that’s if they don’t no-call-no-show us again – and no plans to make it right with us. To say I’m unhappy about this would be an understatement.
Anyway, since Saturday didn’t turn out like I expected – ending the day with a completely clean house, including kitchen – Sunday wasn’t the relaxing day I had planned either. I had some work to do, so I powered through that. We did manage to get out for a hike in one of our favorite bird-watching spots over in Leesburg, and saw MORE Eastern Bluebirds and a new-to-me (as yet unidentified, though) kind of sparrow. It was nice to get fresh air and move my feet after a long week of work and house frustration.
Reading. It might have been a slightly lousy week in general, but it was a good – and very festive – reading week. And also very symmetrical, apparently: two commonplace selections; two collections of holiday-themed short stories; and two mysteries. Well, one of the mysteries is also a collection of holiday-themed short stories, but you get my drift. Christmas spirit is in short supply around here, so I’m taking it wherever I can get it, and my reading evenings with a flickering candle and the lighted Christmas tree are keeping me going these days.
Watching. It was actually a very good watching week as well. We’ve been gradually making our way through the recent seasons of Rick Steves’ Europe as a family, and they are both lovely and sad-making, since we can’t travel anywhere right now (stoopid pandemic). On Sunday, Steve and I cuddled up on the couch and watched Rick Steves’ European Christmas (my request) while the kids engaged in some kind of ultimate fighting championship in the playroom. They did take breaks to come out and tell us they hate us, so that was not the best. I also spent a relaxing hour or so catching up on Miranda Mills’ festive content on YouTube.
Listening. Made my way through a few back episodes of Tea or Books? on my podcatcher while folding laundry and sorting through guest room detritus. The usual.
Making. Piles of work product, progress on Christmas shopping (but not wrapping), mailed-out Christmas cards, a clean linen closet, the beginnings of plans for next spring’s garden. (Do hollyhocks bloom the first year? The internet can’t make up its mind.)
Moving. Oof. It was not a good week. Other than accompanying Nugget on a kids’ run on Monday, nothing. 55-hour workweeks are not conducive to taking care of me. This is a recurring problem, clearly.
Blogging. Sharing some festive pictures from past holiday seasons on Wednesday, since Advent fun is thin on the ground this year. And musing on missing my mom tribe on Friday. Check in with me if you’d like, and I promise happier content next week. This is just where I am right now.
Loving. My Provencal pottery ornaments, which I bought in Gigondas back in 2010, have been missing for years. Every time I’ve decorated my tree in recent Christmases, I’ve lamented their loss. But guess what turned up in this most recent move? I’m delighted to have them back, and of all the ornaments on my tree, they are giving me the most joy – reminding me of a time when Steve and I were able to travel and stock up on experiences and memories. And they are also giving me hope, that I will find myself back in France someday.
covered in flour 