spiritual practice

Two Book Covers I Love

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November 16, 2023

Of course, what is inside the book is most important, but unless I am looking for a specific title or author, the book cover is what first engages me. These two are winners.

  • Andy Catlett, Early Travels by Wendell Berry. I bought this book at Ann Patchett’s book store, Parnassus Books. It wasn’t on my TBR list, but I have read and loved other books by Kentucky author Berry, including Hannah Coulter and Jayber Crow. This cover reminded me, as does some of the descriptions in the book, of our Sweetwater Farm in Ohio.

The book, which is part of Berry’s Port William series, is set in 1943 and young Andy Catlett takes the bus by himself to visit both sets of grandparents. Although much of the book has a nostalgic feel Berry also reflects on the role of racism in the community and among the people he loves. “Dick,” a Black man was a “hired hand,” and Andy reflects,” Whereas my grandfather’s life had been shaped by the effort to keep what he had, Dick’s had been shaped by the effort implied in not having.” pp. 24-25.

Also.

It was a circumstance that was mostly taken for granted. It was inexcusable, and yet we had the formidable excuse of being used to it. It was an injustice both accommodated and varyingly obscured not only by daily custom, but also the exigencies and preoccupations of daily life. We left the issue alone, not exactly by ignoring it, but by observing an elaborate etiquette that permitted us to ignore it…What is hardest to get used to maybe, once you are aware, is the range of things humans are able to get used to. I was more used to this once than I am now.

pp. 75-76

Much of what Berry describes reminds me of my Grandma and Grandpa Hansen’s farm in southern Minnesota and life in the early 50’s when I was growing up. Like a button box.

No worn out garment then was simply thrown away. When it was worn past wearing and patching, all its buttons were snipped off and put into the button box. And then when something old needed a new button, the button box provided. Grandma’s was an old shoe box better than half full of buttons of all sorts. it was a pleasure just to run your fingers through like running your fingers through a bucket of shelled corn.

p. 62

The book is short–only 140 pages–but so rich with descriptions of time and place and people. As I read it, I paused often to re-read passages–wanting to fully absorb the beauty of the writing. This is a book where plot is not the focus, but I didn’t miss it. Not at all.

  • Diary of a Tuscan Bookshop by Alba Donati. A friend gave me this nonfiction book, which she bought on a trip to the UK. What could be lovelier than to be remembered by a friend when she is traveling. If I had seen this book in a bookstore, no doubt, I would have bought it, for the cover is so pleasing. I want to spend time in that setting. Donati is a poet, and she opens a small bookstore in a small Italian town, Lucignana, which would have been enough of a challenge, but she opens it during the pandemic. The book is written in a series of diary entries, and I think it would have been better, if written in more of a narrative style. In a diary one tends to reference lots of information relevant only to the writer. I did love, however, the list of the day’s book orders at the end of each entry. Both Italian and English. An example:

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk, L’istante largo by Sara Bruner, White Fang by Jack London, The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, Loving Frank by Nancy Horan, Learning to Talk to Plants by Marta Orriols.

p. 69

I would love to know about the readers of those books. Why then? And how did they learn about them?

Right now I am reading #4 in the Lane Winslow mystery series by Iona Whishaw, and the covers in these editions remind me so much of the Maisie Dobbs series by Jacqueline Winspear.

An Invitation

Have you been influenced to read or buy a book based on its cover? I would love to know.

Memory Prompts

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November 14, 2023

This past weekend my sister and I went to a vintage Christmas market, and I bought this little treasure from years gone by. It’s a nut chopper.

Of course, I don’t need a nut chopper, for I have a food processor and also a smaller electric one that works beautifully for herbs and nuts, and most often I buy walnuts and pecans already chopped anyway. However, when I picked it up I remembered baking cookies when I was a child. I had instant replay images of kitchens in homes where we lived when I was growing up. Now I hasten to add that my mother was not the kind of Mom who enjoyed cooking with her children. I learned to cook and bake by trial and error. Still, this little glass container with its cheery red top, which just happens to match my current kitchen’s decor, inspired homey, happy thoughts.

Memories were clearly on my mind, especially since last week’s theme for the writing group I facilitate was memory. Before reading the writing prompts to the group, I shared some guiding words, quotations about the topic. For example,

There is no explaining this simple truth about life: you will forget much of it. The painful things you were certain you’d never be able to let go? Now you’re not entirely sure when they happened, while the thrilling parts, the heart-stopping joys splintered and scattered and became something else. Memories are then replaced by different joys and sorrows, and unbelivably, those things get knocked aside as well, until one morning you’re picking cherries with your three grown daughters and your husband goes by on the Gator and you are positive that this is all you’ve ever wanted in the world.

Tom Lake by Ann Patchett, p. 116

Remembering events and people from our past lets us claim and share ourselves…We do not merely have these memories; we are these memories…memory is a way of describing the cumulative nature of time, the presence of the past with us. Time not only unravels; it also knits up…memories reveal God’s presence in our life. Memories retrace a sacred journey.

Winter Grace, Spirituality and Aging by Kathleen Fischer, p. 45

The prompts included choosing a decade of your life and writing down as many memories of that decade as you can, or writing about an experience when your memory is contradicted by someone’s version of the same experience or event, or encouraged by Kathleen Fischer’s words, “open the album of your life,” and simply begin writing.

My own response during the 20 minutes of writing time was inspired by what John O’ Donohue says in Eternal Echoes, Exploring Our Yearning to Belong, “Memory is the place where our vanished days secretly gather. Memory rescues experience from total disappearance.”

Lost Memories

A few months before he died, I asked my father what memories he had about Christmas when I was a little girl. My father had an excellent memory, which he nurtured and worked to maintain. For example, when he was in his 90’s he wrote down the names of everyone in his first grade class. Eventually, he remembered each name. He also made a list of everyone who reported to him during his long and successful career.

Here’s the rub: He had no memories of Christmas when I was a little girl. Over the years he had shared his own early Christmas memories, like getting an orange in his stocking and going ice skating on Fountain Lake on Christmas Day, but he was not able to unveil memories about me at Christmastime.

It was clear he was disturbed by this lack of memories, and he quickly said something like “Your mother handled Christmas,” and I’m sure that was true, but really? Nothing about my first Christmas morning or presents I loved or how I reacted to the Christmas tree? Frankly, I was hurt. I changed the subject, wishing I had never brought it up. Later I wondered if bringing some family pictures or sharing my own early memories would have induced a different outcome.

I hasten to add, and I want you to hear this clearly, I have no doubts about how much my father loved me. I have never questioned that, and I treasure my relationship with him, but I am aware that some of the details of my life, stories I would like to know, have disappeared.

When I asked my father to share memories about me as a little girl, I unintentionally opened a place of sadness in him, an emptiness he didn’t know he had. I’m not sure that was a good thing, unless I can use it to learn something about myself and my own memories. What do I most need to remember and even more, what memories about my loved ones do they need and want to know?

Joan Chittister in The Gift of Years, Growing Older Gracefully refers to memories as both burdens and blessings. What I choose to remember and share can be either a burden or a blessing for my loved ones. My hope is that this incident with my beloved father can be remembered as a sacred moment, for as Chittister says, memories, can “tell us what is left to be done. They become a blueprint for tomorrow that show us out of our own experience how to live, how to forget, how to go on again.” And I add, how and what to remember.

Now about that nut chopper. I won’t use it for its intended purpose, but instead I will fill it with red and green Christmas M and M’s, as a glimpse into sweet memories.

An Invitation

When have memories been a burden and when have they been a blessing in your life? I would love to know.

Book Report: Wintering by Katherine May

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November 8, 2023

I don’t have much in common with Katherine May, the author of Wintering, The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times. She is much younger than I am and has a young son. She lives in the UK. She was diagnosed with Aspergers as an adult. But I identify with much of what she writes in this book.

The title alone spoke to me, for the idea of “wintering” totally seduces me. I am a winter person.

I bought and read this book when it was first published in 2020, but recently I felt tugged to re-read it. Actually, re-reading favorite books right now interests me more than reading books new to me, but that will be the topic of another post. Stay tuned.

Yes, she writes about the season of winter. The structure of the book follows the movement of the season beginning with September’s coming of winter to the almost spring of March.

For example she writes, “Winter opens up time,” and then shares her reading habit during the winter months.

In the high summer, we want to be outside and active; in winter, we are called inside, and here we attend to all the detritus of the summer months, when we are too busy to take the necessary care. Winter is when I reorganize my bookshelves and read all the books I acquired in the previous year and failed to actually read. It is also the time when I reread beloved novels, for the pleasure of reacquainting myself with old friends. In summer, I want big splashy ideas and trashy page-turners, devoured while lounging in a garden chair or perching on one of the breakwaters on the beach. In winter I want concepts to chew over in a pool of lamplight–slow, spiritual reading, a reinforcement of the soul. Winter is a time for libraries, the muffled quiet of book stacks and the scent of old pages and dust. In winter, I can spend hours in silent pursuit of a half-understood concept or a detail of history. There is nowhere else to be, after all.

p. 210

Excuse me while I take a time-out to rearrange my bookshelves.

I’m back.

“Wintering also refers to the emotions of being in a winter season of our lives. May writes, “Everybody winters at one time or another; some winter over and over again.” (p. 10) and “We may never choose to winter, but we can choose how.” (p. 13) She adds that some winters are big and some small.

This passage seems especially fitting when I think about the winter stage of my life, these elder years:

…you’ll find wisdom in your winter, and once it’s over, it’s your responsibility to pass it on. And, in return, it’s our responsibility to listen to those who have wintered before us. It’s an exchange of gifts in which nobody loses out. …Watching winter and really listening to its messages, we learn that effect is often disproportionate to cause; that tiny mistakes can lead to huge disasters; that life is often bloody unfair, but it carries on happening with or without our consent. We learn to look more kindly on other people’s crises, because they are so often portents of our own future.

pp. 122-123

I enjoyed the sections about wolves, wild swimming, saunas, the Sami people and reindeer, Santa Lucia, and the winter solstice. Winter is a rich season, indeed.

May is also author of Enchantment, Awakening Wonder in an Anxious Age (2023) and The Electricity of Every Living Thing: A Woman’s Walk in the Wild to Find Her Way Home (2018). Her podcast is How We Live Now and her newsletter is The Clearing. https://katherinemay.substack.com

An Invitation

How do you respond to the concept of “wintering”? I would love to know.

No, I am NOT Dead!

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November 7, 2023

“Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” Mark Twain

After Twain’s obituary was mistakenly published, he dispatched these words in a cable from London to the press.

Here’s my story:

When I purchased tickets to the recent National Lutheran Choir’s All Saints concert, I submitted names, as requested, of loved ones who have died in the past year. Those names would be recognized during the concert.

Imagine my surprise, when along with the names of my dear ones, my name—Nancy Agneberg—appeared on the screens in the front of the sanctuary as the choir sang.

Obviously, I was surprised, as was my husband sitting next to me, and friends also in attendance. I was also embarrassed, assuming I had filled in an incorrect space, pressed a wrong key. Whatever! Such an idiot, I told myself.

I am very much alive, but seeing my name listed among those who have died recently gave me pause.

My dear friend Carolyn knowing she would die soon was in the process of planning a party in which all who loved her would gather before she died. Unfortunately, she died before that could happen. However, she also planned her memorial service. When she died on December 1, there was no doubt about her wishes.

Have I planned my memorial service yet? Nope. Oh, I’ve tossed some thoughts–the names of a couple hymns (Beautiful Savior and Morning Has Broken) and a note about scripture I have wrestled with much my adult life (The Martha/Mary story in Luke 10: 38-42), but I have not filled out and submitted the church’s form. What exactly am I waiting for?

This is the week. You are all my witnesses!

One more thought: How easily I chastised myself. How quickly I called myself names. “Idiot.” “Stupid.”

I am not an idiot. I am not stupid. But I made a mistake, an error; one that in the big scheme of things doesn’t matter very much. No one died–not even me–because I goofed. Do I need another layer of self-recrimination added to my all-too human frailties?

Instead, how about this? “Oh, Nancy, remember you are a beloved child of God, and you are loved no matter what.”

An Invitation

Two questions today. 1. Have you prepared your funeral/memorial service? If not, why not? 2. What names do you call yourself? I would love to know. (Whoops–that’s three questions.)

Book Report: October Summary

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November 2, 2023

Three Nonfiction

Ten Fiction

Two Authors’ Backlists

Four books under 200 pages

One Book Re-read

One book set in Maine

Uncounted hours of Contented Reading

Categories and Titles

Three Nonfiction

  • Fox and I, An Uncommon Friendship by Catherine Raven. A fox started showing up at Raven’s remote cottage in Montana. Raven, who is a biologist, begins reading aloud The Little Prince to him, and they develop a friendship. Friendship has been rare in Raven’s solitary life, and she contemplates what it means to have an “unboxed animal” as a friend. The writing is lyrical, but also true to her scientific background. (Sometimes more detailed than I needed.)

Fox was easier to understand than people because he couldn’t use words to deceive me. p. 257

When you spend time with your pet, they become more like you. When I spent time with Fox, I became more like him. p. 283

  • Winter Grace, Spirituality and Aging by Kathleen Fischer. I think I first read this book around the time I turned 50. No surprise–this book now holds much more meaning for my 75 year-old self. The chapter on older women as well as the chapter on loss were especially good. I am planning a session on spirituality and aging for an upcoming conversation group I facilitate for the Third Chapter, Spirituality as We Age group at our church, and I will use some of Fischer’s material.
  • You Could Make This Place Beautiful , A Memoir by Maggie Smith. First, it is important to know that this is the OTHER Maggie Smith–not the dowager from Downton Abbey! Smith is a well-known and highly praised poet, especially known for her poem “Good Bones.” The memoir is about the demise of her marriage, as well as her life as a mother and a writer. The format of the book is short entries, each with a headline, such as “A Friend Says Every Book Begins With an Unanswerable Question,” which she poses and repeats for herself, “Then what is mine?” One of her responses is “Where did it go?” Of course, she examines her marriage, but more than that or perhaps because of that she reflects on the nature of forgiveness, of moving forward, and about being whole, instead of a half. I loved this book.

Ten Fiction

  • I wrote about The Love Song of Queen Hennessy and also Maureen, both by Rachel Joyce in my October 12 post. Also, see the October 19 post for a review of Signal Fires by Dani Shapiro and the October 26 post to read about The Golden Hour by Beatriz Williams. I enjoyed all of these books.
  • My favorite novel read in October was William Kent Krueger’s The River We Remember. Perhaps you have read Krueger’s mystery series set in Minnesota featuring Cork O’Connor, but he has also written three stand-alone novels, Ordinary Grace, This Tender Land, and now The River We Remember. Krueger writes with such clarity and also with deep compassion for his main characters, creating the same compassion in me when a character is about to do something that clearly is not a good choice. I want to warn them, and I ache for the choices they make. That happens when a book is as well-written, as this one is. The story is set in southern Minnesota in a small town named Jewel. A man unliked in the community is found dead in the river. Accident? Suicide? Murder? Sheriff Brody does not want it to be murder knowing Noah Bluestone, a Native American will be accused.

Our lives and the lives of those we love merge to create a river whose current carries us forward from our beginning to our end Because we are only one part of the whole, the river each of us remembers is different, and there are many versions of the stories we tell about the past. In all of them there is truth, and in all of them a good deal of innocent remembering. p. 417

  • My least favorite book this month was Days at the Morisaki Bookshop by Satashi Yagisawa. Just ok, and if it had been longer, I probably would not have finished it.

Two Authors’ Backlists

  • I already mentioned the Rachel Joyce books. So satisfying!
  • Books by Linda Olsson. In April I read Astrid and Veronica and so loved it that I wanted to read Olsson’s other books: Sonata for Miriam, The Memory of Love, and A Sister in My House. Of those three my favorite was The Memory of Love, even though there were holes in the story–missing pieces and unanswered questions. Still I was enthralled with Marion, a physician in New Zealand who had a tragic childhood, and also a young boy, Ika, who becomes central to her solitary life. I had a right to my happiness, as well as my life. p. 170

Four Books Under Two Hundred Pages

For some reason several slim books were in the queue this month.

  • Maureen by Rachel Joyce
  • The Memory of Love by Linda Olsson
  • Days at the Morisaki Bookshop by Satoshi Yagasawa
  • Winter Grace, Spirituality and Aging by Kathleen Fischer

One Book Re-Read

Winter Grace by Kathleen Fischer. I think I was far too young when I read this the first time!

One Book Set in Maine

Margreete’s Harbor by Eleanor Morse. I think I fell in love a bit with these characters. Margreete has dementia, and her daughter Liddie and her family decide to move from Michigan to live with Margreete in the family home in Maine. They all live together for years and manage amazingly well. I was surprised there was not more initially about that transition and sometimes I thought there were too many gaps in the plot, but I truly liked these characters–foibles and all. Also, I appreciated the time period, 1955-1968, my growing up years, and the references to the big events of those years, including the assassinations of Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr, and the Vietnam War.

She recalled her mother as a young woman, hanging laundry on the line, burning dinner, running the vacuum to bagpipe music. She was Rubenesque, with arms big enough for everyone, her laugh like an explosion. She blew into a room like wind, hooked rugs with large splashy flowers, turning the wool in her plump hands. That brave, outspoken, mischief-loving, no-nonsense mother had become an ant in high wind, her mind clinging to a straw. p. 18

It’s like watching a picture in a darkroom going backward in a developing tray–every picture is blurry, less contrast, heading towards blank. p 94.

Uncounted Hours of Contented Reading

And I am so grateful.

An Invitation

Did you experience hours of contented reading this month? I would love to know.

My Monday Morning Mood

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October 31, 2023

I feel a bit like the last rose of summer. My petals are dropping, the color is beginning to fade, and one hopes the rose bushes in the garden will survive another winter.

How’s that for being dramatic? I remind myself I am an enneagram 4, The Individualist, and we 4s tend to be expressive, self-absorbed, temperamental and yes, dramatic. Sigh!

I am in a sort of sulking mood —also typical of 4s.

I slept well, but don’t feel rested.

I don’t feel like reading. That is never the case for me, so what is going on? Sunday night instead of reading in the evening I watched an old episode of British Baking Show, one I had seen before, of course, and I even remembered who would be named Star Baker that week.

I don’t feel like writing. Not even this blog post. I recently submitted an essay to an online newsletter that has published my essays two previous times, but this time the response was “thanks, but no thanks.” Actually, the editor kindly made suggestions and offered some questions to consider. When I have licked my wounds, I will sit with what she said, but not today.

The week ahead is dotted with some lovely events, including attendance at a concert and a play. Plus, we are taking our grandson to a football game at St Olaf College, our alma mater. (No ulterior motives, of course.) As always, I treasure the weekly time with the church writing group I facilitate and also the scheduled appointments with spiritual direction clients.

The TO DO list for the week is manageable, but I don’t feel like doing any of the tasks. I did throw a load of laundry in the washer, however, so that’s something.

I am not depressed, but I am also not motivated.

I am not focused, but I don’t feel scattered.

I am not bored, but I am not engaged.

I am not discontented, but also not content.

I have always loved this time of the year not just for the beauty of the falling leaves and the crispness of the days, but also as a reminder that cave time is coming. A time that has always felt more spacious and more reflective than the expected busy activity of spring and summer. This year, however, I seem to be approaching the coming months with some anxious wonder. What losses will there be in the coming months? What unknown changes, uncontrollable changes? How will I be confronted with my own aging process?

I am not scared, but I am not in denial.

I am not hungry, but I am yearning.

I am not lost, but I am wandering.

I am not complacent, but I am accepting, and I am willing to accept what I am experiencing and feeling today.

Today more leaves will fall. In fact, as we drove home from church on Sunday we noticed that the ginkgo trees have shed their leaves. They let go all at once.

In Praying Our Goodbyes, Joyce Rupp reminds me:

It is a season to hold the trees close,
to stand with them in our grieving.
It is time to open my inner being
to the misty truths of my own goodbyes.

Autumn comes. It always does.
Goodbye comes. It always does.
The trees struggle with this truth today
and in my deepest being, so do I.

So what am I going to do about this mood I am in? Not much. I am not going to judge myself, berate myself or try to fake a different mood. Instead, I intend to honor this present mood with respect, knowing eventually it will lift. It will lead me out of this corner into a new place.

After all, a new day and a new mood comes. It always does.

An Invitation

What is your Autumn mood? I would love to know.

PS: We woke up to snow, measurable icy, crunchy snow on the ground this Halloween morning. What’s that going to do to everyone’s mood?

Book Report: The Golden Hour by Beatriz Williams

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October 26, 2023

Thanks to an unexpected allergic reaction to the flu shot I received Friday morning, I didn’t do much of anything for most of the weekend. Instead, I read and dozed, dozed and read. Repeat.

The Golden Hour by Beatriz Willams was my companion on those days of not feeling at the top of my game. Williams is a prolific writer of historical fiction, which is not my favorite genre, but earlier in the year I bought as a Wild Card selection one of her other books, Our Woman in Moscow, and I enjoyed it. A good hot weather read, I noted in my book journal when I read it in July. The Golden Hour, which I bought at Ann Patchett’s bookstore, Parnassus Books, one of my Wild Card selections, was a good “not feeling well” read, although I must admit I became weary of the far too frequent and drawn out sex scenes. The main characters, apparently, didn’t talk to each other very much!

The book is set in two time periods–around the 1900s and then in the early 1940s, and the narrative shifts back and forth between those time periods. Is it my imagination or are more and more books using this technique? I wonder what it would have been like if the book had been written with a more chronological structure. It takes great skill to manage an alternating time line, and Williams does it well.

The more interesting story for me–and the one with more of a historical connection–was set primarily in the Bahamas when the Duke and Duchess of Windsor are in residence. He has been given the post of governor. Leonora Randolph, known as Lulu, is a journalist, and she locates to the Bahamas to write a gossip column about the Windsors. She becomes connected to them, and therein is part of the intrigue. Lulu falls in love with Benedict Thorpe, a botanist, but in that time of war, is, of course, more than that.

Thorpe is the son of Elfriede and Wilfred Thorpe, and their story is set in the 1900s. First married to a German baron, Elfriede suffers from post part depression, after the birth of her son, and is sent to an asylum. It is there she meets and falls in love with Wilfred who is there recovering from pneumonia. You can imagine the complications that follow.

As I write this, it sounds quite melodramatic, but the realities of war and conflict and the changing roles of women are well presented. I anticipated more of a historical connection than there was. It felt more like historical inspiration. As I said, however, this was a good “not feeling well” book, and now I will put it in our Free Library basket–for someone else to enjoy.

An Invitation

Can you recall a book you read when you weren’t feeling well? I would love to know.

Fall Moments

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October 24, 2023

1. Fall Traditions: Apple Orchard and Meandering Roads

Yes, I can buy local apples in the grocery store, but at least once during the fall off to an apple orchard we must go. Along with hundreds of other people, of course, but we were there early and made our purchase of apples, apple cider donuts, applecrisp and hard cider.

Walking towards the apple barn, we watched all the young families–kids in strollers, kids on Dads’ shoulders, kids leaping and skipping ahead of theirs parents, kids holding their grandparents’ hands; kids not wanting to hold hands. Bruce wondered if we were ever that young. Soooo long ago.

After leaving the orchard, we drove north along the St Croix River. Has there ever been such a gorgeous fall? Of course, there probably has, but we are in the moment; moments of glimmering, shimmering, blazing and sparkly color. Where bareness is beginning to take over, I notice the many homes tucked within the woods or beyond fields, and, I admit, I envy the quiet and their views.

2. Fall Transitions Closer to Home

Outside–on our block and in the garden, such glory. Bruce is scurrying, like the squirrels, to prepare the garden for the winter. Last year we had our first snow on October 14, so the clock is ticking.

The Paris Garden, October 14, 2022

Inside, I have added throws to some of the chairs, and spices are simmering on the stove.

3. Fall Treasures

This small hand-painted plate was one of my mother’s fall treasures, and at some point I made it my own. I am sure she bought it at an antique shop some place, and I don’t remember quite how she used it. In an arrangement on the small coffee table in front of the family room couch, maybe? It is perfect for a stick of butter, I think.

This little piece was painted by Lena Thompson, and I wonder who she was. What was her story? China painting was a popular profession and hobby in the United States beginning in the 1870’s, but continued into the early 20th century. This was an acceptable art form for women and for many women a way to make some money, but I imagine it was also a way to add the decorative arts to one’s own home. Did women get together in each other’s homes to paint, similar to quilting bees? I think about the friendships formed, the wisdom shared–along with coffee and cookies, of course.

These days when I decorate for the seasons I think about what I might bring with me if/when it is time to take the next step into a different and smaller living situation. This is one of those sweet pieces I might bring with me. A mug of cider could rest on it or a candle or yes, a stick of butter, and it wouldn’t take up much room in a cupboard, but it carries memories of my mother and her love of collecting and keeping a beautiful home. And it makes me think of women like Lena who eagerly and beautifully lived a creative life.

4. Fall Fun

When I opened the front door to put a letter in the mailbox, I heard giggling. Leah, one of the kids next door, urged

her little sister, “More, Maya, More.” They were burying their brother in a pile of leaves. One toe emerged. One finger lifted out of the golden pile. “More, Maya, More.”

5. Fall Fright

Actually, I smile more than scream.

6. A Fall Thought from Joyce Rupp and My Prayer for You

Autumn is a royal season. To temper the necessary disrobing of the glory of summer, autumn dons a coat of many colors, for beauty softens departure. Autumn holds fragments of the other seasons in transformative arms…Each season’s entrance and departure is part of the gracious turning of the circle of life. from The Circle of Life, The Heart’s Journey Through the Season By Joyce Rupp and Macrina Wiederkehr.

May this fall open you to beauty and lead you gently into the next season of your life.

May these fall days hold you and all that is falling within you.

May fall make room for what is most important and for the ways you can offer yourself.

Amen.

An Invitation

What fall moments will become a fall memory? I would love to know.

Book Report: Savor AND Devour

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October 19, 2023

In my Thursday, October 12, 2023 post, I set myself a goal to slow down when I read. To savor, rather than devour.

Now, after reading Signal Fires by Dani Shapiro, I’ve decided I can savor and devour at the same time.

I loved Shapiro’s memoirs, Hourglass: Time, Memory, Marriage (2017) and Inheritance: A Memoir of Genealogy, Paternity, and Love (2019) in part because she says a lot in a short number of pages. No 500 page tome for her. In fact, Signal Fires is only 219 pages long.

The length of a book is not enough to recommend it, however. No, it is what is written on those pages. How well do we, the readers, get to know the characters? Is the plot engaging? What about the setting and the structure? Now I am sounding like a writing teacher, and guess what, Shapiro teaches and writes about writing, too.

Back to the novel. Family ties. Family secrets. Two families and their lives over a span of time. In a less capable writer, the stories in this book would overflow into a much longer tale, but Shapiro reveals just enough, never wasting a word, and does that as she moves back and forth in time.

Some basics: Ben, a physician, and Mimi have two children, Theo and Sarah. The Shenkmans have one son, Waldo, a genius who is obsessed with the constellations in the sky, much to the irritation of his father who wants Waldo to be a “normal” kid. Two events influence the life of these families. One is a tragic car accident when Theo and Sarah are teens, and the other is the emergency delivery of Waldo by Ben in the Shenkman’s kitchen. I don’t want to say more, but here are two favorite quotes. The first is a reference to moving into a new house.

She doesn’t believe in ghosts, but ghosts are all around them…She has to believe that they’re all here. That they’ve made an indelible mark. That all their joys and sorrows, their triumphs and mistakes and hopes and despair are still as alive as they ever were. That no one ever completely leaves.

p. 37

…Ben Wilf has come to believe that we live in loops rather than one straight line, that the air itself is made not only of molecules but of memory; that these loops form an invisible pattern; that our lives intersect for fractions of seconds that are years, centuries, millennia; that nothing ever vanishes.

p. 126

I admit I devoured this book, but sitting this past weekend in the coziness of our house all decked for fall, I also savored it.

A Word About Shapiro’s Writing Book

I am currently working on an essay about a recent discovery about myself as a writer. Actually, I am struggling with this essay. Perhaps I need to step away and re-read Still Writing, The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life. (2013) or at least what I have underlined.

About meditation and writing:

When I sit down to meditate, I feel much the same way I do when I sit down to write: resistant, fidgety, anxious, eager, cranky, despairing, hopeful, my mind jammed so full of ideas, my heart so full of feelings that it seems impossible to contain them. And yet…if I do just sit there without checking the clock, without answering the ringing phone, without jumping up to make a note of an all-important task, then slowly the random thoughts pinging around my mind begin to settle. If I allow myself, I begin to see more clearly what’s going on. Like a snow globe, that flurry of white floats down.

p. 11

It never gets easier. It shouldn’t get easier. Word after word, sentence after sentence, we build our writing lives. We hope not to repeat ourselves. We hope to evolve as interpreters and witnesses of the world around us. We feel our way through darkness, pause, consider, breathe in, breathe out, begin again. And again, and again.

p. 110

Yup, I need to both savor and devour this book.

One Last Quote

“She reads books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live.” Annie Dillard

An Invitation

Any books you have savored or devoured lately? I would love to know.

The Necessity of Prayer

/ nagneberg48 / 14 Comments

October 17, 2023

Last week was busy, but in ways that enrich and fulfill.

It was a week of sacred encounters: time with a spiritual directee who is blossoming into a different stage in her life, a lively and engaging conversation about community during a 3rd Chapter event at church, a session on re-examining our own stories with the contemplative writing group I facilitate, and a reinforcing time of connection with friends who live at a distance.

It was a week of spaciousness: A full day to write, to prepare sessions I lead, and other times to read.

It was a week of the ordinary: Kitchen time, making applesauce and a big pot of soup for more than one meal. Paying bills and running errands. Returning library books and picking up others waiting for me. Dusting and vacuuming and doing a slight bit of rearranging along the way.

It was a week of paying attention: The golden light of autumn filtered through the falling leaves. The temperatures required a sweater or a shawl and socks. The neighborhood erupted with pumpkins on steps and black cats and dragons and witches on front yards.

It was a week of feeling blessed.

It was also a week of wondering how I dared to move through my days so effortlessly. How dare you, I asked myself, have such an easy life when there is so much strife and fear and injustice and uncertainty in this world?

That’s why it also needed to be a week of praying.

As I often do when world events are overwhelming, I turned to two books of prayers, Illuminata, A Return to Prayer by Marianne Williamson and Life Prayers From Around the World, 365 Prayers, Blessings, and Affirmations to Celebrate the Human Journey, edited by Elizabeth Roberts and Elias Amidon. Both books open automatically to prayers I have read so often, too often.

from Illuminata

Dear God,
There is so much danger in the world today.
There is so much insanity, so much darkness and fear...
Dear God,
Please send a miracle.
Into every country and every home, into every mind and every heart, may the power of Your spirit now trigger the light, activate our holiness remind us of the truth within. 
May a great love now encompass us, a deep peace give us solace.
For Lord we live in fearful times, and we long for a new world....
May the world be reborn.
Help us forgive and leave the past behind us, the future to be directed by You...
Amen.

from Life Prayers, a prayer from The Terra Collective

May our eyes remain open even in the face of tragedy.
May we not become disheartened. ...
May we discover the gift of the fire burning
     in the inner chamber of our being--
     burning green and bright enough
     to transform any poison.
May we offer the power of our sorrow to the service
     of something greater than ourselves.
May our guilt not rise up to form
     yet another defensive wall.
May the suffering purify and not paralyze us.
May we endure; may sorrow bond us and not separate us.
May we realize the greatness of our sorrow
     and not run from its touch or its flame.
May clarity be our ally and wisdom our support....
May we be forgiven for what we have forgotten
     and blessed with the remembrance
     of who we really are.

This week is busy, too. Appointments with directees and one with my own spiritual director. Time with both writing groups–the one I lead and the one in which I am a participant, receiving and offering support. A haircut and also flu and booster shots are on the schedule. And there will be some time to read and to do the ordinary stuff of life.

And time to pray.

An Invitation

What prayers are on your lips? I would love to know.