I certainly hope you plan to do a big chunk of your shopping this holiday season in an independent book store. One of our family traditions is to give everyone a book--often something we want to read ourselves and plan to borrow.
Saturday Bruce and I will go to an art fair near us and then stop in at Common Good Books in St Paul, one of our favorite spots for a book fix. Perhaps next week we will drive to Northfield to shop at Contents, another terrific independent book store. I will try to limit my shopping to gifts for others, but no promises!
If you are looking for suggestions, here are three nonfiction titles I recommend.
1. Let the Whole Thundering World Come Home, A Memoir by Natalie Goldberg. Goldberg is most famous for her books on writing--Writing Down the Bones and others. She has made writing accessible to anyone with the inclination, a notebook and a pen. This book, however, is about her cancer experience, which she said, "...like a wild animal, followed me one hundred paces behind." What I especially appreciated in this book was her honesty, which meant at times she was totally self-absorbed, but also how she grew into living life more fully.
This is one heavenly life. This afternoon. This
Thursday. This sun on the pale dirt and the cottonwood
green leaves. This blue mesa in the distance, this gutsy
temporary life lived as the Buddha taught--with gusto.
2. Almost Everything, Notes on Hope by Anne Lamott. Just the fact that there is a new Anne Lamott book is cause for hopeful rejoicing. I read this book in its entirety as we flew home from Memphis at the end of the civil rights tour. So much about that tour in Alabama and Mississippi was sobering, and how grateful I am that Anne was my homeward bound travel companion. Her advice was just what I needed:
Go do some anonymous things for lonely
people, give a few bucks to every poor person
you see, return phone calls. Get out of yourself
and become a person for others, while
simultaneously practicing radical self-care;
maybe have a bite to eat, check in with the sky
twice, buy some cute socks, take a nap.
Reading this latest book of hers makes me want to pull all her other books off my shelf and curl up in a quiet corner where the only sound is the turning of page after page.
3. Becoming by Michelle Obama. I am doing something rare for me--recommending a book before I have finished reading it. As of this minute I have only read 200 pages, but I love this book. I don't read celebrity memoirs or autobiographies very often, but I was totally sucked by the first sentences.
When I was a kid, my aspirations were simple.
I wanted a dog. I wanted a house that had stairs in
it--two floors for one family. I wanted, for some
reason, a four-door station wagon instead of the
two-door Buick that was my father's pride and
joy.
Of course, we all know what happened to that wish list! This is a real woman writing a real book about a real life, one that happens to include being the First Lady. What intrigues me, however, is her honesty about herself--her need to achieve, her concerns for much of her life that she is "enough," and her view of being Black in our culture today.
When she considered applying to Princeton, her high school counsellor said to her, "I'm not sure that you're Princeton material." Obama writes,
...failure is a feeling long before it's an actual
result. And for me, it felt like that's exactly what
she was planting--a suggestion of failure long
before I'd even tried to succeed. She was telling
me to lower my sights, which was the absolute
reverse of every last thing my parents had ever
told me.
A few pages later, when she writes about being at Princeton, she says,
It takes energy to be the only black person in a
lecture hall or one of a few nonwhite people
trying out for a play or joining an intramural
team. It requires effort, an extra level of
confidence, to speak in those settings and own
your presence in the room.
Last Christmas I was given the wonderful collection of photographs by the former official White House photographer, Pete Souza, and occasionally when I have felt discouraged about the state of our country this past year, I have paged through this book. Now I also have Michelle's book to inform me, to inspire me, and to remind me of the strength of good people doing good things.
So...get thee to a bookstore!
An Invitation
What books are you giving or recommending this year? I would love to know. And stay tuned for my annual favorite books of 2018 lists.
NOTE: If you live in the St Paul area, I am giving a program/workshop on Advent and the spiritual practice of waiting, "My Soul Waits for Thee" on Tuesday, December 4. I am doing two sessions: one in the afternoon (1:30-3:00), which is quite full, but the evening session (7:00-8:30) has more space available. The sessions are at Gloria Dei Lutheran Church and are open to all. Let me know if you are interested.
The other day I was forced to leave my comfortable garret and spend the day writing someplace else.
I used to love writing in coffee shops or bagel places or even a MacDonalds where I had access to all the refills of Diet Coke I might want. I would follow Natalie Goldberg's http://nataliegoldberg.com rules for writing in restaurants to go hungry so you will want to eat and leave more than the ordinary tip, for you are staying longer than your turn. I agreed with Natalie that writing in a cafe' can improve stimulation.
…the cafe atmosphere keeps that sensory part of you
busy and happy, so that the deeper, quieter part of what
creates and concentrates is free to do so. It is something
like occupying a baby with tricks, while slipping the
spoon full of applesauce into her mouth.
Writing Down the Bones, Freeing the Writer
Within, p. 92
However, my desire to write some place other than in my garret has changed. For almost two years our home in Madison was for sale. Two years! I have lost track of how many showings we had--selective memory is a good thing, sometimes--but we had many, many, many. And every time there was a showing, I had to be out of the house. I grabbed a book I was reading, my journal, a magazine perhaps, and whatever writing project I was currently doing and I headed to a Panera or our neighborhood Prairie Cafe or even a Culvers. I always left the house earlier than the scheduled showing time, for it was always uncomfortable if I was still there when the realtor and prospective buyers arrived, and I gave them plenty of time to tour our house and didn't return till well after the planned end time, for often they ran behind schedule. I wanted them to love our house. I wanted them to buy our house.
That was a great deal of out-of-house time for me during those two years. I wish I could say I produced the equivalent amount of pages.
Now we are settled, and there is no need to grab my books and laptop and escape, and I am thrilled to stay home and write. Everything I need is right here, including Diet Coke, and instead of wishing I had remembered to bring x, y, or z with me and who knew I would need x, y, or z anyway, I have it at my fingertips. I am not a recluse, and I do leave the house most days, whether it is to do errands or see my father or pick up one of the grands or meet a friend or even roam with my husband, but my writing time is here.
I was forced into temporary exile the other day, however, while central air conditioning was being installed in our home. Mind you, I am thrilled come warm weather that we will have this luxury. We became used to having it in our previous two homes and know it will add greatly to our comfort. That's the Big Picture. The whining immediate picture was anxiety about completing all the required pieces for the grant I am applying to. I have never done this before, and this feels like a sign of my commitment to this big project. More Big Picture thinking.
I was assured the installation would only take a day and they, the AC crew, would do any necessary moving of our furniture and all the clean-up. The night before I thought carefully about what I would need to complete the day's 6 pages of the required 20-30 pages for the writing sample and told myself the change of scene would be good for me.
The next morning was more of a rush than anticipated since the crew arrived an hour earlier than we had been told, but I managed to shower and get out the door before the work began. I headed to the cafe' where my husband likes to go to do his work, and I settled in at a table by the window, plugging in my laptop, spreading out notebooks and folders. I ordered breakfast, a quiche, even though I wasn't really hungry, but remember what Natalie said, and I started to work. But I was agitated and irritated, and started to worry I wouldn't be able to focus on what I needed to accomplish that day.
That's when a simple spiritual practice rose within me. Breathe. Just breathe. As Thich Nhat Hanh http://plumvillage.org/about/thich-nhat-hanh/ teaches, one breath to let go, one breath to be here, one breath to ask now what?
One of my all-time favorite books of spiritual guidance is The Seven Whispers, Listening to the Voice of Spirit by Christina Baldwin, http://peerspirit.com and I especially love what she says about maintaining peace of mind.
To pause and breathe deeply literally sends more
energy to the parts of our bodies we most need
to access for peace of mind. Inhalation leads to
inspiration….Peace is all around me; my job is to
bring my mind to peace. p. 17
More than once during the day away I needed to repeat breathing for peace of mind. Let go. Be here. Now what?, and of course, I met my page quota, even though I wasn't in my beloved garret. I even enjoyed observing those around me and hearing bits and pieces of conversations, and I was grateful to have a pleasant place to be, away from the noise and activity at home.
Now here's where I need to self-disclose. That peace of mind didn't follow me home. While I was relieved to discover that day two would not be needed to complete the installation, I was distressed to see the garret, including my walk-in closet, completely dismantled. In order to meet my quota the next day there was nothing to do but get to work and put everything back in its place and do a thorough cleaning in that space. I have still not tackled the fine white dust everywhere else in the house, but that is not my priority right now. I surprise myself with that statement, for my normal inclination would be to do whatever I had to in order to have a totally clean house. I think this shows my commitment to the Big Picture.
More self-disclosure: I huffed and puffed my way through the evening and went to bed exhausted, but didn't sleep well. When I woke up the next morning, I needed to have the same talk with myself. Let go. Be here. Now what? I am so glad I did for I was able to move ahead with an open and grateful heart ---and complete 6 more writing sample pages.
An Invitation
Is there some time recently when using Thich Nhat Hanh's reminders to let go, be here, and now what? would have been useful? What do you do to keep the Big Picture in mind when you are feeling anxious? I would love to know.
I love writing, reading, and working in my garret, and I know how lucky I am to have this space. Bookshelves line the walls. I can see the top of the maple tree bending towards garage roofs, and inbetween the homes across the alley from us catch a glimpse of the occasional walker on the next block. When it rains, I hear it on the roof and when it gets cold, I wrap up in a shawl and pretend to be a starving, but brilliant artist.
Lately, I have spent most of my daytime life here. Bruce says he never sees me, and true, I head up the stairs first thing in the morning and come down only for food and drink and the bathroom and when other aspects of my life require it. I need the time here since I am taking a demanding online writing course and a theology class, and I need the quiet solitude and freedom from distraction to move through the material. However, those are not the only reasons I have focused my writing and study life here in the garret.
I thought after being homebound when I broke my ankle the end of March and finally, being able to be out and about that I would overcompensate for the forced time home. I am not a hermit, and I am so happy I can enjoy a more normal and routine life once again, and at first, I did feel sprung from the physical restrictions, but for the most part I am happy to be home. Introverts often are.
Part of the reason is that for almost a year and a half I was at the mercy of potential buyers for our home in Madison. I had a nice office in that home, too. My desk was the over nine feet long harvest table formerly our dining room table in our home at Sweetwater Farm. I could spread out on that expansive space and stack piles of books without interfering with my laptop and legal pads. Plenty of room. My current desk was once the vanity table in my walk in closet--a perfect space for hair and make-up gear, but a little limited in work space. I don't care. I am making do. I am doing that because no one else dictates how long I can be here. The potential of people walking in our home and making judgements about the space and the color choices and the use of rooms is over! A phone call to schedule a showing during my prime creative time is a thing of the past. I no longer have to pack up my laptop and notebooks and whatever else I think I may need and leave the house in the middle of a time when ideas are flowing. I revel in the fact that I can sit here in my flannel pajamas and slippers for as long as I want to on many days. Why would I leave?
Every morning Bruce leaves the house first thing in the morning and heads to his new "office," Grand Central Cafe. He takes his laptop and does his morning work while enjoying his coffee. Sometimes his good friend joins him. Sometimes our daughter is there, too. Occasionally, he asks if I would like to join him or meet him there, but so far I like this arrangement.
Sunday afternoon, however, I decided I needed a change. I had a notebook full of handwritten freewriting for my book project, and I needed to transcribe each piece into a computer file. Creative thinking was not involved nor was the need for quiet and stillness. In addition, I felt a need to be a writer in the world again. To feel myself part of a larger community, a visible community, even though I would not know anyone else sitting at nearby tables. I needed to eavesdrop, unconsciously, of course, on conversations about life and love, joy and sadness, the extraordinary in the ordinary. I needed to see connection --girl meets boy, women friends, families with little ones in strollers, students with bulging backpacks and headphones. I needed a different kind of energy from one I have created in my solitary garret.
What a good idea! I spent the entire afternoon at Grand Central, which seems to be combination study hall for students at Macalester College and an extension of a workplace for others. I observed three students, each absorbed in their homework, only one on a laptop and the other two reading texts, underlining and taking notes the old-fashioned way. After an interval of 45 minutes or so, they would chat for a few minutes about their professors and their classes and worries about upcoming midterms and then they returned to their individual work. An easy, congenial rhythm.
Not only did I finish the task I needed to do, but along the way I gathered a number of ideas for my book and noted ways to develop what I have already written. I felt stimulated. Natalie Goldberg, http://nataliegoldberg.com a huge proponent of writing in restaurants and cafe's, says in her writing classic, Writing Down the Bones, Freeing the Writer Within, "…the cafe atmosphere keeps that sensory part of you busy and happy, so that the deeper, quieter part of you that creates and concentrates is free to do so. It is something like occupying a baby with tricks, while slipping the spoon full of applesauce into her mouth. Mozart used to have his wife read stories to him while he was composing for the same reason." I felt spoon fed with stimulation I didn't know I needed.
Sometimes when I write in a cafe I pretend I am in Paris, especially if I have ordered chocolat au chaud, which is hot chocolate to all of you who are not sitting in a French cafe. Even before we planned our trip to Paris I was intrigued by a book called A Writer's Paris, A Guided Journey for the Creative Soul by creativity coach, Eric Maisel. http://ericmaisel.com I know I could write stunningly if I lived in Paris and so why not imagine myself being there. "Remind yourself that writing in Paris is a brilliant way to make meaning and that you are absolutely on track... If necessary, treat yourself to chocolate." p. 50. See why I love that book!
I probably would have finished the task I set for myself even if I had stayed in my perch at home, but I suspect on that particular day, if I had not responded the the whisper of restlessness, I would have slipped into distractions along the way. A load of laundry, time reading the New York Times Book Review, maybe a few games of solitaire online. What I needed was a slight change--one that wouldn't take a huge effort to make happen. I needed the nudge that often comes with a different place, sounds and views, and it worked. Monday I was back in my garret and happy to be there, but my Sunday experience reminded me how important it is to listen to one's self, to become acquainted with what adds to one's growth and what speaks to one's purpose and essence.
An Invitation
Does my experience speak to you? How do you recognize and respond to some rising restlessness within you? Is there a call for new stimulation, a slight change? I would love to know.
One of the therapeutic prescriptions for the ankle I broke the end of March was to use a stationary bike, and I have been doing that most every morning for almost 6 months. I pedal and pedal and yet I have not gone very far. In fact, I have stayed in the same place. The view from my bike is exactly the same as it was when I first started using it, and yet, I keep pedaling, content to stop where I started. I know, however, even as I pedal in place, my ankle is healing, being restored, and in the process I am growing and changing and, I hope, improving.
Sometimes we can go a long distance without ever changing locations.
When our children were young, we spent many summer and fall weekends at my parents' lake home in northern Wisconsin. I remember our son Geof, when he was four or five, spending hours on their pontoon securely tied to the dock. We would ask him where he was going and he would confidently announce New York or Chicago or even some place further away and more exotic. He knew he was still in the same place, Jensen Hus on Teal Lake, but that wasn't the point. In his imagination, he traveled from there to someplace else and back again and in the process he saw many sights and thought many thoughts and stretched his mind and spirit.
Perhaps that saying, "wherever I go, there I am," which makes us smile in its obvious truth, holds more wisdom than it appears. Natalie Goldberg, http://nataliegoldberg.com the guru of writing practice, says "Awake is another country." When we are awake, when we are mindful, when we are open, we are in another state of being. Even when it seems we aren't going anywhere.
Of course, I am not content to merely pedal for the assigned time or to wait patiently till the alarm on my I-phone rings. Instead, I read while I am exercising. Recently, I read a book of essays by Nora Ephron, I Remember Nothing: And Other Reflections, that made me laugh out loud, delighting me with her observations and insights about life, especially aging. Each day I could hardly wait to join Nora for a morning ride. Now I am reading a book edited by William Zinsser, Going on Faith, Writing as a Spiritual Quest. If I were sitting in my comfortable reading chair, instead of on the bike, I know I would be underlining much of what I am reading. I would be taking notes and reflecting more about what these essays by people like Mary Gordon and Patricia Hampl have to offer. As it is, however, I just let their words float by and over and around me, being open to whatever needs to stick.
The thoughts in these essays are like passing scenery. If I were really riding a bike from here to someplace else, I would see many things. I would pass people without knowing who they are or what they do in life or even where they are going. I would stop at red lights, and I would look both ways at intersections, but I would keep going. I would notice lovely homes and gardens and sites along the way, but I wouldn't get off my bike to examine what I see more closely. I would be satisfied with the impression, the overall picture. Yes, I would note some specifics. If an eagle flew over while biking along the Mississippi River, I would thrill in its majesty. I would observe subtle changes in the seasons. The sumac is beginning to change its wardrobe, for example, and I would smile at people on a bicycle built for two, hoping they are as companionable as they appear to be.
But I would keep going, moving from here to there and back here again.
Sometimes it is necessary to stand still. Sometimes you know it is time to make big leaps. Other times trusting that whatever we are doing is the wisest choice, even when it seems we are not moving and nothing is happening. Sometimes our inner voice alerts us to be the observer and not the main player on the stage. Sometimes we need to just keep pedaling and pedaling, knowing eventually we will get where we need to be.
An Invitation
Can you recall times when you were pedaling for all you were worth and nothing seemed to be happening? What did you learn and experience along the way?
I like the expression "keeping a season," which according to Sarah Sarah Ban Breathnach in her book Romancing the Ordinary, A Year of Simple Splendor, refers to the "traditional ways people in the country restored their bodies and nurtured their souls by honoring in their daily rounds, the rhythm of the natural world." p. 43. One way I do that as fall turns into winter in these November weeks is to get out my shawls.
Sweaters may come and go from my wardrobe, but my shawls
remain. My clothing size may change, but my shawls always fit.
I wear a shawl when I am reading, when I am meditating, when I am napping, when I am watching tv, when I am writing. I wear a shawl over jeans and turtleneck, over pajamas, instead of a robe, and sometimes I even wear one when I get dressed up and go out for an evening. When we flew to Paris, I created a cozy and quiet space for the overnight trip by wrapping myself in a shawl, and when I go on retreat a shawl goes with me.
Shawls I Know and Love
Over the years my collection of shawls has grown, but there are three that have become icons in my life.
One even has a name, the Joaneth Shawl. My dear friend Joan knit it for me in the early years of our friendship. As someone whose hands are meant for clicking on laptop keys or stirring batter in a bowl or holding hands with a grandchild, but NOT for sewing or knitting or painting or other creative hands-on gifts, I am in awe when someone gives me something they have made. This multi-colored, earth, sky, and water-toned shawl, my Joseph's Coat of Many Colors shawl, of softest yarns is layered with love and connection. Over the years this shawl has stretched and expanded, and I can wrap myself in it twice over. In many ways that is what has happened with our friendship, too.
A second shawl is one that the writer Natalie Goldberg sent me many years ago after I helped her organize and publicize a writing workshop she did in Minneapolis. This shawl with a rougher texture in purples and reds with touches of turquoise makes me think of open air markets in the Southwest and draws me closer to the guardian angel an intuitive once told me sits near me when I write. His name is Tony, and he is Native American.
The third shawl was a Christmas gift from my husband one long ago year--a generously sized and rich colored Pashmina. Another woman might think it too luxurious to wear everyday, but not me. I wrap myself in its Burgundy-wine density and feel worthy of it even when wearing flannel pajamas.
The Warmth of Shawls
Along with the physical warmth of wearing a shawl, I feel its emotional and spiritual warmth. By wrapping myself in a shawl, I nurture, protect, and comfort myself. The shawl creates sacred space, especially when I sit at my desk to write or when I close my eyes to meditate.
When I wear a shawl, my personal vestment, I almost feel as if I am wrapping myself in wisdom. I imagine myself as a woman of wisdom, a crone, and I am glad to meet her.
Becoming a Crone
Marion Woodman in Coming Home to Myself, Reflections for Nurturing a Woman's Body and Soul describes a crone as "the wise older woman who has lived long, suffered loss and pain, survived to tell the truth to herself (and others if they are ready to hear), laughed with kindness at herself, learned to let go of expectations, and forgive herself, and others for their shortcomings." (p, 136)
The Crone has seen enough
to be able to separate
irrelevance from essence
She has neither time nor energy
to waste on superficialities.
(p.140)
Jean Shinoda Bolen, M.D. in her delightful and wise book Crones Don't Whine, Concentrated Wisdom for Juicy Women says it is time to reclaim the word "crone," from the Grimm Brothers Fairy Tale images.
To be a crone is about inner development, not outer
appearance. A crone is a woman who has wisdom,
compassion, humor, courage, and vitality. She has a
sense of truly being herself, can express what she
knows and feels, and take action when need be. She
does not avert her eyes or numb her mind from reality.
She can see the flaws and imperfections in herself
and others, but the light in which she sees is not harsh
and judgmental. She has learned to trust herself to know
what she knows. (p. 4)
I was given each of these shawls before I reached the Crone age. In fact, when I received the shawl from Natalie Goldberg, I was still the mother of school-aged children, oh so long ago, but perhaps I was already striving to be a Crone. Perhaps, I was a Wisdom Gatherer, which is what Sue Patton Thoele calls the stage between Mother and Crone.
In this phase, our souls invite us to mature in spirit,
acknowledge and build on our unique gifts and
talents, and glean wisdom from our experiences
through thoughtful contemplation.
The Woman's Book of Soul,
Meditations for Courage, Confidence,
and Spirit, p. 174.
All this may be a lot to ask of a shawl, for I know I have a long way to go before I live up to the attributes of a Crone, but somehow wearing a shawl reminds me to honor the wisdom I have already acquired and to stay open to all that is yet to come.
An Invitation to Comment
Are you a Crone? What does that word mean to you? How are you living your life as a Crone?
Do you have a clothing icon in your life?
I certainly hope you plan to do a big chunk of your shopping this holiday season in an independent book store. One of our family traditions is to give everyone a book--often something we want to read ourselves and plan to borrow. 
Last Christmas I was given the wonderful collection of photographs by the former official White House photographer, Pete Souza, and occasionally when I have felt discouraged about the state of our country this past year, I have paged through this book. Now I also have Michelle's book to inform me, to inspire me, and to remind me of the strength of good people doing good things. 
