Favorite Books In April: Thursday's Reflection

One of my mottoes is to "Shop the house." I do that when I change tabletop vignettes or furniture arrangements for a new season or just because I am bored. What do I already have that I can use in a different way? What is hiding in a cupboard that will be fun to display now? How about switching locations of a chair? Maybe that is just what I need for a new and fresh look.

When it comes to reading this past month, I have also been shopping the house. Since I have not been able to browse in bookstores or the library, I have been shopping our bookshelves, and, trust me, there are more than enough books I have not yet read. My own personal TBR--to be read--collection. 

Here's a sample of books--all fiction, for I seem to need to read fiction more these days than nonfiction--I have read in April. 

1.    Beartown by Frederik Bachman who wrote A Man Called Ove. The setting is a town obsessed with hockey, but this is not just about hockey or I would have put it down within the first few pages. Instead it is packed with insights into human motivations and responses to conflicts and expectations. The small town, down on its luck, sees a winning hockey team as its ticket for revival, but when its young star player is accused of a serious wrongdoing, no one is untouched. I thought it was a bit longer than it needed to be, but I am glad I read it.

2.     Lessons from Yellowstone by Diane Smith. I have no idea what led me originally to this slim novel, but I am so glad I finally read it, for it is charming. I have always enjoyed epistolary novels like 84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff or The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Annie Barrows and Mary Ann Shaffer or Dear Committee Members by Julie Schumacher, and this one is no exception. The main characters, including a young female medical student, are scientists and naturalists on a working expedition to Yellowstone National Park in 1898. I thoroughly enjoyed the descriptions of the flora and fauna, but also the characters' personalities and the controversies about the future of the region. 

3.     A Piece of the World by Christina Baker Klein. You may know this author for one of her earlier books, Orphan Train, which I have never read, but now I plan to do so, for I enjoyed her never heavy, but always fresh descriptive writing style. This is a novel about Christina Hathorne, who was the model for Andrew Wyeth's perhaps most famous painting, "Christina's World." He figures in the story, but the book is more about her and how she lived with a significant disability. 

4.      The Spectator Bird by Wallace Stegner. My husband names Stegner's Crossing to Safety as one of his favorite books of all time, a book he has read more than once. I love that book, too, and also really liked Angle of Repose and Big Rock Candy Mountain, which is why The Spectator Bird landed on our shelves, I am sure. The main character in this book is a 70 year old man, a retired literary agent, who is a bit soured on his life, at least this stage of life when he feels the effects of aging and arthritis. At his wife's request, he begins reading aloud a journal written twenty years earlier when they spent several months in Denmark. I don't think I would have appreciated this book when I was younger, but now I better understand some of his struggles and his regrets and his perspectives. Not his best book--and I had to look up the meaning of a number of words, which is not the worst thing,--but I love the way he goes deeply and widely into a subject. 

5.     The Betrayal by Helen Dunmore. This is a chilling look at 1942 Stalinist Soviet Union. The main character, Andrei, is a physician and his wife, Anna, a nursery school teacher. Andrei is forced to treat the child of a high-ranking secret police officer, and no, the implications of that are not good. Dunmore has written many books, and I intend to explore her more. 

I will continue to shop my shelves, but I was just able to pick up from the library a couple books I have requested, and I will read those first. Two memoirs: Joy Enough by Sarah McColl and Bleaker House by Nell Stevens. Plus, while taking a walk the other day I found a real treat in a Little Free Library, a book that has been on my TBR list for a long time, The Likeness by Tana French. And, finally, for our May book group I will read Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders, which is finally in paperback.

Happy Reading!

An Invitation
What have you been reading lately? Any recommendations? I would love to know. 

Smile Time: Tuesday's Reflection

A dinosaur visited our house. His name is Pete the Dinosaur, and he thought the kids on our block might enjoy greeting a dinosaur. 

















Our twelve year old grandson asked for an inflatable dinosaur costume for his birthday a year ago. Who knows why, but isn't now  the right time to parade the neighborhood wearing it or to stand on a street corner and wave at passing cars? Don't we all need a reason to chuckle? 

What has made you laugh recently? Or at least smile?
What have you seen that has brightened your day? 

A corny joke?














A bare bush decorated with brightly 
colored yarn balls?












Or does your spirit lift, as mine does, whenever I walk into our house and see the fluffiest pink hydrangea ever eager to greet me? 

These moments of pleasure make me smile, not just because they are sweet or amusing, but because someone has made the effort to lighten the heavy load we are all carrying right now. 

Pete didn't have to drag his dinosaur costume over to our house, but he knew in his big and silly heart that seeing a dinosaur strutting down the sidewalk would be a funny and memorable sight. Whoever spent hours and hours not only making those yarn balls but also tying them to the bush imagined the smiles their efforts would produce. And the loving friends who sent me the hydrangea knew I would feel their hugs over and over again. 

How good it is to smile.
How good it is to make someone else smile.

On my walk today I plan to stroll by the house where a new joke is posted every couple of days. No matter how corny it might be, I know I will smile. 

An Invitation
What has made you smile recently? How have you made someone else smile? I would love to know. 

A Quiet Moment: Thursday's Reflection

For the first time since last fall, I sat in the garden at the side of our house, a garden we call "Paris." The sun was warm--no sweater was required--and even though all was still plain and brown, I relished my return to this quiet space.

After reading for twenty minutes or so, I closed my eyes and imagined myself opening French doors from a small, but oh so chic Parisian apartment and walking out into a private square of greenery and sunshine. Traffic may be buzzing beyond the hedge, but for the moment there is only this--luxurious quiet and the bare breath of a breeze. 

I took deep cleansing breaths, in and out, and felt my shoulders relax, my scalp release its tightness, and my hands unclench. In my Paris garden there is no hurt, no pain or fear, no loss, no worries.

With my next breath I lifted my heart to all who need hope or support or reassurance. 

Welcome to my Paris garden. 

May you find solace here. 

May you feel restored. 

Here you can be gentle with yourself. Here is nourishment. 

Here your spirit is fed. 

Breathe, just breathe. 


An Invitation
Where is your Paris garden? Your place of retreat? I would love to know.

Finding Motivation: Tuesday's Reflection

"Each day prepares your next," so says Twyla Tharp in her new book, Keep It Moving, Lessons for the Rest of Your life.

Much to my delight I found this book, which was on my TBR list, in a Little Free Library. I chuckled when I noted the handwritten inscription,

                Christmas, 2019

                For Kate, 
               As you move forward, 
               a book about

               moving forward. 
              Much love, Bill and Julie.

Judging from the pristine condition of the book, Kate was having no part of it. Maybe she wasn't ready to move forward. Maybe she didn't see the need to move forward. Maybe Bill and Julie's "help" was not received as helpful. Maybe Kate prefers to be stuck or to remain in the status quo. 

Who knows, but perhaps Kate, like me, is not feeling motivated right now. 

I do not like that feeling. At all.

Here's a question that may help:

                 What's one thing I can do right now 
                 that will make everything easier or 
                 unnecessary later? 


As you know, if you have been reading my posts recently, my family is in a time of vigil and caretaking for my father who is nearing the end of his earthly life. Each morning before I leave my house and head over to Dad's apartment where my husband, brother or brother-in-law has spent the night, I ask myself what can I do right then to make things easier for myself when I come home later that day. What might feel like too big an effort after another day of vigil time? What won't I feel like doing once I get home again? Each morning I tell myself to empty the garbage or the dishwasher or fold the clothes in the dryer or even pay the bills. I decide what to fix for dinner, knowing I won't make the best choice when I am tired. And then I am ready to leave the house.

Sometimes the answer to the question involves more work, but will be so worthwhile later. Drawer by drawer, bit by bit, those of us who are allowed into his independent living facility are dismantling his apartment. The more we can do now, the less we have to do later. I hope that doesn't seem heartless. Dad is aware that we are doing this and loves knowing when someone in the family requests a certain treasure. He is tucked into his bedroom where he now sleeps most of the day, and in the other rooms we are slowly but surely sorting and packing and tossing and cleaning. 

Sometimes the answer to the question is more emotionally charged. When my mother died thirteen years ago, Dad asked me to write her obituary. I, of course, agreed, but wished I had given some thought to doing that task before it was absolutely necessary. Therefore, one day last week I wrote a draft for Dad's obituary, and I know when the time comes to use it, I will be so glad to have that ready.

I think we are each in a kind of vigil time, as we try to live and cope with the pandemic swirling around us. Instead of feeling motivated to do even the simplest of tasks, our energy is zapped as we wait, wonder, and worry, wanting only for IT to be over.  Only then will we be able to move forward, we think.  

Here's the rub, to quote Twyla Tharp again, "Each day prepares your next." How can we move forward tomorrow if we don't move forward today? Even in a simple or small way. Or as Annie Dillard says, "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives." 


An Invitation

What is one thing you can do to move forward, to build for the next moment, the next day? I would love to know. 










             
             
             

                    

Lenten Practice Check-in: Thursday's Reflection

Ash Wednesday was February 26. 

In my journal that day I wondered what my Lenten practice might be. I was reading Marcus Borg's book, Convictions, written when he was 70, and he ponders how Ash Wednesday is a reminder that we are all mortal and marked for death. 

I wondered if I could use the 40 days of Lent to prepare for my own death. I asked myself what I would not want to leave undone and what might be helpful for my survivors. I had a number of ideas.

One was to complete, page by page, a workbook called I'm Dead, Now What? Important Information about My Belongings, Business Affairs, and Wishes. Peter Pauper Press

Another was to dedicate myself to working on my memoir. Writing and revising two more chapters seemed like a reasonable goal for that time. 

A third plan was to thin out my bookshelves in the garret; to decrease the numbers of books in my spirituality and theology library. The more I eliminate now the easier it will be for my loved ones later on. We have many Little Free Libraries in our neighborhood where I could donate my books. 

On Ash Wednesday I had no idea how life would change. The week after I received the ashes on my forehead, my father fell a number of times and soon was confined to bed and is now in his end-of-life days. No longer was I thinking about my own death, but the focus became my Dad, as he approaches his death.

And, of course, no one needs to remind us of the changes we are all experiencing because of the Covid-19 crisis, and the fear and paralysis most of us confront. My Lenten practices seem fitting, but my ability to fulfill them was limited, emotionally and practically.

All was not lost, however, and most days I kneeled in front of one of my bookshelves and book by book decided what to keep and what was ready for a new owner. My goal was to eliminate one book every day. 40 books. 

I am happy to report that I went beyond that goal and my bookshelves are now 90 books lighter. My bookshelves are breathing a bit easier. 

On Easter Sunday I opened each book, in order to erase my name from bookplates or a front page, but all of a sudden I started second guessing myself. Maybe I will read this book again. Or to be honest, maybe I will actually read this book for the first time. Or I loved this book I can really give it up? 

And that's when it became a real Lenten practice. It was time to let go, time to surrender, time to focus on what it is I most need to live a life connected to God as I move closer, day by day, to my own death. 

I still want to continue work on my memoir and also on the BIG BLUE BOOK, and I trust that will be possible eventually, but in the meantime each day as I return home from my Dad's apartment I take detours, cruise down neighborhood blocks looking for Little Free Libraries. This week, as I dash from my car to one of those charming boxes with an armload of books, I have felt like the Easter Bunny hiding eggs. I trust my books will land exactly where they need to be. 

And I trust that I am doing what I can do, need to do right now, and doing that is the heart of spiritual practice.  

An Invitation
Did you have a Lenten Practice? How has that fared these last weeks? What are your current spiritual practices? I would love to know. 

Alleluia: Tuesday's Reflection

In Ohio there is a saying, "Three snowfalls on the daffodils before it is spring." Well, I think the snow we received on Easter Sunday in Minnesota qualifies as all three.

If ever there were a time when we needed to shout, "Christ is Risen. Alleluia," it is NOW. 

Snow and a pandemic! 

First thing Sunday morning our daughter delivered the communion bread our granddaughter Maren made, using our church's recipe, and along with the bread, she left the ingredients for mimosas. I say, with great self-righteousness, we did NOT start imbibing until after our online church service.

Later the whole family, including the dog, brought us Easter dinner. We stood at the front door and our loved ones remained at the bottom of the stairs as we chatted. Briefly, for remember it was SNOWING. Dinner was delicious, but I admit I felt a bit like a first-time Meals on Wheels recipient. 














In preparation for our family ZOOM meeting that evening I asked everyone to think about something they had seen or heard in recent days that was beautiful or funny or unique. I know that is such a GrandNan idea, like Thanksgiving when we all are forced to share what we are are most grateful for. Too bad! 

Everyone had a turn.

Bruce told about Saturday evening when a young man stood on the corner near our house and played his saxophone-- a wonderful free concert. He said he just wanted people to come out of their houses, and that's what happened. How good it was to see so many neighbors. We learned we have a new baby on the block, and our next door neighbor, whose house is too big for her now that she lives alone, has found a condo that will meet her needs. 



I described a woman who was biking not far from my Dad's apartment. On the back of her bicycle was a basket and perched on the bicycle was a parrot! Yes, a parrot, who was enjoying the afternoon cruise. I think that qualifies as unique, don't you? Also, unique, and a bit macabre were the two bald eagles, one with the "Easter Bunny" in its mouth, Mike had seen. 

Maren loved all the teddy bears she saw in windows, a teddy bear scavenger hunt, when she went on a walk, and Peter, who has been biking far and wide, reported on sidewalk chalk art.  Kate was so pleased with the visit from Mike's brother and his family who brought them a jigsaw puzzle -- a portrait of the whole family. "They stood outside the house like Christmas carolers."

Geof mentioned the turkey, all feathers unfurled, he saw and also the beauty of small flowers growing in the cracks of a sidewalk. Cricket, laughed as she told about their two godchildren who were on the verge of WWIII right outside her window, as she was about to start a very important ZOOM conference for her work. 

How fun to get these glimpses into everyone's life--glimpses that are stress-free and more about gifts than losses. One of the things I have been trying to do recently is to note something I want to remember about each day. Something unexpected. A gift. A lift. An Alleluia. 

But this is a difficult time, and I need reminders. 

Sunday after attending our online church service, I printed the day's offering from Praying in Color and after coloring it with my markers, I hung it in the garret window looking out to our backyard. Now every time when I sit at my desk, I don't just see the snow on the garage roof, but I see "Alleluia." In fact, I see "Alleluia," first. 

Christ is risen. Alleluia. 

An Invitation
What do you most want to remember about today? I would love to know. 

Young Wisdom: Thursday's Reflection

Recent Texts Between Grandfather and Grandson, Age 12

Papa:           Checking in. How did
                    school go today?

Peter:           Good.

Papa:            What was good about it?

Peter:            By good, I mean nothing 
                     bad happened. My bar for 
                     good has lowered a lot.


Just as Peter's bar for good has lowered during this time of isolation and social distancing, I realize that my bar for productivity has lowered considerably. And I am telling myself that is ok during these unusual times.

What I can reasonably accomplish given my current energy level as our vigil time for my father continues is a mere shadow of what I used to consider my norm. I suspect, however, that my ability to move through an extensive To Do list every day would be substantially less right now, even without the focus on my father. 

I like to imagine that if my father weren't dying, I would use this shelter in place time to write, write, write. I would make great strides in my memoir and start and finish several essays for submission to a variety of publications. Maybe I would finally gather all my notes for a book of meditations for women in the third chapter of our lives. 

Maybe that would be the case, but I doubt it.

For right now I have lowered the bar:
             Make the bed.
             Shower and dress.
             Do some hometending every day. Yesterday I made chocolate chip cookies and then cleaned the kitchen.
             Respond to the most important email.
             Go on a walk.
             Spend some time in prayer and devotion.
             Read.


Most days I can manage these tasks beyond the time spent with my Dad, but not always. 

These are not normal times. We are in a time of adjustment. We have not lived this way before, and we are getting to know what is possible, what we need, and how we can best function. Some days are easier than others, but wasn't that the case when we were living at top speed?

I have noticed the last couple days that I don't need the Netflix distraction quite as much and that I am able to read again, after discarding many books that in another time most likely would have engaged me. Perhaps I am surrendering to this new rhythm.

Here's what I am discovering: writing a post twice a week provides me with a structure and gives me meaning and purpose beyond responding to our family situation, and setting aside time, NO MATTER WHAT, for prayer and devotion I feel calmer and more awake.  

I continue to create a weekly To Do list, but only include items I can be reasonably sure I can actually complete, but tucked at the bottom of the page is a list called "Bonus Tasks/Ideas," just waiting for me when I am able to stretch a little bit more. I look forward to that time, but until then I am trying to be gentle with myself and hope you are too.

Thanks, Peter, for the gift of your wisdom.

An Invitation
Have you lowered the bar for yourself? What does that mean? I would love to know. 





             

The Voice of God: Tuesday's Reflection

I remember sitting in the balcony of Salem Lutheran Church in Albert Lea, Minnesota. I was about four years old, I think, and I was tucked into the folds of my Grandma Jensen's round body. 

My father was the liturgist that Sunday morning. I didn't know what the word "liturgist" meant then, but I know now that he chanted the psalm and other part of the singing responses to the order of the service. 


I don't know where my mother was--perhaps home with my baby brother. Or maybe she was sitting on the other side of me. Nor do I remember my grandfather being there, but I am sure he was. 

In my mind the church was massive, but that's a four year old's vision. What's important about this memory, however, is not the size or appearance of the sanctuary. What's important is what I heard and what that meant for me. 

I heard the voice of God.

And that voice was my grandmother's voice.

I don't recall what hymn was sung. Let's say it was this:
              Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty!
              Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee;
              Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty,
              God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!

This hymn is meant to be sung "joyfully, with dignity," according to the Service Book and Hymnal, which my parents gave to me on my birthday in 1964. My sixteenth birthday. An interesting present for one's "sweet sixteen" birthday, but back to the story. 

All around me I heard the voices of everyone singing the hymn, but my grandmother seemed to be singing something different. She sang the same words, but the sound she made was lower, deeper, and stood out from everyone else's. I know now she was singing the alto line of the hymn, and everyone else was singing the soprano or melody line of the hymn:
                Holy, holy, holy! all the saints adore thee,
                Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea,
                Cherubim and seraphim falling down before thee,
                Which wert, and art, and evermore shall be.  

I thought my grandmother's voice was the voice of God. 

And the voice of God was a woman's voice. 

Hearing God in the voice of my grandmother was my first spiritual experience, at least that I remember, and I am quite sure that experience was an early permission slip to notice God, to feel God's presence in whatever was around me. Like my grandmother's voice. 
(A side note: I think that experience led to my interest in a feminist theology of God--just browse my library!)

What I've noticed lately is how visible, how tangible, how audible God is. Yes, even in these days of crisis, of confinement, and of fear of the present and the unknown, God seems to be everywhere. 

I looked out my kitchen window one afternoon and saw cut outs of two hearts taped to a window in the house next door to ours. We are the only ones who can see that window. Clearly, that was a sign of love. God's love visible. Of course, I cut out a heart, too, and taped it so the children next door could see it. 







This is just one example of the many ways people are connecting with one another, although at a distance, making sure elderly people on the block are ok and that children continue to grow and thrive. With each connection, each sign of concern and love, one can hear the voice of God; one can see the movement of God. 

This is Holy Week in the Christian tradition and also the beginning of Passover, and my prayer for you, regardless of your faith tradition or background, is that these days may be holy ones for you. We each can be the voice of God. We each can be the movement of God. We each can be the presence of God. 

An Invitation
Where are you hearing and seeing the movement of God? I would love to know. 

Favorite Books in March: Thursday's Reflection

Just before the St Paul Public Libraries announced they were closing, my daughter Kate received a notice that Ann Patchett's The Dutch House was on hold for her after a long wait, but it was too late. How excited she was, therefore, when one day last week she got an email from her neighborhood library saying they would be open for a couple hours that day for patrons to pick up books they had waiting for them on hold. Yahoo! 

Even though I have plenty of books on my shelves to read for the first time or to re-read, I admit I miss my frequent trips to the library, and I know when restrictions are lifted, that will be one of my first joyous outings. 

Because of time spent with my father who is in decline and needs ongoing care,  I am not reading more than usual, and, in fact, for awhile I had a hard time settling into a book when I had the opportunity. I was a bit concerned when I discarded book after book, reading only a few pages. Recently, however, reading has reappeared as my solace and my delight. I usually read around ten books every month, and this month I read twelve. 

Here are my top four favorites for this month.
1.   Swede Hollow by Ola Larsmo. (Fiction) Although it is about Swedish immigration to St Paul, this fascinating historical novel is not for Minnesotans only. I was so struck by the steadiness, the stalwartness, the resilience of these immigrants, and I suspect that is true for those who have come to this country in more recent years. 
2.   Little Bee by Chris Cleeve. (Fiction) This is also an immigration story, but so different. Little Bee is from Nigeria who enters the UK illegally after a tragic incident on a beach in Nigeria involving a couple from England. One of the characters is the couple's young son who thinks he is Batman and wears the costume constantly. I have not read any other books by this author, but will in the future. 
3.   The Longing for Home, Recollections and Reflections by Frederick Buechner. (Nonfiction) An uneven collection, I would say, but the title essay and one called "The Journey to Wholeness" are stellar. I keep thinking about them. Here's one section from the title essay:
               "...what we furnished home with was ourselves, in
               other words. We furnished it with the best that we knew
               and the best that we were, and we furnished it also 
               with everything that we were not wise enough to
               know and the shadow side of who we were as well as
               the best side, because we were not self-aware enough
               to recognize those shadows and somehow both to
               learn from them and to disempower them." p. 15
4.   Fifty Days of Solitude by Doris Grumbach. (Nonfiction) This has been waiting for me on my "to be read" (TBR) shelves for a long time and now clearly was the right time to read it. This book is a recollection of novelist Grumbach's decision to live in her coastal Maine home for 50 days, rarely speaking to anyone. The result is a meditation about what it means to write, to be alone, and to come to terms with mortality. I love this prayer, an evening prayer, she quotes from The Book of Common Prayer:
                 "O Lord, support me all the day long, until the
                 shadows lengthen, and the evening comes, and the
                 busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, 
                 and my work is done. Then in thy mercy grant me 
                 a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace at the last."

Bonus Titles from March
1.   Convictions, How I Learned What Matters To Me by Marcus Borg (Nonfiction)
2.   Writers and Lovers by Lily King (Fiction)
3.   Secrets of a Charmed Life by Susan Meissner (Fiction)
4.   The Women in Black by Madeleine St John (Fiction)
5.   The Hand That First Held Mine by Maggie O'Farrell (Fiction)
6.   Harry's Trees by Jon Cohen (Fiction) Actually read this in February, but had already written my post on favorite February books. 

I hope during these days of social isolation you can find companionship in good books. 

An Invitation
What have you been reading? Are you spending more time reading now?