This past Tuesday an all-day power outage resulted in the most perfect ambiance to discuss Jane Austen’s books. With candles flickering in every room and tea served in vintage teacups, it was a very Jane Austen-y Book Club gathering. All that was missing was Mr. Darcy.
I know there are a lot of reading challenges out there, but I never like to set a reading goal. For me, reading is an organic process which means I read what I read.
Last year, my book selections were very eclectic: a talking octopus, an opioid crisis, a hockey team, the obligatory WWII novel; I read a couple of fantasy books (not my favorite genre) and two books in Italian; I returned to some of my favorite authors (Barbara Kingsolver, Charles Frazier, Pat Conroy) and reread some books from past years; one book took me a year to finish.
Below is my complete 2023 reading list along with my Top Three Reads (and two Honorable Mentions). The highlighted books are the ones I read for Book Club. I started reading the very last book, Shogun, in December 2022 and finished it just three weeks ago, not because I did not like it, but because it is incredibly detailed and the Japanese names and ancient culture had me stopping to google things all the time. I may be wrong, but Shogun should count as five books.
Anyway, happy reading!
1- Cutting for Stone (by Abram Verghese)
A compelling, beautiful book about twin brothers living in Ethiopia who take different pathways in the medical field. It is a book about doctors and patients, exile and home, jealousy and love, forgiveness and sacrifice, and the power, intimacy, and curious beauty found in the work of healing others.
I will be reading this one again.
2- Demon Copperhead (by Barbara Kingsolver)
I could not put this book down. Set in the mountains of Appalachia, this is the story of boy who struggles to survive despite being trapped by institutional poverty, foster care, child labor, and addiction. The book brings to light the opioid crisis in America, specifically among the poor and uneducated. It was an eye-opening book by one of my favorite authors.
3- Remarkably Bright Creatures (by Shelby Van Pelt)
Honestly, if my good friend had not highly recommended this book, I probably would have passed on it because ... Hello? A talking octopus named Marcellus? Yes, indeed. But it is Marcellus, who lives in an aquarium, who cracks the loneliness of a 70-year-old widow with a painful past who works as a nighttime cleaner. A truly remarkable novel.
4- The Language of Flowers (by Vanessa Diffenbaugh) (Honorable Mention)
Weaving a story between the past and the present, this novel is about a woman who overcomes her troubled past through the language of flowers. It is a beautiful novel.
5- Nightwoods (by Charles Frazier) (Honorable Mention)
Because I have read this book before, I was not sure if it was fair to mention it again. But, I liked this book the first time I read it, and I liked it even more the SECOND time when I listened to it on audible, (which I highly recommend because the narrator, Will Patton, is phenomenal). The novel is about a young woman, Luce, who inherits her murdered sister's troubled twins. It is a sad, violent, beautiful, and redemptive story. It is also a love story.
It is also interesting that two books I have listed are set in the mountains of Appalachia.
2023 Reading List
1- The Four Winds (Kristin Hannah)
2- The Last Anniversary (Lian
Moriarity)
3- Luncheon of the Boating Party
(Susan Vreeland)
4- South of Broad (Pat Conroy)
5- The Language of Flowers (Vanessa
Diffenbaugh)
6- Women in Sunlight (Frances Mayes)
7- The Paris Apartment (Lucy Foley)
8- Remarkably Bright Creatures
(Shelby Van Pelt)
9- The Olive Branch (Jo Thomas)
10- The
Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
11- Flight
Behavior (Barbara Kingsolver)
12- Demon
Copperhead (Barbara Kingsolver)
13- Iona
Iverson’s Rules for Commuting (Clare Pooley)
14- Sense
and Sensibility (Jane Austen)
15- Persuasion
(Jane Austen)
16- A
Court of Thorn and Roses (Sarah J. Maas)
17- A
Court of Mist and Fury (Sarah J. Maas)
18- The
Trackers (Charles Frazier)
19- Thirteen
Moons (Charles Frazier)
20- Nightwoods
(Charles Frazier)
21- Mad
Honey (Jodi Picoult)
22- Mudbound
(Hillary Jordan)
23- All
the Light We Cannot See (Anthony Doerr)
24- After
You (Jojo Moyes)
25- Big
Little Lies (Liane Moriarty)
26- To
Tell You the Truth (Gilly MacMillan)
27- The
King: The Life of Charles III (Christopher Andersen)
28- Beartown
(Frederik Backman)
29- Us
Against You (Frederik Backman)
30- The
Winners (Frederik Backman)
31- 10
Minutes 38 Seconds in this Strange World (Elif Shafak)
32- Local
Woman Missing (Mary Kubica)
33- We
Are All the Same in the Dark (Julia Heaberlin)
34- Playing
Dead (Julia Heaberlin)
35- Black-Eyed
Susans (Julia Heaberlin)
36- Running
Barefoot (Amy Harmon)
37- The Silent Patient (Alex Michaelides)
38- Beach
Music (Pat Conroy)
39- Harry
Potter e la pietra filosofale (#1) (J.K. Rowling)
40- Harry
Potter e la camera dei segreti (#2) (J.K. Rowling)
41- UnSub
(Meg Gardiner)
42- Code
Name Verity (Elizabeth Wein)
43- Cutting
for Stone (Abraham Verghese)
44- Shogun (James Clavell)
Yesterday, we put away Christmas.
We packed away the ribbons and tags; we stored away
packages, boxes, and bags.
We basically undid everything we did a month
and a half ago. All that fuss to prepare and just like that it is over. Next
December we will repeat the process again.
As I watched all the vestiges of Christmas disappear, it dawned
on me how much of life is comprised of repeated actions: decorate for Christmas,
undecorate for Christmas; throw a load in the washer, and two days later
another load goes in; rake the leaves, and do it again after a windy day; say “no”
to a toddler, and repeat that one word for the next 18 years; go to church on
Sunday, go to church EVERY Sunday. Then there are birthday celebrations,
wellness checkups, New Year resolutions, good intentions, and yes, even mistakes.
All done on repeat.
The pessimists of the world may see this as drudgery, that with
the repetitions we are like Sisyphus in Greek mythology, doomed for all
eternity to push a huge boulder to the top of the mountain only to have to
repeat the process when it rolls back down again.
But in putting away Christmas, in repeating a process I will
do again, I recognized it for what it was: the Gift of Again.
The life we live, in big ways and small, reflects and works in
harmony with the seasons in nature, the cycles of the moon, the rising and
setting of the sun, the liturgical seasons of the church, the passage of time.
And between the bookends of birth and death, the Gift of Again allows us to
see, breathe, taste, feel, and experience the same things, but in different ways.
What a precious gift to have the chance to relive and build
upon. A moment to straddle yesterday and tomorrow and to merge the two for a more
meaningful present.
So I packed away the ribbons and tags, the packages, boxes, and bags. Again.
Hallelujah!
On this rainy morning, the third Sunday of Advent, I made a New Year’s Resolution. And it stemmed from a chance encounter in the Christmas aisle in Target.
Last week I took a deep breath and went to Target around
lunchtime. Not the best time during this time of year. As I wandered the
Christmas aisles, several times I crossed paths with a mother with two toddlers
in a shopping cart. The mother looked harried while the toddlers behaved just
how you would imagine toddlers would act at lunchtime: they were loud, whiney, and
periodically threw things out of the shopping cart. The mother picked things up
from the ground, told them to stop, and gave them a fruit snack, all while trying
to shop. The whining and pushing worsened.
At one point I heard her whisper fiercely to her children
that they’d better sit their “asses down” or else.
Listening from one aisle over, I was equal parts horrified
(the cursing) and bemused (I remember those days), but quickly settled more on
horrified. Who uses that language with such young children? I mean, how horrible! The drama from the
shopping cart escalated. I saw an elderly lady roll her eyes, and another
customer grew exasperated as she maneuvered her cart around the chaos.
It was at this moment I realized how the problem was not
with the young mother and her children, but with how Grinch-like the rest of us
were behaving—judging, assuming and, yes, mom-shaming.
I then felt a spiritual prompting. I remembered the $5
Starbucks gift card in my wallet, and this is what I thought I should do: find the
woman, commiserate how we have all had “those days” with our children and that
things do get better. I could tell her how my two older boys once got into a
scuffle at the checkout lane. I could say, “Here, from one mom to another, have
a cup of coffee on me.”
That was what I felt prompted to do, but by nature I am not
an impulsive person. I live in my head. Sometimes too much. By the time I acted
on the spiritual prompting, the woman and her children had disappeared. I
wandered around the store looking for them, but they were gone.
I had missed an opportunity to change the course of someone’s
day.
Several times this week I sat down to write about this episode
but was not sure what I wanted to say. Don’t judge, maybe. Offer some grace,
perhaps.
Then, as I reread my clumsy attempts to put the
episode into words, I recognized the heart of the story: spiritual promptings
are a call to do something more, something bigger than we may be comfortable
doing which, for me, means recognizing when to get out of my head. And out of
my comfort zone. After all, a spiritual prompt is more than a thought. It is a gentle
nudge to spur us into action with the knowledge that God does not call the
trained, he trains the called.
And this is why, on a rainy third Sunday of Advent, I made a
New Year’s resolution.
.jpg)
In many ways, we are completely opposite.
Joe is all about
math, numbers, and facts.
I am all about
literature, art, and imagination.
Joe, who thinks
procrastination is a Cardinal Sin, always does things yesterday.
I think procrastination
is a helpful tool to get things done just in time.
Joe does not drink coffee.
I think not drinking coffee is a Cardinal Sin.
Joe is super
organized.
I am somewhat,
haphazardly organized.
Joe thinks just
enough is plenty.
I always think just enough needs more.
Joe reads two
books a year.
I read two books
a week.
So, yes, we are opposite in many ways, but in all the ways that matter we are not: faith, family,
parenthood. And standing on those foundations, not only do we respect and celebrate each other’s
oppositeness, but embrace it as a way to share our two worlds with one another. To grow individually
and as a couple. So, I go to football games with Joe, he walks through art museums with me; I watch a
documentary on WWII, he sits through a Hallmark Christmas movie; he puts up 500 lights on the
Christmas tree, I add 200 more.
It is said opposites attract, but maybe it is more that opposites complete one another. Like pieces of a
puzzle that make a whole.
And what a
wonderful thing.
Happy Anniversary, Joey!
Teaching in an inner-city high school was my first job out of college, and I was bursting with unbridled enthusiasm as I planned lessons on British literature that would set my students' world on fire. I wanted to be like Robin Williams' movie character in Dead Poets Society where life lessons are found between the pages of a book, nestled in a poem, or acted from a play. Except it did not quite happen that way, and my O Captain! My Captain! moment was more along the lines of students asking, "Why do we even have to read this crap?"
But after that year of being baptized in a monsoon of reality, a year in
which I learned more than I taught, I recognized the fundamental truth about
the vocations of teacher and student. Namely, they are one and the
same.
During a lifetime one may take on any number of roles, but when it is all
said and done there are but two roles of which we all play a part: that of student
and teacher. At any given moment we are either a Student of Life or a Teacher
of Life. One moment a student, the next a teacher. Or a teacher today, and a
student tomorrow. From minute to minute, day to day. Year to year.
It is an awareness of these roles which give depth and meaning to our lives.
Sometimes we bravely say I know and then with generosity step
forward to say let me teach you; sometimes we vulnerably
acknowledge I do not know and with humbleness say teach me.
This is what makes the world function. We learn, then teach. We learn
something new and then go out and teach that one thing. And we must be both. To
be solely a teacher means you never learn anything new; to be forever a
student means that knowledge is simply collected.
Last week I came across a photo of our son, Jonathan, flipping through a
deck of Pokémon cards
and teaching his baby brother, Timothy, the names of all the Pokémon
characters: This is Pikachu who evolves into Raichu. This guy is
Snorlax and he has a big belly. As Jonathan introduced his brother to
the fantastical world of Pokémon, Timothy smiled and wiggled and was thoroughly
entertained.
Then, later that evening (and almost 17 years from the photo mentioned
above), we watched our son Timothy as he showed a novice altar server what to
do during Mass. Once Upon a Time, Timothy's older brothers had walked him
through this role, so now it was his turn to do the same.
And so it goes.
We are born to be students. We are born to be teachers. It is not a choice,
but vocations to which we are all called.
Upon thinking back to my first year of teaching, I remembered a box of
battered paperback copies of Arthur Miller's play, The Crucible.
The box had been stuffed into the corner of the teacher's lounge and destined for the trash can. But I had a feeling that those ragged, tattered
paperbacks would reach my students. Every day I lugged that box to the
classroom so we could read the play aloud, and I watched my students come
alive. There is no other way to describe the transformation. No longer did they
loiter in the hallway until the bell rang for class to begin; instead, they
rushed in excited to see what happens next. For the first time, they interacted
with each other, offered comments, asked questions, and stayed after class to
talk with me. Together, we were students teaching one another in the classroom
of life.
So maybe, perhaps, I had my O Captain! My Captain! moment
after all.
One of my favorite Christmas carols is "People Look East" because it calls forth images of hearth and home and Christmas anticipation. This afternoon, as I unpacked a Fontanini nativity while listening to the carol, I was reminded how the repeated theme of looking ahead, of seeking and preparing, is such an integral part of an Italian presepio, or nativity scene.
A traditional presepio in Italy includes so much more
than the figures of Joseph, Mary, and the infant Jesus. There is often a water
feature, and dramatic lighting mimics the transition from day to night and back
again. There are mountains, valleys, caves. Entire villages are constructed, as
are farm fields and barns. There are shepherds and villagers and children. It
is a busy scene, incredibly elaborate and detailed, so much so that it takes a
few minutes to even find the infant Jesus. He is not front and center, as one
would expect, but hidden.
The fact he is not immediately spotted is precisely the
point.
In the nativity story, everyone is looking: the Wise Men
studied the star to guide them, the shepherds looked for the babe in a manger,
and even Joseph searched for shelter as one Inn after another closed its doors.
And in a presepio, the viewer is invited into the tableau and, like the
shepherds and villagers and children, is meant to look for Jesus, to seek him
out, to look up and down and around the villages and fields and barns until he
is found.
As we journey into Advent, that is the theme we are living: one
of seeking, for a presepio does not depict a legendary event from
ancient Palestine; instead, it is a mirror of the known world today reminding us
to look for Christ in our everyday life. In our homes. At church. Among crowds
and the homeless. Even amidst our busyness.
He is hidden in plain sight, waiting for you to find him.
(The following photos were taken last October in Naples, Italy on Via San Gregorio Armeno, known as the Christmas Alley.
This pedestrian street in Naples' historic center is filled with artisan workshops and hundreds of nativity scenes, each one more elaborate than the next. The nativities are busy, meant to reflect everyday life, and as your eyes wander over the scenes the question arises: Where is baby Jesus?)
