As soon as I got inspired by the 5×5 reading plan that I mentioned in my last post, I collected most of the books from around my two-storey house that were in stacks and not on shelves, and spread them on the dining table. I started to arrange the appropriate ones according to topics, and the two categories of “Women” and “Church History/Saints” were quite overloaded.
As I perused this scene, I recalled that in the last few years, many books I’ve read have been by audio — and few of those on the table were of the sort that are easy for me to attend to, by the “ear gate.” I wondered, “When will I sit and read all these books, most of which are too big to read in bed at night?” Quickly my mood also went into the Overloaded/Overwhelmed category and I climbed the stairs to bed.
Soon I decided the 5×5 plan is not for me. Clearly it wasn’t designed for me, but for young homeschooling mothers who need to read more books and look less at screens, who need to develop the habit of lifelong learning. I picked out several — not 25 — that I want to try extra hard to read in print this year.
Hmm… I almost forgot these I want to read after that first bunch. Altogether I see that they add up to about half of 25:
My two long-time friends Cori and Di came to visit for a couple of days last week, and because I planned for us to eat at the smaller table near the kitchen, I left my book mess as it was. They each brought dozens of titles for show-and-tell, give-or-lend. The warmth of the wood stove drew us to the nearby love seats, where we talked about all the volumes they brought out of their bags, a broad variety of genres and titles that would make the Scholé Sisters proud.
Many of Di’s offerings had Cori in mind, because she and her husband had lost their extensive library when their house burned down, in one of the many northern California fires of recent years. The only books I kept from this trading session were small paperbacks that I can easily read lying in bed, while my mind is turning off just before conking out for the night.
Our gathering was a festival, and a marathon
of talking and thinking, laughing and even weeping.
Now, it’s time for the reading to begin.
Contrary to my recent posting about the dead feeling of winter, I was for several days experiencing living “streams in the desert” that were, I realize now, an onflowing of Theophany grace. It was rain, rain, rain, and when it fell on a real live desert in southern Nevada, I felt the rivers as symbolic and real, all mixed together.
At the end of last week I flew to visit church friends who not long ago settled in that state, a large homeschooling family whom I’d been longing to see. We had planned that on Monday we’d make an outing to Valley of Fire State Park in the Mojave Desert. It was raining, but in such a dry climate I assumed the precipitation would be light, or fleeting. We all donned our rain gear; I wore a light shell over my sweater, and wished later that I had put on my longer raincoat.
The rainfall was fairly constant, though not ever heavy, and I managed to take plenty of pictures without wrecking my phone. My Newly Nevadan hosts had visited this park many times, but never before when the landscape was wet, with the colors popping out dramatically, highlighting the lines and textures of giant rocks sloping every which way, and towering above us.
Everywhere we looked, there was a new vista of pink and red and purple, and even yellow. This scene got my attention because the grass seemed to be reflecting the yellow stripes behind — and look! blue sky:
A couple of the children scrambled up higher than the adults (like the bighorn sheep that we saw in the scene at the top of this page — but they are probably too distant to notice in the picture.) and the toddler was pleased with the chance to toddle through pink sand and over flat stones on the trail. I was shown the field of marble-like pebbles and heard the theory of how they were formed, from erosion of aggregate rock nearby:
Our company was dripping and soggy by the time we got back in the car after our excursion, but everyone was cheerful. We had breathed gallons of refreshment, and feasted our eyes on the loveliest colors and forms of Creation. Showers of blessing had fallen on us and made us glorious.
Though he, that ever kind and true, Kept stoutly step by step with you, Your whole long, gusty lifetime through, Be gone a while before, Be now a moment gone before, Yet, doubt not, soon the seasons shall restore Your friend to you.
He has but turned the corner—still He pushes on with right good will, Through mire and marsh, by heugh and hill, That self-same arduous way— That self-same upland, hopeful way, That you and he through many a doubtful day Attempted still.
He is not dead, this friend—not dead, But in the path we mortals tread Got some few, trifling steps ahead And nearer to the end; So that you too, once past the bend, Shall meet again, as face to face, this friend You fancy dead.
Push gaily on, strong heart! The while You travel forward mile by mile, He loiters with a backward smile Till you can overtake, And strains his eyes to search his wake, Or whistling, as he sees you through the brake, Waits on a stile.
-Robert Louis Stevenson
“Heugh” is a steep crag or cliff with overhanging sides.
The first half of the week was a flurry of activity: First a Santa Lucia Eve procession that I was invited to, with a few families I have been getting to know because of my involvement in a homeschool group. With the eldest girl wearing a wreath studded with candles, we processed through the neighborhood singing “Santa Lucia” in Italian — I admit I was only humming the tune because I haven’t become that involved to have learned the words in Italian or even English. Then back at the house, we added “Stille Nacht” (Silent Night) in the original German. Tea and Santa Lucia buns in their delicious quintessential selves finished out the evening’s simple program. I took the picture three days later so the greenery is a bit dried out.
The next night our women’s book group at church got together. Originally that meeting was to be a soup dinner for 10 at my house, but the time and place got changed because of a funeral; it was a big relief for me, because as soon as December arrived, I couldn’t imagine getting ready for a party at the same time I was getting ready for a trip, which this year is the case: I’m headed to Soldier and Joy’s for Christmas.
At the first part of the funeral, in the evening.
I made split pea soup, and we had a very festive group and evening, eating fish chowder, pumpkin soup and lentil tomato soups as well — plus accompaniments. Of course, cookies and vegan brownies, too! I don’t think I mentioned before what books we have been reading this time. They were Strength in Weakness by Archbishop Irenei Steenberg, and The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I’d been wanting to gather my thoughts on The Secret Garden for about five years, so this was the impetus I needed to buckle down. I’ll share more about my resulting amateur analysis in the new year.
By Julia Morgan
Thursday I attended a tea party of about a dozen ladies and girls, several of whom I was meeting for the first time. Many of them are very accomplished, cultured and educated, and there was lots of fascinating conversation about our personal histories, world events, information about our local towns and the architecture of particular houses that were built by a relation of the woman sitting next to me. She was the only one there who is older than I, and she has been involved in our town’s history from way back, and continuing.
It was while this talk was flowing around me that the name of Julia Morgan, architect, made me pay closer attention; a bit more information about the time frame in which she worked, and I began to wonder if my grandfather was one of the contractors that she worked with in the San Francisco Bay Area; she designed more than 700 houses in California. I will be doing more research on that, but in the meantime I show you these photos of the Berkeley City Women’s Club building, in which my grandmother (on the other side of the family) was very active, and where she took us swimming when we visited her. That building has been called a “little Hearst Castle,” referring to the real (huge) Hearst Castle in San Simeon, California, the estate that Morgan designed with William Randolph Hearst.
Since the tea party I have switched gears and stayed home, slowly working on wrapping presents, packing bags and organizing my thoughts in preparation for my departure. One by one little things that need to be done come to mind and I do them, or write them down. It is not very systematic, and the whole process seems to require frequent attention to everyday tasks like building the fire and tending the frozen fountain. I guess it’s because I’m not systematic that I require banks of time for the creative flow to happen. As I am fond of quoting G.K. Chesterton:
“I am not absentminded. It is the presence of mind that makes me unaware of everything else.”
Even things I’ve been procrastinating on for months must be put off no longer, whether or not they have anything to do with the trip — like making a phone call. My daughter Kate says everyone does the same at the end of the year, finally sending in reports or contacting loved ones, I guess because they don’t want to come back from Christmas break with “old business,” whether it’s work or family related, dutiful or joyful.
Now that I’ve procrastinated enough to get another unnecessary thing done, the writing of this post, I will have to hustle a little bit and fold the clothes I laundered, to figure out what to take with me. Before I know it, these in-between days will have ended and I’ll be boarding an airplane and on my way to a happy reunion with several of my dear family. I hope that on Christmas Eve we will sing “Stille Nacht.”
As soon as I got inspired by the 5×5 reading plan that I mentioned in my last post, I collected most of the books from around my two-storey house that were in stacks and not on shelves, and spread them on the dining table. I started to arrange the appropriate ones according to topics, and the two categories of “Women” and “Church History/Saints” were quite overloaded.
Gladsome Lights 