Happy Easter!

Alleluia, Christ is Risen! He is risen, indeed, Alleluia!

I didn't remember saying that call and response prayer regularly until we lived in Virginia. It very well could be that at our previous parishes I just wasn't paying attention to its use, or maybe it wasn't used often, but I love that there is a common language for expressing the joy of the season.  Easter has arrived with warmer days and lots of pink blooms in our neighborhood adding to the sense of all the world celebrating new life now that people are no longer in hiding from the coronavirus.  Our celebration was small, in keeping with the restrictions that are still in place for military, even though my husband is vaccinated, but it was a happy feast day with our oldest son home. We had the traditional basket and egg hunt in the morning, although my daughter worried that I would never get the eggs filled (she lately has doubted that I can do the things I've always done without her knowledge of them - I never finish filling the eggs before midnight! And she has no idea how much fun we have eating jelly beans and drinking cheap champagne while we fill and fill and fill plastic eggs and then hide them badly.) We didn't go to the Vigil this year, because we were scheduled to serve on Easter Sunday, which disappointed the kids because they love the candlelight service. Sometimes we have gone to both, but decided not to take a seat from someone, or to sit in the parish hall at the Vigil since spacing regulations are still keeping the church half full. Our neighbor friends from college came over for an early dinner after brunch, and we all ate too much, but it was good. My friend made a Mediterranean lamb on polenta that was fabulous, especially after giving up meat for Lent.

Easter followed closely on the heels of a quick visit to see my family with our youngest in honor of our oldest son's fiancee's wedding shower. I wasn't quite ready for Easter when I returned, so I had to make some desperate purchases at the local Catholic book store and to rely on Amazon next day delivery for some quick gifts, but everyone seemed happy with their baskets and happy with the day in general.  Everything has been sneaking up on me lately - the shower itself seemed far in the future until the week before. I had purchased the tickets at bargain basement price two months earlier, so the day of departure seemed distant. As did our daughter's seventh birthday, that we celebrated Thursday.  As did the day of the start of my next class, which is now less than two weeks away.  I was able to schedule a vaccine appointment with ease at the pharmacy down the street for next week, when vaccines become available to everyone in California, so that I won't have to get weekly Covid tests since I will be in the classroom. Being eligible for the vaccine also seemed something far off, but here I am. My college kids have been joking about getting their microchips or 5G receptors after they've received their shots, and I am mildly bothered that their schools have practically made the shots mandatory, but here I am with an appointment and anticipation of being done with restrictions eventually, although we finally have enough masks in the house to wash and wear and not argue over "Where's my mask?" 

 I didn't mean for this to be a coronavirus update, but I've got some class work to finish up, so no more time to reflect on my sadness that Lent ended too soon. We now are hurtling toward my husband's retirement date this summer, and although he has no firm offers in place, he has had a number of promising interviews. This is a slow process, I'm realizing, which gives us time to continue debating the merits of where to live - whether we want to let our son who is a junior finish his senior year here, or whether we move in hopes of finding a better place elsewhere. Despite my dreams of better schools - and night and daydreams about new houses - I know that there isn't any place that is perfect. Moving our second oldest before his senior year worked out in his favor - he had a great year once he settled in and realized he didn't have to conform to any peer groups and could finally be himself. That took a few painful months. And we had a sweet baby for him to come home to in the evenings.  That baby is now a sweet seven year old who leaves little love notes for everyone around the house and makes little bouquets of flowers with stems too short to fit a vase, and who loves to be a helper and have everyone together. She cries when her siblings leave. She loves to travel. She loves to go on random errands. She mostly doesn't mind doing her school work. She loves her activities and her friends. Other than an occasional meltdown and regular complaints of loneliness when no one will play with her, she is a most pleasant child who now suddenly is reaching the age when she isn't technically a small child anymore. For Easter she wore the dress that I wore when I was baptized the Easter before I turned eight, when my parents came into the church.  Time collapses.

Easter Sunday

My baptismal dress made by my cousin, who is like an aunt. My first Communion dress and flower girl dress were never found when my parents moved, but this dress still looks fresh.

Peep donuts and St Catherine

The Easter Lily bloomed in time for Easter morning

 

Easter Dinner al fresco

Egg decor on the side of the house plus blooming climbing rose

A view of a water cannon salute on our flight - the plane we were on carried the body of a fallen soldier home to his family. 

 

The daughter's photos of flying

The honor guard welcome

 

Visiting the family and learning a little family history

Looking for spring wildflowers with the grandparents

You can't really see the tiny white blooms of Spring beauties and Dutchmen's breeches

Sunrise

Sunrise

Sisters after the bridal shower

Artwork while on the road

Sunset over forsythia

Playing "wild girls" with the cousins 

Finding the Ent in the forest

Trillium

Bloodroot

The brave cousin

Spring beauties

Hellebores

This years crop of calves

Bathrobe time was one of the best part of Nana and Pop's

Seven is heaven

 

 

March Madness

 Despite the title of this post, I don't really follow basketball, but our son just started playing. His first game was last night. They lost, but he had fun being on the court. It seems March came in like a lamb and is going out like a lion.  The month started quietly enough, but here we are at the end of March with a full calendar.

As a "Journal of the Plague Year," this blog hasn't functioned very well. I am an unreliable reporter. As we have passed the one year anniversary of the initial lockdown, it seems appropriate to stop and reflect, but I don't have time to gather big thoughts about the world, and only a minute to reflect on how our lives have changed, which is as much as a great many people's, and probably in relative terms, about as much as they usually change in a year.  The biggest shift has been having the high schoolers at home doing Zoom school and having more family time, which has been wonderful. The kids have been more pleasant than usual. We haven't moved or had a major life change, as some people have, nor have we lost any family members, thankfully.  My husband is looking for a new job, but not because he lost his.  I had a long list of projects I was going to complete with all of this free time, and none of them has been finished. 

Now the kids are back at school two days a week. Many California public schools remain closed, but our district is small and well-endowed, so teachers were amenable to returning, even though the state teachers' unions still are fighting against returning to their jobs. Many teachers still teach from home, because half of the students are still are Zoom. Sports, however, are going full force, with practice every day and games on Fridays for football and throughout the week for basketball. Cross Country season lasted 5 weeks and is already over, but track has begun. Church is back inside. Religious education has started up again in small groups.  We have some social events on the calendar. My husband is vaccinated. We are traveling at the end of the month. Life is almost back to normal.

I know in other states life is almost completely back to pre-pandemic normal, but it is hard to shed the perception that danger lurks in every breath and on every surface. Masks and hand sanitizer will likely remain in use here for a while longer. I have a friend who just caught Covid a couple weeks ago, and one who got it in between her two shots. The first friend just lost her sense of smell; the second was pretty sick. Neither knows anyone they came in contact with who had been sick. And both are fully recovered.

Aside from the return to school and activities, the big issue commanding attention around here is my husband's job search.  He has had some interviews, and jobs are available, but not in the number that we had hoped. My top choice for him is a job for a university that has a hiring freeze. This lack of openings is one of the most challenging parts of the pandemic for us personally. He will find a job, but it may not be the job that I envisioned.  We are going to have some hard decisions to make about what to do next. I keep hoping that just the right thing will miraculously show up, but that hasn't happened yet, despite our pleas to St. Joseph.  We have been working on some discernment tools to help navigate this decision, and I know everything will work out, but I am having to let go of some romantic ideals.  The reality is our family life has shifted quite a bit since those romances first formed in my imagination, so those visions are ghosts, anyway.   

I return to the classroom next month for the second quad term, so I have some to do items on my job, too. I prefer the classroom for teaching, but will miss the ease of teaching from home. So now back to work. Below are some pictures from the last month. Spring is in the air, and I've been welcoming the return of our pink flowers around the house.  Lent is nearing its conclusion, all too soon; I still have more inner conversions to work on! But the kids are beginning to plan our Easter feast.  The difference between this Lent and last Lent is startling in retrospect. What will next year bring? 

A full calendar for this one: Swimming, ballet, religious ed, library visits and playdates

Hiking locally

A rock scramble to the top

The little free libraries in town celebrated the National Day of Unplugging with a scavenger hunt.

We visited 6 of the 12 or so in our town to find prizes - some of which we left for the next hunter, since we don't need more bookmarks and rubber band bracelets.

This one lives in a particularly colorful garden.

Seabee ball at home. Little did I know that when I skipped the ball two years ago to go on retreat, I wouldn't get to go again. Maybe someday we'll go as retirees.

Signs of spring

The climbing rose smells heavenly.

But its delicate blossoms don't do well as cut flowers.

I have kalanchoe in 5 colors around the house, but this is my favorite.

Runners!

Spoiled mongrel.

Hike 2. Three Sisters Falls.

This was great time of year to do this hike - it's often dry.

Hellebore on the path.

Lupine starting to bloom

A misty day kept crowds down and made greenery look magical.

To the desert

We just spent a few of our forty days of Lent in the real desert. Last weekend we took a trip to Tucson, Arizona, to see our oldest son.  The drive is about six hours, but other than a little traffic slowing us down leaving San Diego, the roads were wide open.  We've been planning this trip for weeks, but kept pushing the dates back because of this and that, until finally we decided to make it happen, although the visit was a shorter than we would have liked. But we did have time to share a few meals, get out on a hike in the hills around the city, and spend time with our adult son and his fiancée.  His apartment was tidy, if a little bare - my husband hung some pictures for him. And although the whole fam wasn't together, it's always comforting to have more of our group together than usual. 

The dog was a great traveler. I was a little nervous about how the change of scenery would affect him, but he didn't seem phased.  He's just happy to be with his people. And he didn't jump around in the car like this photo seems to suggest - he curled up in the back seat with the girls and slept the whole trip. This was just after a break at Dateland to get gas and snacks - our favorite oasis on the I-10 roadtrip.

Windmill farms on the way home.

Since our son's apartment is small, we stayed at Davis Montham Airforce base in their temporary lodgings. We had a little two bedroom house outfitted with a dog crate and dishes, and, to the delight of our youngest, it had a covered wagon at the playground.

AZ's state tree - the palo verde.

An ancient face ready to speak the wisdom of the Saguaro

At a certain elevation, we entered a new ecosystem, moving from desert to grassland with scruffy shrubbery. Another trail nearby with higher elevation shifts to a pine forest according to our future daughter-in-law, but we didn't have the time or willing participants for a longer hike. 

Resting near the site of a "waterfall" or tiny trickle. 

The sky really is blue here. The initial ascent was fairly steep.

No daffodils, but spring poppies were in bloom.

 

Beyond midwinter

The big storms in Texas last month occurred days after my husband submitted his resume for a job in Austin.  My good friend, who is hoping we will stay here, used the beautiful blue sunny skies of Southern California as proof we should stay here. And I won't deny that I don't love being able to walk out the door nearly every day to soak up some sun. Maybe it is a little chillier one day than the next this time of year. At night we pull on sweatshirts and comfy slippers. But the weather does little to interrupt our plans.

Except yesterday.  I was watering the garden boxes this morning, when my daughter peeked outside to tell me it was supposed to rain. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, so I kept watering, but by 10 am, the sky was ominously gray, and by 11, we had a downpour. And it continued to rain all day. I had two appointments and was late both times because traffic was slower than I anticipated, once because of a fender bender already on the side of the road. 

Driving in the rain here is dangerous.  Carrying groceries in during the rain is a hassle. But it is thrilling.  My middle daughter walked around all day in a robe. We ate popcorn and watched a movie after dinner, even though it was midweek. The youngest went to another home schooling friend's house - we usually play out in the yard a couple days a week as a bribe for them to get their school work done, but they, too, curled up on the couch with blankets and a movie and hot chocolate. Practices were cancelled. The dog doesn't want his long afternoon walk.  We milked the cold and blustery day for all the hygge we could muster from it. 

I mentioned the Onbeing transcripts in my last post; the podcast in particular that I was thinking about was one on "wintering" that a friend had forwarded after we talked about anticipating Lent. The interview is with Katherine May, an Englishwoman who wrote a book by the title Wintering about the importance of seasons of "rest and retreat," in which we figuratively or literally hibernate and soak up ideas. I think of Leo Lionni's Frederick who soaks up the sun all summer and then recites poetry to his mousy companions all winter long, bringing them a different kind of nourishment.  I think of my own desire to reorient during Lent, a pause from the usual, even if it's done badly. I have often expressed a longing for the change of seasons that we miss when we live in these sunny, temperate or tropical climes where there is no pause to the sunshine except the occasional shower. Not even thunderstorms.  Santa surfs or wears Hawaiian shirts and rides a carabao. 

There are no intense seasonal markers for spring, for the Resurrection, either, which is perhaps one of the best parts of winter - the time of rebirth that follows.  Of course, after our rainy day, we actually appreciated the sunshine. I saw a couple sitting in the park across the street just soaking up warmth. (Maybe they were afraid to go to the beach after the drama of a particularly violent domestic abuse incident there a few days ago.) 

If Katherine May were Catholic or of another liturgical faith, perhaps she would have written a book about Lent. But using the poetic term "wintering" shifts our perspective and makes our imagination work a little harder.  What does she mean? What is this season really about? She describes it as a period of germination, a time of "reflection and recuperation, for slow replenishment." It's a time of transformation, which is really what Lent is about, a giving up of distractions, stepping away from busyness, turning inward, observing, listening instead of talking, so that we might experience Easter as a true renewal. 

May takes a more expansive than religious view of this practice, often forced upon us, as it has been during the pandemic.  Her lovely voice reveals to her readers the benefits of a winter season for self-improvement, but why do we keep trying to improve ourselves? That peace we are yearning for, that restored communion with ourselves and with our neighbors, is a yearning that feeds the religious impulse. And it finds sustenance in the practice of reliving Easter.  But too often our ways of describing faith are cluttered with overused tropes and metaphors. Even now I can't find the words.

So I'll leave off here. My brief time for reflection is over. The sun is out again; our day of resting on the couch with blankets a comfort, but one I realize is a luxury when compared to the real cold experienced by our family and friends in Texas who lost their power for days. My sister in law talked about not being able to get out of bed because it was so cold. While we play at winter, many people suffer it. Does it help or frustrate to say that spring will come? 

Reorienting

Dear Lenten Good Intentions: I miss you. Please return.  

I had this idea that I would fast from media after 10:30 at night. But I can't seem to get my work finished before midnight. The biggest problem is being distracted by articles and videos that I get directed to by a variety of newsletters in my email.  A few of these are important - information about upcoming changes at the kids' school (the high schoolers are finally going back two days a week despite the best efforts of the teachers' unions to keep them home longer), information about upcoming changes at the college where I teach (students are back on campus and some classes are starting in person, while others remain hybrid and some are being moved outside), information about the college where the older boys are going (I let them track that for the most part), and information about bills due, etc. Others are not so important or not important at all. They are just distractions. 

Which is what I really need to fast from. 

Not that what I'm reading is upsetting. The opposite: It is interesting, fascinating, thoughtful.  I did turn off Facebook for Lent. These articles are usually tangentially related to what I'm teaching or what I'm interested in - articles about books and art and nature and child rearing. Sometimes I end up shopping for books mentioned or looking at destinations described. I spent hours looking at content on this website: Art and Theology, thanks to a tip from my sister. My email is full of newsletters from good organizations offering quality content and interesting webinars and online lectures and thoughtful articles. I spent way too much time reading transcripts from OnBeing the other night, for example. The pandemic has created an avalanche of online access to events and lectures that used to be inaccessible. Accessibility is great! Except when it is overwhelming. 

I'm actually a tired of reading other people's words. I'm tired of thinking "Maybe I should turn in to that lecture." (even if I usually don't). There are lot of good things out there, but they take time and energy away from other good things. 

If sin is disordered love, attachments that supersede the loves that we should be nurturing - like love of God and neighbor, most importantly husband and children, - then acting like I love all of this art and knowledge out there is a disordered attachment. It's sinful. This may seem like loading myself up with guilt and shame or watering down the meaning of sin, but really it's just acknowledging that I need to turn away, turn off the computer, shut the book or the magazine, and move on. On the days when I do orient myself towards other activities - spending time with the kids or friends, gardening, doing a project, even just cleaning - I usually feel more rested at the end of the day even if I've been busier.  Time is a gift, and I have squandered a great deal of it.  So now I'm turning this off and going to try again to reorient love in the right direction.

 The day is slipping away quietly; a moment for quiet reflection has eluded me again.  I have been looking forward to Lent after an indulgent Christmas season, at least in terms of food and wine and other home comforts. But now I see it might slip away if I don't become more intentional about, well, being intentional. 

I don't really care for that word. I have been deleting emails about how to practice Lent intentionally, skipping over Instagram photos of how to do Lent in a pandemic, scrolling past encouraging messages about taking it easy on myself this year. What have I been doing for the last few weeks, months, really, but taking it easy? I feel guilty saying it because there are a lot of people suffering. There are people without jobs, without good health, without family or friends to support them, without homes, without food and without heat during these days of frigid winter weather.  Meanwhile, we struggle with Zoom, and failing Spanish, and loneliness, and too many dirty dishes from making too many tasty treats. But our calendar has been relatively clear and our home is full of family (although the 6 year old has been mourning her brothers who were home for Christmas break and now gone), and our back patio has proved a great place to host the neighbors. There are some things I like about Zoom school and outdoor church and no sports competitions (until now).  But I don't want to overlook or belittle the cares and worries of other people, or of the kids, or my own anxieties about what's next for us, even though I know it will all work out, I am confident, eventually.

Instead, for Lent, when I fast from sweets, I want to remember to say something sweet to the husband and kids, since I tend to be stingy with praise. Even though I am fasting from wine and beer, I want to keep talking and socializing with my family and the neighbors. Although I'm trying to read and pray more, I want to be a better listener.  And furthermore, I want to get back in the habit of visible acts of charity - something to engage the kids - instead of donating anonymously online with an easy click (although that, too). 

That's my own little personal look at "How to have the best Lent ever." I have a whole long list of things we could do to improve ourselves. but I'll leave those for New Year's or the next milestone birthday. 

Instead, here is a little Louis Untermeyer poem I stumbled across at poetryfoundation.org.  Also I really enjoyed a diversion into art, music, and poetry of the liturgical season at this website, artandtheology.net. (Her Lenten playlist features my sister's group Sister Sinjin).  The Stations of the Cross in Art at the Smithsonian American Art Museum is especially moving. Could a similar reflection be done at any good art museum? 

Ash Wednesday

BY LOUIS UNTERMEYER

(Vienna) I

Shut out the light or let it filter through

These frowning aisles as penitentially

As though it walked in sackcloth. Let it be

Laid at the feet of all that ever grew

Twisted and false, like this rococo shrine

Where cupids smirk from candy clouds and where

The Lord, with polished nails and perfumed hair,

Performs a parody of the divine.

The candles hiss; the organ-pedals storm;

Writhing and dark, the columns leave the earth

To find a lonelier and darker height.

The church grows dingy while the human swarm

Struggles against the impenitent body’s mirth.

Ashes to ashes. . . . Go. . . . Shut out the light.

 (Hinterbrühl) II

And so the light runs laughing from the town,

Pulling the sun with him along the roads

That shed their muddy rivers as he goads

Each blade of grass the ice had flattened down.

At every empty bush he stops to fling

Handfuls of birds with green and yellow throats;

While even the hens, uncertain of their notes,

Stir rusty vowels in attempts to sing.

He daubs the chestnut-tips with sudden reds

And throws an olive blush on naked hills

That hoped, somehow, to keep themselves in white.

Who calls for sackcloth now? He leaps and spreads

A carnival of color, gladly spills

His blood: the resurrection—and the light.

Louis Untermeyer, “Ash Wednesday” from Burning Bush (New York: Harcourt, 1928). Permission is granted by arrangement with the Estate of Louis Untermeyer, Norma Anchin Untermeyer c/o Professional Publishing Services. The reprint is granted with the expressed permission by Laurence S. Untermeyer.

Source: Burning Bush (1928)

What I read in 2020

Another much belated post - the yearly summary of the prior year's reading. Why bother, I am asking myself? Because I like to see something accomplished? Sometimes I wonder if I read because I like to complete something when everything else seems unfinished. 

At any rate, in 2020, I recorded reading 70 books, a few more than last year's 62. I counted quite a few children's chapter books - we've been more dedicated to our nightly reading of chapter books instead of picture books, so that boosted my numbers.   This fall, my reading definitely slowed down as I was treading water while teaching and managing life. Thank goodness the teens took over most of the dinner prep this fall. And since they have decided they like their food better than my cooking, I pretty much have stepped back from cooking dinner more than once or twice every two weeks or so. 

The lack of car trips may have reduced the reading I did this year, also. But I participated in a book club in which we read Book Riot's Read Harder Book List that expanded the kind of books I usually read. Everyone reads their own selections, and then we share recommendations. It's a very esoteric list - and the categories tend to focus on identity of the author or main character, which makes certain categories harder to fulfill, but I ended up reading some enjoyable selections for that list that I wouldn't normally pick up. 

And thank goodness for the Little Free Libraries! Our library has been opened with reduced hours for some time, and they were doing online checkout with curbside pick up for weeks before they opened again, but we haven't spent much time there because the youngest now actually does some school work and in the afternoons we often head to the park or swimming and ballet lessons or walk the dog. But I like to browse shelves, not the online card catalog, so I shifted to picking more from the book boxes, which have proliferated and remained full during this pandemic. Every time I walk by, I have to pick in to see what is new - and I can pass three or four Little Libraries every walk.  Thus I have a teetering stack of books waiting to be read - and need to get serious about putting some back in the box that I may never get around to reading.

But now in the interest of keeping track, this year I read:

Children's Books: 17 chapter books, some graphic novels, not including picture books

Favorite: Tough choice here. I was excited to read The Penderwicks at Last, which was thoroughly enjoyable. I think I liked the series better than my girls. And it was fun to read about wedding plans as our son's wedding is growing near, although planning anything has been difficult. I also really liked A Long Walk to Water by Linda Sue Parks, about a young boy fleeing his war torn village in Sudan. It's based on a true story. Both of these books I read to myself - I didn't read them aloud to the 6 year old, but they are thoughtful and well written stories for adults as well as young people.  

Poetry: 3 collections

Favorite: Probably the Richard Wilber collection, although I did enjoy both Walker's and Snyder's collections. I also read a fair bit of poetry online while planning for class - I assign Camille Dungy, Gary Snyder, Wendell Berry, Mary Oliver, W. S. Merwin, Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, William Blake, William Wordsworth, Coleridge, and PB Shelley, some haiku, and some selections from The Tempest and Midsummer Night's Dream. I mix up the contemporary poets sometimes, but the Transcendentals and Romantic poets and Shakespeare are always in the reading packet, although this term I picked some different poems. 

Lit Journals: 3

Favorite: Again, too few to pick a favorite: Image, Sewanee Review, and I included the Best of Science and Nature Writing in this catalog. I subscribed to Orion this year again and signed up for a free issue of The Sun, but they don't exactly fit this category. The writing is usually excellent in Orion, but I won't renew this year - the apocalyptic essays sometimes go too far. I did sign up for Plough, though, after assigning several essays from their website this term. And I have enjoyed looking through Emergence online. It is a relatively new publication with an appealing layout. 

Fiction: 21 

Favorite: This is a tough one. I think I'd have to pick The Mothers by Brit Bennet or Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jessamyn Ward, or Zora Neale Hurston's The Eyes Were Watching God. All black women writers, all very lyrical. Bennet's novel does read like a first novel, but her characters came alive, and her plot was engrossing.  The sad thing is I borrowed this book, a signed copy, from a friend and I CAN"T FIND IT. I put it somewhere safe while cleaning up before Christmas, and now I'm afraid I turned it in at the library or a book box accidentally. It is NOWHERE. 

Nonfiction: 16,  not including spiritual books - in which case it is 27, more than fiction... 

Favorite: I read a bit of Pico Iyer after he spoke at the Writers' Symposium by the Sea and I picked up several Robert Macfarlane books in interest of my nature writing class - then I didn't assign any of his essays. They just don't quite fit in my list, but I may revise that next term. I love his evocative style, but he is not a fast read. That said, my very favorite was hands' down, Brian Doyle's One Long River of Song.  I also thoroughly enjoyed the letters of Wendell Berry and Gary Snyder collected in Distant Neighbors. The book made me wish for a similarly minded penpal for myself. 

Classics: 4? Their Eyes Were Watching God + children's books. A sad showing in this category. I need to remedy this next year. 

Favorite: Since I already mentioned TEWWG, I'll nominate Charlotte's Web. Never get tired of reading it. But I did also love rereading A Secret Garden.

Rereads: 4 - the same four in the classics category - hence, classics. Charlotte's Web, A Secret Garden, Their Eyes Were Watching God, and The Magician's Nephew 

Spiritual reading: 15.  

Favorite: Perhaps I could include Belden Lane's Backpacking with the Saints, which I enjoyed, but had pretty high expectations for, which weren't quite met. My favorite book club pick was probably The Bells of Nagasaki By Takashi Nagai.  I had read his biography, The Song of Nagasaki, but his autobiography was extremely moving. Saints and Villains, the novel about Dietrich Bonhoeffer by Denise Giardino, was another book club pick I really enjoyed. I was a bit disappointed in a couple of our book club choices, notably Christine Watkins' The Warning, which is a warning about a coming apocalypse based on visions of several people who say that everyone will receive their own vision of their lives and judgement in order to have a chance to repent. It's the kind of book that keeps you up at night out of fear, rather than because it is so good. I talked to our priest about it, and while he didn't come out right and say it was heretical, he did suggest that anything that relies on fear and predictions about the future should be set aside. 

I should perhaps go in and put links to these titles, but in the interest of time - already it is two weeks after I started writing this! - I will hit publish. I am off to a slow start for 2021.  After gorging on Liane Moriarity books with the young adults over Christmas break, and the having to dive in to class planning and Canvas course creation, - oh, and watching All Creatures Great and Small! LOVE it -  I haven't had much time or energy to read into the wee hours.  But one book that will make my list of favorites for next year is Dorothy Sayers's Busman's Holiday. Lord Peter and Harriet take off on a honeymoon to the small English village where Harriet was born and immediately get dragged into a murder mystery. Those dangerous small villages! Those dreamy small villages! A sad reminder that a trip to the English countryside was supposed to be in our future this spring because our third son was supposed to be studying in London this summer.  Darn Covid!  

That son just turned 21 but had been celebrating by drinking our wine since our trip to see grandma who told him he could round up... 

I'll end with some goals for next year, although who knows if I'll look back.  I'm planning to read a big fat classic for my Book Riot book club's category of a book you've been putting off - maybe Bleak House.  We also pick my Catholic book club picks at the beginning of the year this time, so we'll be reading more spiritual classics, and fewer end times books. Right now we're reading a book on St. Joseph for the meeting next week - need to finish! I'm rereading Louise Perrotta's book I already owned and reading a novel God's Courageous Carpenter, that my mother in law gifted me. I just ordered The Squire and Sally Thomas's Motherland, now that it is in paperback. And I've got that stack of books to read from those book boxes...