Winter returns

 Well, winter returned last week with a vengeance. Several  - 6 to 8? - inches of snow fell on Monday, and we had to pull the shovels out again. I don't mind shoveling, although I want to upgrade my shovel. I'm now interested in ergonomic designs and wide blades, preferably with a cutting edge...  

However, on Friday the temperatures creeped up to nearly 50, so today most of the snow has melted. It looks like the flowering bulbs are undeterred by being buried again for a week or so. 

The overcast skies and bleak weather fit my mood. I recently learned about a disappointment that hit harder than expected.  And now I'm again at a crossroads and feeling mournful rather than hopeful. I know the source of my pain is pride, and I suppose I should be grateful for yet another opportunity to grow in humility, especially during Lent. I remind myself that I am grateful for the flexibility to visit with aging parents and a young granddaughter. But I am struggling against a combination of self-doubt and ambition.  I wonder if I could make one more attempt to continue my education in order to advance and improve as a teacher. Indecision in my past may be too late to rectify.  I am probably too old, although if someone asked me for similar advice, I likely would encourage a return to the classroom.  Every so often I look at application materials and am deterred by the request for references who can attest to my writing ability  - most of my professors are long retired, if not expired - and by a fear of rejection - what ability?  I accuse myself of failing to make better decisions and better use of time in the past.   

Sometimes I lose patience with myself. Vanity and pride are difficult to shake, and when they both are wounded, it feels a little ridiculous at my age.  And yet, I want to argue, isn't the desire to have meaningful, fulfilling work a part of human nature? Although my job teaching middle school was exhausting, it provided a deep sense of purpose and direction, something I lack when I have too much time on my hands. And this week I also failed at making soup and bread - twice burning both- and I have failed to finish  a project I started 6 weeks ago, so my domestic skills are unsatisfying, to say the least. 

I feel a bit buried right now, and while I want to be uplifted by the signs of spring emerging through the melting snow, I'm a little resentful of facile spring metaphors and of the sunshine.  Let it snow. 

A look back at last weekend in Boston

 Although Lent is upon us, here is news of our recent family celebration. I had started typing up a little review of our trip to Boston for President's Day weekend, but didn't get it finished before Ash Wednesday... 

The occasion for the trip was an indoor track meet at Boston University. The David Hemery Valentine's Invitational gets some national headliners, but we were there for one race - the 1000m, an indoor special event. The weekend also marked our second son's birthday.  We started talking about a trip to Boston over Christmas break when everyone was home, and as luck, and a mother's joy, would have it - all the kids wanted to come. Our oldest son and daughter-in-law had flight credits almost ready to expire, and our son in college had nothing planned, and then our daughter in California didn't want to miss out on the fun! Fortunately airfare was affordable (3 cheers for February travel!), and we have a wonderfully affordable place to stay at the Mariner's House. It also was the perfect weekend to celebrate love with all my most favorite Valentines. My only complaint is that the weekend was too short!

 

The Common was still covered in snow - lots of people were waiting to ice skate or letting their dogs play. 

Since we have all visited Boston before, seeing historical places was not a priority, although we did walk through Faneuil Hall and Paul Revere's house, which we had not visited in the past. Those tours were both on Sunday - our last day in the city. On our first day, we simply gathered and shared laughs and conversation over coffee and sandwiches and fought over who got to hold the baby. We walked to the bay and by the Aquarium, although decided not to splurge on tickets, since we have been before. Instead we just watched the seals for a bit in the outside tank. Then we walked to see our college daughter at the hotel where the track team was staying, and we had time to stop in and see our nephew who just had brain surgery for Chiari syndrome. While not typically a fatal disease, Chiari syndrome makes normal life difficult. Brain surgery is always scary. 

The big event on Friday was celebrating our son's 28th birthday. We went out to dinner in Little Italy at one of our son's favorite restaurants, La Familia Giorgio. The big feast was followed by a small party at our son and daughter-in-law's apartment with some of their friends. I'm afraid at that point we were so tired, we didn't stay late, but that gave the young people time to enjoy the evening. 

St Leonard's in Little Italy where we attended Mass. 

The next day we rose and dressed early to head down to breakfast. The Mariner's House, which is only available to people connected with a seafaring community. You have to call for reservations. The rooms are simple -no frills here - and the beds aren't really very comfortable, but they are clean, the staff are friendly, and the breakfasts are delicious. Anyone can walk in off the street for breakfast, which includes choices of meats and made to order omelets and pancakes for $5.  They also have decent coffee. The cook is friendly and remembered us from last year.  I love staying there. They have a library and a parlor where you can sit and visit with guests or chase babies, our favorite activity of the morning. And my frugal heart loves the prices. 

Saturday was the track meet. After breakfast sandwiches and more coffee, we all gathered to take the train to the meet at Boston University. This meet is a popular one for elite distance runners. They have an invitational mile, 3000, and 5000, but, although I wanted to watch those, the rest of the family was only interested in their sister's race, the 1000 meters.  We all wore our purple and probably embarrassed her a little bit with our cheering. She ran a great race, placing10th out of around 50 runners with a PR. The winner was a professional runner for New Balance and several others in the top 10 were elites.  Although she wanted to place higher, she was competing against top talent. 

After the race, we had a few hours to visit the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum. We had toured the museum during our previous trip to Boston over a year ago and loved it. It has beautiful art in a beautiful setting, and, as a bonus, it is free for military members, their families, and anyone named Isabella.  As we wandered the halls, I was mostly interested in interacting with Baby and seeing how she observed this castle crowded with tapestries and statues and paintings and furnishings.  Most of these treasures were owned by one person -who must have had incredible political and cultural power and connections. I would like to read more about Gardner - and about the art heist.  Can you believe the Louvre heist also remains unsolved? Where do these famous pieces go? 

The museum is also a great place for people watching, especially since it was Valentine's Day and there were lots of couples dressed to impress. This crowd also made experiencing the art a bit more difficult. Museums are best when they are not crowded, so our visit wasn't over-long.

  

Images of a greedy baby Jesus and a generous Charity

 

Two of the better known pieces - the self-portrait of Rembrandt that did not get stolen and the John Singer Sargeant portrait of Isabella Stewart Gardner

Fish and last chance produce for sale at Haymarket

After the art museum, everyone had a little free time - our daughter who ran joined us for a bit at the museum but then went back to the meet to watch the showcase events. My husband and I went to visit our nephew and brother and sister-in-law at the hospital (only 2 visitors allowed at a time), the baby and her parents went back to the hotel for a nap, and the other kids ended up at the Sam Adams taphouse to sample the seasonal beers. We met them there for hot pretzels and warm cider. This is a touristy place - the local kids prefer Mr. Dooley's, the Irish pub we had tucked into on Friday for some warm sustenance for our cold walk around Boston.  But Sam Adams has plenty of seating - long tavern tables - and games to play while you sit and warm up. 

Since Saturday was Valentine's Day, we planned to eat at the Chinese restaurant in an old theater where we had eaten before. The place is large and affordable and ornately decorated. The food is fine, and the kids were all tickled when Dad ordered the roast duck just like in A Christmas Story.  It did not come with the head still on.  The track team was able to join us and everyone was in good spirits and the baby was popular with the wait staff.  I wish I could post photos of her trying to stab her rice with a chop stick or of her mouth full of pasta or of her dancing at the Irish pub, but no photos of baby on the internet! Now it's not just predators one has to worry about but the AI machines using images. 

We also had most of the day Sunday before our flight, so after Mass we gathered at our son's place for bagel sandwiches and then visited the Paul Revere House and did a little shopping for thank you gifts for the dog sitter and the neighbors. We walked over to Beacon Hill, and although we didn't go by any of the Transcendentalists' homes this time, we did enjoy sitting with sandwiches talking about finer things.  The timing worked so that we could form a cheering line outside the hospital when our nephew was released and wheeled out to the car - that was a nice way to end the visit since not everyone had been able to visit the hospital. 

 

The statue on the left is a memorial to enslaved people outside the Methodist church, and the back of the Paul Revere House. No photos inside - but can you believe Revere raised 16 children there? 11 grew to adulthood. He had two wives - each had 8 children. The first died 5 months after her 8th was born, and he married 5 months later.  The time line is surprising.  Some of his metal work was on display, but I didn't realize he was also a dentist and the coroner. 

Our flight home was uneventful - with our stop in Chicago, our trip was longer than our daughter's who flew direct to San Diego.  But happily, weather was not an issue, and when we returned to South Bend most of the record-breaking snow that had been on the ground since New Year's was melted around.  Temperatures in the 50s and 60s had everyone outdoors for Mardi Gras and it tricked some of my bulbs into bursting forth from the earth. They may get frostbite, as temps retreated back to freezing the last couple of days. I'm excited to see what might bloom this spring! 

Although on Ash Wednesday we were reminded we are dust, some crocuses or snowdrops - I'm not sure yet - reminded us that new life springs forth after every long winter.

Lent begins

 Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, so I've been thinking about ways to enter the spiritual dessert in order to draw closer to Christ, to become more like him, and to prepare to celebrate the resurrection. However, today was a bit of a slow start.  Our daughter has stayed home for school two days with a low but persistent fever, headache, and lethargy. 

I've felt a bit lethargic myself, but not because of the flu. I was lying awake contemplating last night and realized I've been falling prey to acedia, aka sloth, particularly spiritual sloth.  The irony is that I used to pride myself for being busy and productive, although as I look back over the years, I have definitely fallen into slothful ways many times in the past.  In fact, I wonder if for most of my life, I have been busy and productive, but as a way to procrastinate, a way to avoid being attentive to the things that matter.  

My oldest daughter asked me for photos of herself when she was two, so I was looking back in the photo albums and was saddened by the few, poor quality photos that we have.  Of course, those were the years when we actually developed film or sent digital images to CVS to be printed because there were no phones for taking, storing, and reviewing photos. I wished I had more photos of those days.  The memories of them have faded, although the pictures bring them back.  I haven't printed photos in years, even though I treasure looking at prints.  Is this procrastination? Yes, but also a way to recall happy memories. But I also wondered if perhaps I didn't have many photos because I wasn't attentive in the moments...

So for Lent, I'm going to try to fight acedia and re-devote myself to avoiding those things that only offer distraction, especially distractions from doing what is right and good. Number one offense: social media, especially Facebook and Instagram. I'm excusing blogging because it is contemplative.  Those other platforms used to be ways to keep up with family. Now they are just a waste of time watching content that someone else made that serves to anger or to numb. 

The physical fasting is easier because we have done this now for serveral years: no sweets, drinks, meats, or good coffee. (I'm still drinking coffee, but not as much and not the good kind.)

I intend to offer up long showers, in union with my Laudato Si class, as well as being late. This is a recommendation from my husband, and it will be hard. It is related to acedia though, because I am late when I am wasting time - not because I have really important things to do, but because I either don't plan or don't pay attention.  

Same thing with staying up late. Both things inconvenience him. They are selfish. So to bed!  Praying for a fruitful and blessed Lent. 

Reading Revived!

 All of this winter weather has been good for my reading life.  After a lackluster reading year in 2025, I'm off to a quick start in 2026.  In the beginning of the January, I finished Provocations of Virtue, a book on teaching writing and rhetoric with a focus on ethical discourse by a professor at Notre Dame, John Duffy.  He provides some thoughtful approaches to encouraging the careful composition of words and ideas. I appreciated his focus on an ethical approach to writing - not just that students to persuade their readers to make ethical decisions, but that writers make ethical decisions about the way they treat their audience. By envisioning their audience as readers/listeners who deserves respect and whose trust must be earned, writers and speakers write with more precision and consideration. As a teaching text but also a researched text, Duffy's book was practical and interesting, challenging and motivating. I intend to return to it regularly for guidance on moderating difficult discussions, steering students towards reliable sources, and providing suggestions for addressing different points of view.  

After exercising my brain by reading Duffy's book, I gave my brain some junk food by reading the prequels to the Hunger Games trilogy, Ballad of the Songbirds and Snakes and Sunrise on the Reaping.  I have mixed feelings about the Hunger Games books, as do many readers.  I didn't encourage my kids to read them, but some of them did as high schoolers. I see middle schoolers reading them, but unless you have a really mature 8th grader, I wouldn't recommend them for preteens. The themes are dark and the violence is too much, even sometimes for me, but maybe I'm more squeamish than some (I really had to steel myself to remove dead mice - the last two days I've caught mice under the sink in snap traps. After seeing one scurry under the dishwasher the other night, I had to take action. Glue traps weren't working, and I'm afraid of poisoned mice smelling bad. Snap traps may not be humane, but they work. Where there are two, there are probably more - I'll be setting the trap again tonight, to the peril of my fingers! Rodents creeping indoors is a drawback to winter not mentioned in my friend's reel...) A debate could be held about whether Suzanne Collins perhaps could tell her story without descriptions of decapitation and animal attacks.  People make an argument for the value of the books in highlighting injustice and depravity, but even though I tear through these books in a matter of hours, I don't really recommend them. Perhaps they fall into the category of books described by Stephen King in this essay. 

What I would recommend is any book by Wendell Berry. Like many other Berry fans, I love stepping into his world for a few hours. Marce Catlett: The Force of a Story is a slim book. It's not so much about Marce, grandfather of Andy Catlett who lost his hand, (although that episode doesn't figure in this text, something that I thought might be included) as it is about the story of a day he failed to sell his crop for what it was worth and about how the story of that day became a mythic part of the communal memory and a driving force in the family history.  Many critics are opining that this is Berry's last novel. However, in some ways, it is not quite a novel. It is a reflection on the power of story telling. It is an elegy for a lost way of life. It is a call to community and to advocate for the land that shapes communities.  It is a recollection of an education in the land and a love story to it. It is not my favorite of Berry's books; it seems slight, although it does have some evocative descriptions - descriptions that might do more to preserve a way of life than an essay calling for just compensation for agricultural products and for people to stand by the land. I'll try to share some excerpts later. I read somewhere that someone thought this book seems to be Berry's concession he has lost his battle to preserve family farms, even though he himself has managed to continue to stand by the land and stand by words. But I'm not so sure the battle has been lost. More people than ever are reading Berry, and in communities like the one where my parents live, people are still farming, helping each other out, coming together for meals, and preserving a small town way of life.  No doubt the creep of suburban and industrial development keeps coming closer, especially as data centers erupt overnight in rural communities, like the one not too far from us.  (I might be a fan of sending data centers to space, as has been proposed.) But if Berry's work continues to circulate and be discovered by new readers, it may yet call more people to return to the land.

But back to reading: a couple other short synopses: The Chosen by Chaim Potok. I LOVED this book when I first read it back in high school. It seemed so foreign and yet so American; it helped formed my imagination of ethnic communities in New York City. Potok's book is full of faith but also maintains a detached tone. It's the story of two young Jewish boys living in 1940's post-War II Brooklyn who become unlikely friends because they are the sons of very different fathers. One father is a Zionist Talmud scholar, and the other is a Hasidic rabbi who is against establishing a Jewish state. The two boys become friends despite their fathers' differing views and their own friend groups who don't overlap. It is a welcome description of the necessity of friendship, and how deep friendships can overcome difficulties. Despite the connection between the two boys, they go their separate ways at the end of the novel.  Readers can hope their friendship endures (and read the sequel, The Promise, which I have on my list).

The  most recent book I finished was The Dictionary of Lost Words by Pip Williams. This is a different book than Robert MacFarlane's The Lost Words: A Spell Book illustrated by Jackie Morris, which has been in my wish list for a long time. Williams' book was recommended by my sister-in-law. It is another one of those books that are hard to put down, but that for one reason or another won't make my favorites list. This one falls in the genre of "Stories about women in the past who react against their limitations to become unrecognized heroes in their sphere of influence." One of these I just finished at the end of last year - Rachel Kadish's The Weight of Ink about a Jewish girl in 17th c England who becomes an amanuensis for an old rabbi and then starts writing her own letters of philosophic inquiry to characters like Spinoza. I enjoy the historical settings and the development of the possible lives for intelligent women unrecognized by history, although sometimes the plots seem a little forced and there is always some romance shoehorned in. Williams's book is set during the construction of the Oxford English Dictionary. The main character, Esme, grows up in the Scriptorium where her father is one of the editors for the dictionary, which takes decades to complete. We see her grow up amongst words and become an editor herself eventually. Details about the dictionary and the history of the women's suffrage movement and the advent of WWI are fascinating, and the book seems well-researched. Esme begins collecting definitions of women's words for her own dictionary, some too coarse and some too domestic to be included in the OED.  The developments of friendships and love affairs move the book along. Esme becomes pregnant, even though she is not in love with the father, but the book provides a positive depiction of adoption. Even with these difficult topics and the love affair with words in both of these books, they read like popular rather than literary fiction and don't have the heft of Potok's or Berry's books, despite being much longer. 

Now on to the next thing! I've got several different books going now, but need to take a momentary break from "fast fiction" because it keeps me too late!

Winter updates

This morning we woke up to another 6 or 8 inches of snow, a heavy, wet snow that is difficult to shovel but good for snowmen and snowballs.  I wonder what it has done to St. Olaf's, the ice basilica on the campus of Notre Dame? Photos and film clips of the Mass that Fr. Pete, one of Notre Dame's most beloved priests right now, along with Fr. Greg, Holy Cross's religious superior, concelebrated on Monday night, for the Feast of Candlemas, have been a bright spot circulating the internet.

  

slipping in the igloo

My photos don't quite do it justice, so you should watch one of the videos, like this one: St. Olaf's

You might not be able to tell from my photos, but there is an ice altar, stained glass, and even ice crucifix inside. I'm not sure how they sculpted it, but it is beautifully done and quite the masterpiece.  When we walked by yesterday, a jar was overflowing with cash - a hand written note indicated donations would be given to Our Lady of the Road, a ministry to people in need on the south side of the city. My daughter and I volunteered there with other parishioners last week. We were on the clean up shift after the breakfast service, but many people were lingering over coffee and cold hash browns. Although it is not typically an overnight shelter, during this weather, the facility offers couches to sleep on, so we put washed sheets back on the couches and chairs, put away dishes and wiped tables. It wasn't much work, but it was a valuable reminder of the needs in our community.  

The basilica replica was built by a couple of architecture students. There's also an ice igloo - maybe a confessional? - next to it with a bench and sparkle lights, and in front of another dorm is the beginning of another structure- perhaps abandoned when the basilica set the standard for ice structures so high - but the half built walls look like the beginnings of a stage or a fort. 

We finally put our woodburning fireplace to use, and nothing is more pleasant than to sit by the fireplace and read after dinner. I have a friend who posted a video that flashed scenes of winter wrecks, people shoveling, and cars snowed in, followed by bright scenes of California palm trees waving in the sunshine, people walking the beach, and convertibles with the tops down, to point out how great California is. What it doesn't show is people laughing while skiing or sledding or building ice castles or staying cozy by the fire with a warm cup of tea!

This isn't reading by the fire - no photos yet! - but cozy reading in bed

The wonder is that all of these delights - and different kinds of difficulties (traffic jams, fires, storms) - are all a part of the experience of life in America.  If my kids learned anything from moving around, I hope they learned that there are many wonderful places and no perfect ones - except maybe the Yorkshire Dales! (loving this season of All Creatures Great and Small!)   

A flashback: it's the beginning of birthday season around here, and the little guy on the left in this photo just turned 26. Lots of happy memories!