October 8, 2025
Gleanings
- My mom is not the kind of person to say, “Oh, a letter addressed to someone else; not my circus! Not my monkeys!” Which is good, because I’m really nosy and would like to know why Ethel hid the letter, and why Ethel was in jail, and also what happened to Ethel, period.
- I think if you get too obsessed with wringing the most value out of every moment, you’re pretty much guaranteed to fail to spend your time wisely.
- ‘Though I have walked this forest trail countless times, entering Kopegaron on Thursday morning, it all felt new and fresh and intoxicating — like returning to a beloved and enchanting world. My senses were immediately engaged — inhaling the peaty, earthy, and resinous arboreal smells; and feeling the unyielding, textured and deeply furrowed bark of the huge old trees, and listening to the myriad bird calls happening high above my head. As nature’s peace worked its magic, I felt reverence, contentment and immense gratitude.
- When I sew, I follow a line. My needle finds it in the fabric. It meanders, it spirals, it stretches out like a road on a map, like a river in a landscape. When I see some of the brush work in these paintings, I feel a kinship, across thousands of years. It is a wonderful thing to make a mark, to leave a trace — of thinking, of ceremony, of an encounter with mystery.
- It was there for the taking — the very thing that had sparked my envy. There are trails near the library. I didn’t have to be anywhere in particular. I actually did have the time (self-pity wasn’t a reliable source of information; it rarely is). I could just go for a walk.
- My sister gave me Joy Sullivan’s Instructions For Traveling West for Christmas, and “First, you must realise you’re homesick for all the lives you’re not living,” has become my new mantra. But I struggle. I can so easily picture a parallel world where Doug is well, and he and I are living happily ever after. Where he was joining me on this walk, meeting our friends, Tiff and Amy, exploring our favourite rooms of the V&A together.
- A very good thing is old-timey (and sometimes even modern British) cookbooks referring to “goat’s cheese.” It most certainly is not the goat’s cheese. It is cheese of the goat, sure. But the goat didn’t make the cheese, didn’t even know CHEESE WAS A THING at the time of their being milked. (Yelled through a megaphone: IN THE TIME OF THE GOAT’S MILKING)
- I used the term AI Sloppola recently and was applauded. It’s getting harder and harder to escape the stuff. I’m not sure what the solution is, but I think books, reading, art, literature, music, human creation is obviously part of it. To keep our mental health, I think we’ll be visiting book stores more, libraries maybe, museums, art galleries, live music. I say that, but I also realize I live in a total silo of artists, writers, book and art lovers. So I’m not sure. And I’m not sure what to do about any of it, especially as we all navigate the traumosphere.
- If I were properly reviewing, I would reread the novel until I could explain better how the parts hang together. Big words like “belonging” or “identity” feel relevant but also too general.
Thank you, thank you, thank you! xx