February 23, 2026
Gleanings
- In a log cabin quilt, the red represents the fire at the centre of the home. This morning ours is burning warmly, wood cut and split and stacked in the woodshed by the grandfather who loves to show his grandsons how a house is built. How the beams are built up of long lengths of 2x12s spiked together, the joists crossing them.
- It seems symbolic these days, to simply make a mark, a human mark on a piece of paper.
- This wintering of life is my chance to go deeper, slow down, fan the embers of latent desires of my youth that I didn’t have time for while rushing from train to office desk to school pick-up to grocery store to kitchen.
- This is the language I grew up with, spoken by my parents to each other and to me, although I almost always answered in English. Still, most of my childhood memories come with German subtitles.
- I’d rather be “cringe” and sincere than “cool” and detached. I’d rather celebrate the fact that we are capable of feeling something for one another in a world that often feels designed to keep us apart.
- “Rules are rules: Cold but piercingly sunny days require grapefruit cake.”
- My chief take-away from that course was that, to be successful, one has to choose a location, walk into it quietly and with as little fuss and noise as possible, settle and wait.
- “Physical books have always been my best friends, and the wisdom and characters within them have guided me when human beings or humanity disappoint. I do think my reading practice serves as the perfect antidote to the noise and performance of social media.”
- This morning, I
track my day, searching
for it. A “holy moment” –
one amidst a thousand
of them to be sure.
And there you are,
a tiny moment. Maybe
three minutes in a
day filled with over
a thousand,
waking ones. - How do I turn off my thinking mind? Actually, I’m an expert — I’ve learned all kinds of strategies by necessity, because writing doesn’t thrive when thinking, if thinking is equated with panic or rumination. Thinking seems like the opposite of trusting, of going with the flow. Thinking spirals. To turn off the thinking mind, you need to get what’s inside, out — by drawing, sketching, making music. Even talking is not the same as thinking.
- There’s something quietly radical about gathering with strangers and neighbours, opening our books and simply being together. No pressure to perform. Just the shared understanding that reading, even when done alone, doesn’t have to be lonely. Sitting with other people absorbed in their own worlds somehow creates a connection that’s hard to describe but easy to feel.
