Bookish: from Ancient Light

What do I recall of her, here in these soft pale days at the lapsing of the year? Images from the far past crowd in my head and half the time I cannot tell whether they are memories or inventions. Not that there is much difference between the two, if indeed there is...

Day 25: Book Club (plus!)

It’s a very cool thing to be part of a book club, particularly when it is a book club of fascinating women. It’s even cooler when one of those women publishes her first novel. That’s just what happened with our little group—resurrected last month...

The Journey to Quiet

I feel I owe you a good post, what with pulling that “subscribe to my blog” move on Sunday. (Thank you for indulging me via FB, Twitter, etc. ) I feel the need to make good, to write meaningfully, to go deep and reveal an insight excavated there. I’m...

Bookish: from The Light Between Oceans

  As she sank to her knees on the grass and sobbed, the memory of a conversation with Frank floated into her awareness. But how? How can you just get over these things, darling? she’d asked him. You’ve had so much strife, but you’re always...

Rows and Rows

This is not the post I sat down to write. The truth is I got sidetracked when I went to the bookshelf to reference something from one of my favorites. I scanned the titles, and I have to tell you I had a bit of a moment. What a miracle it is, I thought, that those...

January Loves: On Shades of Gray

The joy of reading a passage like this: Maureen felt afresh the shame of not getting it. She longed to show him all her colors, and here she was, a suburban shade of gray. from the remarkable The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, by Rachel Joyce...

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