Debi Cates

I am coming to this little book as a beginner and I love it, all about meditation. Just reading it gave me a much needed boost toward mindfulness.

I had no idea there were more than a couple of types of meditation.

The book appears to be laid out in a progressive way, each meditation designed to build up to more compassion and more meaningful mindfulness, accessing our true experiences (good and bad) instead of being bombarded by thoughts of tomorrow, of rehashing yesterday, and reacting with stress and despair. The theme is to experience and to be in that experience, but to have mindfulness and clarity in those experiences. And compassion for yourself (and others) is a big message as well. Or, at least, that's how I read it.

Each meditation chapter is taught by a different expert teacher. The mediations are:

Mindfulness of Body, how to take a good posture
Shamatha, the practice of tranquility
Vipassana, the practice of clear seeing
Zazen, the practice of freedom
Metta, the practice of compassion
Tonglen, the practice of transformation
Healing Meditation, the practice of joy
Yoga, om yoga poses for meditation practice

The book comes with 2 CDS too, one of music for meditation and the other is an expert teacher discussing a single meditation type. I haven't listened to either CD, but I plan to, so I can listen when I'm ready to do the yoga for meditation warm-up.

I am incorporating daily meditation into my life, beginning with Shamatha which, like many of us have, I have done for a long time. The difference now is that I am doing it daily, not just an on-demand session when I feel a special need. This book drove home to me the idea that daily meditation practice is like working out; it builds your abilities and keeps you fit.

It's not stated overtly, but I don't think you have to incorporate all of these mediations! They are presented for sampling and to see what works for you. Probably doing the breathing mediation (Shamatha) daily is a minimum since the others all seem to incorporate that clearing and quieting your mind first. The other mediations might be something I grow into (Vipassana is appealing), or do as needed in order to incorporate some aspect I'd like to experience and to jump start some acceptance or growth (Metta and Healing).

I highly recommend Joyful Mind.

Any “for Beginners” approach should provide enough of an overview to spark interest to search for more thorough sources. Or, it should give at least enough information to satisfy a general curiosity on its subject. For me this little book was the former, a spark!I have been aware of Zen Buddhism since reading Alan Watts in the mid 80s starting with another beginner's book, [b:The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are 60551 The Book On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are Alan W. Watts https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1403166178l/60551.SY75.jpg 58910]. That book blasted opened my way of thinking. I continued on to read a few other Watts' works and was mostly satisfied with the way my own thoughts were transformed. I always knew, though, a time would come when I would want to go deeper.Now is that time.This short book provides a short overview of the history/myths of Zen Buddhism beginning with Buddhism. Then a short presentation of Zen Principles and Zen Practices including unique concepts. Another short history continues up through the introduction of Zen to the West. The last two chapters – the most enjoyable for me – were Zen Art and Zen in Daily Life. Also included are a Sources by page number, a Glossary, and a Bibliography, also all short.Yep, expect a whirlwind ride. Be warned you may find, like me, there were a few quotes and concepts that were included but not explained or not explained enough, yet apparently are well-known to those familiar with Zen. In those cases, of course Google is a big help.In general, the presentation felt 80s zine-like to me. The many illustrations were often irreverent, uneven in quality, and rarely added significance as either by way of further information, of clarity, or even of aesthetics to the text. (There were a couple of illustrations I couldn't make out heads or tails as to what they represented – the illustration of “the forms” on pg 51, after much consternation, remains a blob of Stonehenge to me.) The text of the History chapters, while interesting, covered too much ground and I'm sure, short-shrifted the subject badly. Elsewhere I noticed more than once when the authors introduced a new terminology (words of Sanskrit, Japanese, or Chinese origin) without explaining it until later.Still, it was a happy fit for me. It was a book I had on hand that provided me with enough information confirming this is the direction I want to pursue more deeply. It makes me laugh when I wonder how many Zen Buddhists are here stranded in West Texas.Here's possibly my favorite passage, third to the last page, referring to the message within Zen teaching to have confidence using your own first-hand experience:There is a story about a 5th century Zen master named Tao-sheng who had this kind of confidence. During his lifetime in China, Buddhist teachers did ot think that all forms could be said to have Buddha nature, regardless of their consciousness. Tao-sheng was sure that everything does have Buddha nature and for this he was expelled from the Buddhist community as a heretic.Later when the complete Nirvana Sutra was translated into Chinese, it was found that Buddha had taught that all forms do have Buddha nature. But at that time, Tao-sheng trusted his intuition so strongly that he was content to lecture on the subject to the rocks in the field. The story goes that the rocks nodded in perfect agreement with the master.Years later, a Master Ungan remarked that the rocks were nodding long before anyone bothered to speak to them.

I'm glad this wasn't the first Pym I read, otherwise I would not have gone on to read more Pym and would have missed reading the others that I found charming with a slightly bittersweet taste like a good cup of English tea without milk.Instead of a subtle and slow-paced book that you sink into and it sinks into you, like [b:Excellent Women 178565 Excellent Women Barbara Pym https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1309376675l/178565.SY75.jpg 1883997] and [b:Quartet in Autumn 227002 Quartet in Autumn Barbara Pym https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1386922284l/227002.SY75.jpg 1283470], I would describe this one as mildly “zany,” or mildly “madcap,” words often used to describe a certain type of movie from the 60s and 70s. And like those movies, the characters in this 1961 novel could be played by a plethora of B-movie actors. Gosh, I keep thinking specifically of the movie, It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World. No Fond Return of Love is like that but less zany with short touches of madcap. Like that movie, there are a whole bunch of characters that are “characters” but the novel's star is Miss Dulce Mainwaring who is similar to Pym's other “excellent women.” The story is told in alternating points of view with Miss Mainwaring being the more sympathetic (actually I found her often more pitiful than sympathetic) and it is her's that is the opening and closing story-line.Everyone is motivated by a single goal. Not a buried treasure under a big “W,” these men and women are all hoping to find the big “L,” Love. Well, maybe it's a lower case “l” since most are searching for their own superficial, low-grade angst-driven definition of love. The women live their single lives outwardly brave but with the unspoken whimpering hope to cure loneliness and find a bigger life's purpose. In the case of the male characters, their hope is for that special female to round out their self-images, or lusts, or both. Mind you, this is early 60s, early or pre Sexual Revolution and Feminism movement.As the title states the hopes of both sexes are often met with, not surprisingly, no fond return. By the end of the novel, a few lucky ones do ultimately, if not find love exactly, they find a match that is both more and less than they deserve. I can see the value of this novel in context at the time it was written, but I'm not sure it has aged as well as her other works that cover similar ground. Or, maybe, it could be re-discovered much later with new found appreciation. Right now it's possible that it is at that awkward age of a novel as being too old-fashioned but not old-fashioned enough. Didn't something like that happen to Jane Austen's work too? Anyway, I am undaunted. I'll still keep an eye out for more Pym even though this one is a 2 star “meh” from me. Coincidentally or not, it's the same rating I would give to It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World.

Bittersweet, more bitter than sweet. The bonds between a married couple, however unhappy and brutal, are worthy of mourning at its final, unredeemable end.

2 stars = It was Ok.

This week I tried three recipes and was disappointed in my results. I'm sad about that because this cookbook has a lot going for it – beautiful, appetizing pictures, easy to find ingredients, and a good idea: get more colors into your diet!

Maybe I picked meh recipes? Is it okay if cookbooks have meh recipes in them? I don't agree with that. They may not all be mind-blowing, but they should all be “as presented” with no unstated pitfalls. And that's where this one failed for me.

Harvest Butternut Squash & Apple Burger with Sage Aioli
It tasted good, but was no burger that's for sure. It was too mushy. I added more flour, still mushy. I added a bunch of Panko, still so mushy that taking just a bite into it the “burger” squished out from all sides. I know vegan burgers can be a bit tricky but this one had no body at all. The Sage Aioli was a nice addition, matching the flavor profile here very nicely (fall “harvest” I assume). But yikes, I bought a $3.50 package of fresh sage just to use 2 of the smallest leaves as per this recipe. Thankfully I can hang and dry the rest so won't be a waste. Meanwhile, speaking of waste, the butternut “burgers” are now in my freezer, re-shaped into little balls to give to my dogs as an occasional treat. (They both begged to taste test as I was cooking and very much enjoyed – so not all is a loss.)

Vegetable Teriyaki Stir-Fry
It also tasted good, except it did not look like the beautiful picture. It quickly went from undercooked to overcooked in what felt like a minute. I don't have a wok so maybe that's the problem. I was me, I know – I obviously cooked it too long because the zucchini nearly dissolved, the broccoli went from vibrant green to army green and nothing much was left as “chunks” as per the beautiful picture. In my own defense I was making the rice and tofu at the same time. My beef with this pitfall is I feel like the author could have helped out a little more – with both these recipes. Instead of giving the time to cook (everyone's stove and cookware are different so I never fully rely on that), it would have been nice to be told what to look for, or to give warning that the vegetables will overcook more quickly than you expect, for example. Or, another example, to state up front to expect a soft burger patty.

Homemade Vegan Mayo
I usually make aquafaba mayo with an emersion blender and it is divine. But, let's face it, just like egg-based mayo it's essentially pure oil, whipped and nicely flavored. Here the recipe is using silken tofu instead of oil, made nearly exactly as the aquafaba version I use. The first day it was amazing. And I was happily astounded at the difference in a tablespoon of calories, not to mention the bonus that tofu contains protein and good fats. The next day, however, there was an unpleasant bitter aftertaste. If I try it again, I will make only what I will use right away.

The recipes certainly look wonderful and include enough uniqueness that they aren't just the usual Pinterest fare, nor are they far out there in vegan la la land. For me, though, after trying two mains I don't feel I can trust this cookbook to guide me to get the appetizing results as shown in the pictures. It is probably me (and thus can we say that these are not “fool-proof” recipes then?). I don't want to sacrifice any more of my ingredients or time to tweak. I can cook. Other stuff. From other cookbooks. I'm just not a good match with this one.

Will donate. (Hopefully it will be picked up by a better cook than me.)

I laughed out loud. I think the Littles and Dad and Mom will love reading this one with them.

Recipe sections (# of recipes)

Getting Started, 40 pages of lots of good information about techniques, spices, and tools
Spice Blends & Other Shortcuts (12)
Breakfast (13)
Soups, Small Plates, Salads, and Sides (27)
Slow-Cooked Legumes to Stovetop (18)
Slow-Cooked Beans and Lentils (2)
Vegetables (20)
Rice Dishes and One-Pot Meals (9)
Meatless Dishes, Inspired Inspired (9)
Chutneys (9)
Drinks (5)

Scrumptious! Each recipe has the most incredibly enticing photo.

But, folks, this is for vegan adventurous and well-seasoned cooks who live in London and have access to fantastical ingredients. Not me, and I'm jealous.

I got a very nice used copy online so didn't have an opportunity to browse before I bought, otherwise I would have seen that most recipes have TWO COLUMNS of ingredients and would have put it back down, daunted. Considerably over my ambition, my budget, and my access.

But since I have this copy here in my hands, I'm looking closely while I salivate, looking for a do-able inspiration I can attempt. I will update here if I try something.

Otherwise, it will be donated, without food stains, to my local Friends of the Library.

Mainly VEGETARIAN recipes, with helpful special symbols on each recipe when more restrictive, V for Vegan, G for Gluten-free, and S for special diet having no diary, wheat, soy, or nuts.

04/20/2021 “Thirty-Clove Garlic Soup” p. 107 Vegetarian (uses 1/4 c Parm cheese)
Good! I served with homemade thyme croutons. Roasted the garlic in the airfryer (what a piece of kitchen heaven that appliance is). Kit loves garlic and she loved this soup. I suppose it could be fancied up with some herbs for another layer of flavor, but if you are making a 30 clove soup chances are you going to be A-okay with some straight up GARLIC flavor.

04/27/2021 “White Bean and Sage Patties with Roasted Tomatoes” p. 44 Vegan
Good! I served with the roasted cherry tomatoes as suggested (again, airfryer for that job). Kit and I loved the patty and tomato combo. Reminded us a bit of Thanksgiving stuffing (but crisper) and instead of cranberry for the acid, yumalicious sweet toms! Only needed basic on-hand ingredients especially since I used canned cannellini beans for the 2 1/2 cups required. Only one exception to basic ingredients – the fresh sage of which you need a meager but important 1 teaspoon. Next time I'll try with dry to see if fresh is worth the special purchase. Patties were a bit delicate (crumbly) when moving them out of the pan, but not horribly so; maybe a bit of ground flax seed next time would fix that.

More tried recipe updates to come.

Recipe sections (# of recipes)
Small plates to mix and match (26)
Stovetop suppers (19)
Soups, stews, and chili (22)
Casseroles and other baked dishes (16)
Substantial salads (23)
Sandwiches, burgers, and pizzas (17)
Pasta and other noodles (20)
Simple side dishes (28)
Favorite flavor boosters (8)
Basic recipes (18)

I'm glad I read this. My best friend back when I was a high school freshman in 1973 was an awkward but cool guy named Mitch. He was super intelligent, dryly funny, and quirky. Super quirky, which I loved.

Mitch told me he was a Bokononist. I hadn't read Cat's Cradle so had no idea what that was. I didn't get it then but it was an intellectually fun thing to have Mitch explain to me in the cafeteria over lunch.

For 50 years (1973-2023!) I've meant to read the book. Now that I have read it, my friend is AWOL, somewhere unknown to me and his other friends too. Which makes me think of him even more; wish I could call to ask what his thoughts are on the novel and Bokononism now. To call and ask how is he doing.

The narrator of the the novel is a rather 70s typical dude. I liked him. This is the only Vonnegut I've read so I don't know if KV always writes like this but it was pleasurable, a bit nostalgic.

The narrator dude is a freelance writer. He doesn't get up tight, goes with the flow, and is purposefully up for any adventure. He cares about important things, specifically in the novel he cares about the bomb on Hiroshima that changed the world forever. So, narrator dude goes on a journey to find out and to write a book about what the scientist who is credited with inventing the bomb was doing on the day. Seems like a strange approach to the massive subject, doesn't it? But you know how writers are. His subsequent adventure to answer that question is full of quirky people, some mysteries, some sci if, and an introduction to the religion of Bokonon. All on an single unrelenting trajectory that ends at the end.

It's impossible not to be sad. It's also impossible to be anything but sad. That's because it's impossible to stop the march of technology. No one is in charge and no one apparently can stop themselves from using it. The same state of affairs we are in now, too.

And Bokonon? What does he say at the end? That God is done with us and we should have the good manners to die.

I would not have been ready for that last part of the message when I was 14. It still doesn't sound good to me 50 years later, but 50 years of world history later I can somewhat understand the sentiment. And the prediction.

When this was written and published in 1957, it was a different world. It wasn't until the late 20th century that we began to hear and learn about things like ADHD, PTSD, and many assorted other mental health challenges and brain neurodivergencies. Thus, as I was reading about Angel, I couldn't help but wonder if her character wasn't perhaps autistic.

Angel was, in many ways, ridiculous as well as ridiculed. Yet her badly written novels made her rich and famous. Not too ridiculous, that.

Taylor didn't take the low road and ridicule Angel too, though. Rather, she depicted her as driven, loyal, and single-mindedly energetic. She also depicted her humorless, lacking curiosity, and cold to those she should have loved better. That realistically maddening complex mix kept my interest. I cared about Angel in spite of how so much was off-putting about her. I was intrigued how her life played out and her reaction to her circumstances. Both the good and the tragic.

I loved the way the end was written. It was lyrical and apt.

Elizabeth Taylor deserves more reading.

Looking back at 2023

The Reading Year was overall just a three star for me. GoodReads tells me I read 45 books which is a cheating overstatement of my reading prowess. Mostly because it includes 33 cookbooks and children's books, leaving just 12 “serious” reads, as I would call them. Of course, as per usual I didn't read anything trending or newly published, just my dabbling, unhip interests.

I continue to recall these with satisfaction –

[b:Joyful Mind: A Practical Guide To Buddhist Meditation|698528|Joyful Mind A Practical Guide To Buddhist Meditation|Susan Piver|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1312032934l/698528.SX50.jpg|684846] a short, not overwrought manual covering various types of meditation by different masters, and what can be expected from their practice.
[b:Cat's Cradle|386411|Cat's Cradle|Kurt Vonnegut Jr.|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1611053346l/386411.SY75.jpg|1621115] classic speculative fiction from the 70s (and very 70s-ish) with some big ideas about technology, religion, and politics all gone awry which continues, fifty years on, to be applicable today in all its still awry terrifying-ness.
[b:Memento Mori|120158|Memento Mori|Muriel Spark|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348186701l/120158.SY75.jpg|2934614]my favorite read of the year! A classic novella and a romping tale of a group of English seniors with varying degrees of senility and/or eccentricities and the ongoing dynamics of their multi-decades-long relationships.

Cookbooks, my shelf-hogging bane –

Over a period of a couple of weeks in 2023, I went through my many Vegan cookbooks and thinned them by a third with fair ease. And yet, I have a ridiculous 101 titles still on my shelf. Why have cookbooks at all, what with the Internet mere keystrokes away? Mostly because there is nothing via the Internet like the ease of flipping though 100 printed pages for weekly menu inspirations. I need and enjoy my cookbooks. Exactly how many cookbooks (and the shelf space corollary) is the question I need to seriously address this year.

Largest genre I read in 2023, kid's books –

Twenty, mostly picture books. My two youngest grandchildren, the “Littles,” begun to learn to read. I enjoy being their Granny that Gives Books, even though their good, reading parents already provide them with oodles. Bearing books (plus a batch of homemade healthy muffins usually) is a lovely excuse for me to see their beautiful faces in person and to chat books with them. While pre-reading these gifts, I delighted in that special, immersive experience of words plus engrossing illustrations that apparently I have never outgrown. Speaking for myself (the Little have their own well-formed opinions), the 2023 standouts for me were two funny books [b:Attack of the Snack|37548157|Attack of the Snack (Rabbit and Bear, #3)|Julian Gough|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1513423579l/37548157.SX50.jpg|59153306], [b:I Want My Hat Back|11233988|I Want My Hat Back|Jon Klassen|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1327888784l/11233988.SX50.jpg|16160067], and my favorite, the well-told, beautifully educational [b:Oak and Company|4631008|Oak and Company|Richard Mabey|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1677796609l/4631008.SX50.jpg|4681065]

Looking forward to 2024

Time spent assessing my 2023 reading year has given me some new ideas. First thing, I upped my Reading Challenge count so that it covers the children's books too. Maybe I'll feel less a GR fraudster.

Next, I carefully selected a nice stack from my shelves that especially appeal to my goals and tastes right now. Last year I grabbed whatever from wherever on the fly. The 2024 stack is now tottering on one of my bedside nightstands, handy and deliberate.

Lastly, I'm ditching my rule that I should read only one book at a time. Some days I'm in the mood for the book in hand, some days I'm not. Having two or three books at a time from which to mood-match sounds logical and overall more pleasant.

P.S. As I write this it is January 8, 2024 and already I have read 7 books: 5 kids books and 2 books for me (one of poetry, even). I'm remarkably pleased with the experience thus far. Looks like these ideas are working!

My mother used to sing this song. It was a delight to see so many verses. And the illustrations would tickle any kid, no matter how old (63).

Will give to the Littles.

Happy Ada Lovelace Day!

Here's my STEM story, including something incredible.

My grandfather began his career as a computer programmer in the U.S. Air Force in the early 1950s. Forty years later, he retired as a programmer for First National Bank in Roswell, New Mexico. I remember he used to bring home discarded green bar continuous form paper that my grandmother would write grocery lists and poetry on.

My mother, his daughter, started her career as a lowly keypunch card operator for the bank under him. She went on to become a computer programmer herself in the mid 1970s until her retirement in the 2000s, where she continued for some more years to work as a well-paid consultant, remotely via dial-up modem. Arg, that horrid sound and slower than Christmas.

My first programming job was with my mother, a freelance job, written on her brand new Mac that had, gulp, a mouse. A clunky, noisy mouse, but fun! (Oh, if we only had that pc now, it's worth tens of thousands!) The manual I wrote for those programs landed me my second job in 1984 for a small company that sold an innovative multi-user computer to small businesses, called Cado. I still work on that software–many, many, many times updated and rewritten–now exactly 40 years later.

My youngest daughter, who always had an aptitude for logic, has degrees in both computer science and mathematics. She is a computer programmer for a large corporation and a champion for the removal of sexism in the workplace. She is a shining example of how women contribute to the progress and innovations of humankind. Additionally, her communication skills are stellar, making the everyday experiences in the workplace helpful and pleasant. Not a small contribution. (She's also helped me with a programming technique or two...hundred.)

Here's the incredible part:

It is entirely possible that my daughter was the world's first, and still possibly the only, fourth generation computer programmer! And she's a woman, just like the world's first ever computer programmer, Ada Lovelace.

Who says women can't be computer programmers? No one.

“>-Written by DBugg.” That's how I used to sign my programs in the 80s and 90s, when I was married to man with the last name Bugg. Really.

Loved [b:Dubliners 11012 Dubliners James Joyce https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1334138184l/11012.SX50.jpg 260248]! Hated [b:Ulysses 18898183 Ulysses and Dubliners James Joyce https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1394729605l/18898183.SX50.jpg 41948603]! (Or at least what I could endure of it.)And this Joyce? This one was a big ol' meh for me. Yeah, yeah, it's great writing. And thank God it wasn't Ulysses. But my mind drifted and I couldn't stay engaged. When I was engaged, my prevailing thought was, “Poor Stephen,” and not much more than that. I'm okay if that makes me a philistine.I have now read all I want to read of Joyce.Read by the most excellent Peter Bobbe at Librivox.https://librivox.org/a-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-young-man-by-james-joyce/

Imagine a sign above this review, GOODBYE ZIPPER.Is this a cult classic? If not, why ever not?! Think [b:Charlotte's Web 24178 Charlotte's Web E.B. White https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1628267712l/24178.SY75.jpg 987048] for the “Adult Section.” A book for book-lovers, for daydreamers, for the lusty and lonely who feel estranged from the world or even from themselves. Firmin, a “lowlife” rat, is born in a used bookstore in Boston in the early 1960s. He goes from hungrily munching books for sustenance to hungrily reading them for another kind of sustenance. The wide-range of books he reads ignites his emotions and intelligence, but not surprisingly they also make him deeply unhappy with his rat lot in life. Because of all he's read, especially books by the “Big Ones” as Firmin calls major novelists, he craves connection into the human world around him, a mostly doomed desire.In spite of the recurring disgusting aspects of rats (no need to elaborate on rodent infestations here), one feels tenderly toward clever, sad, and unique Firmin. Literary-ness infiltrates his life view. For example, he often gives fleeting moments a proposed book title, like “Lost in the World: Epistemology and Terror” and “Milk and Madness”. Also, as he observes select humans, he imagines succinct signs over them much like signs over doors or over bookshop book sections, like “FREAK” and “UNNATURAL GENIUS.” His growing and continual imagination become more elaborate, blending and softening life's harsh experiences. All become his (our) real experiences.This book was a whim for me, somewhat outside my norm. But author Sam Savage walked a fantasy tight-rope so perfectly that I never waivered. He believably gave a rat the ability to read and to think. Yet the world remained very real, a world with which his protagonist – a reading, thinking rat that never stops being a rat – must navigate. Yep, four stars. I really liked this book.

Sigh. I have a new writer friend to cherish and to seek out more of her company in love packets called books.Fadiman is the embodiment of Dorothy Parker's “The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.”For my aging memory:Collecting Nature about her collecting butterflies as a child. I admired the freedom and encouragement her parents gave Fadiman and her brother – a whole room for their collections!The Unfuzzy Lamb instant love for me, about the early nineteenth century writer Charles Lamb. I now must read [b:Tales from Shakespeare 42036 Tales from Shakespeare Charles Lamb https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1330667046l/42036.SY75.jpg 798808], already on my shelf.Ice Cream Among the few essays in this book that do not incorporate as much literary referencing as I apparently enjoy so much. Night Owl Mostly about circadian rhythms. Her husband is a morning meadowlark, and like me, she is an unapologetic night owl. Scatterings of references to other writers and their bird type.Procrustes and the Culture Wars I'd like to re-read this essay. Ponderings on good questions about reading for serious readers, like “Should the life of the writer affect our valuation of the work?”Coleridge the Runaway I can't say that I've read any Coleridge. Jeeze, what a mess he was. I should at least really read one thing by him, not just recognize a few opening lines of his poetry.Mail Ah, this is Dorothy Parker quote in action: the delights of curiosity! A brief history of the mail (touching upon the joys of receiving, writing letters, and her father).Moving A personal essay about mostly, well, moving.A Piece of Cotton, the American Flag and 9/11. Also a more personal type essay. Man, the woman knows how to write the last lines of an essay!The Arctic Hedonist back to my favorite type of her essays: the biography. I had never heard of the Artic explorer Vilhjalmur Stefansson, and might never again, but I was enraptured by this essay. (Kept thinking back to another book I read this year, [b:Julie of the Wolves 386286 Julie of the Wolves (Julie of the Wolves, #1) Jean Craighead George https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1620846708l/386286.SX50.jpg 778444] and even [b:The Left Hand of Darkness 18423 The Left Hand of Darkness (Hainish Cycle, #4) Ursula K. Le Guin https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1488213612l/18423.SY75.jpg 817527].)Coffee I wasn't as interested in this essay (I'm very functional about my daily double cuppa halfcaff joe, Folger) but the end hit me in the heart.Under Water Another arrow in the heart.She also includes Sources which I appreciate very much.

January 2025 I just discovered I had not donated this cookbook as I had planned to do. And after making many many vegan recipes since the ones I made from this book, I still thought about some of the recipes I made from it. That Worcestershire sauce turned out to be something I used more than I thought I would and it added good flavor.

So, I'm now upping my rating and going to try a few more recipes! I'm okay with being the kind of person who changes her mind about things.

June 2022 Bianca Phillips' comments before each recipe were so much fun! I do miss pre-recipe comments in other books when they aren't included, and she definitely made that technique a delight for the reader.

However, I wasn't as delighted with the recipes I tried, thus the “it was ok” rating. The recipes were easy to follow, ingredients were mostly standard ones I had on hand, and there were some pictures, although not one for each recipe like most of us prefer.

I tried:
VEGAN WORCESTERSHIRE SAUCE I found to be very salty, thick, and with a too strong clove flavor.
DILL WEED POTATO SALAD was pretty good, but I still prefer the recipe from American Test Kitchen's magazine that I use.
PIMIENTO CHEESE SANDWICHES recipe was not to my liking at all. I'm always searching for “sandwich” fixings as a vegan but this recipe was like hummus with added flavor tweaks that just didn't work for me. And the texture was too smooth, and not pimiento cheese like, probably would have been better if the recipe suggested leaving some chunky chickpeas.
STRAWBERRY PIE was good enough for me to eat the whole thing, but not to take to a potluck. The sugar/cornstarch filling around the strawberries tasted like sugar and cornstarch, if you know what I mean. I compared other recipes and found they use less cornstarch and add some lemon juice, which both sound like improvements to me.

With a twinge of guilt and sadness – I wanted to like it more – I'm reluctant to continue with this cookbook.

I do relate as a Southerner, being raised by a Mississippi Mama and a Texas Daddy, but after reading through her recipes I realize my grown-up taste buds lean toward flavor profiles found in Mediterranean and Asian dishes now. I may try one more recipe out of sentimentality – chocolate gravy for biscuits because my dad used to make it for my girls when they'd visit, and they loved it of course.

I'll donate this cookbook – I can see it might be “just the thang” a different crunkin' Southern Vegan has a hankering for!

Contains spoilers.By selecting The Folded Leaf I felt confident I was snuggling in with a really good read about the heart-breaking joys and tragedies of life, written in that beautiful, astute Maxwell prose. I loved the two previous Maxwell's that I have read – [b:They Came Like Swallows 125192 They Came Like Swallows William Maxwell https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1171896467l/125192.SY75.jpg 529693] and [b:So Long, See You Tomorrow 14276 So Long, See You Tomorrow William Maxwell https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1390750749l/14276.SY75.jpg 1267189].This Maxwell wasn't like the other two.I'm banging my head trying to figure out what was my beef with The Folded Leaf. I've gone through quite a number of drafts of this review, and ultimately it comes down to the unhappy, even resentful, feeling in me that Maxwell purposefully left us out. There's a scene in the novel where Lymie and Spud hold hands, fingers interlaced, hidden in Spud's pocket. That perfectly sums up the chaste relationship as it is presented to us. Note that they are two 19 year old young men at that time. So it's not supposed to be sexual, but definitely not not sexual either. Think of the extreme reaction of Lymie when their relationship sours; that's something more than brotherly love and friendship fueling that. Think of all the times Maxwell prosaically describes Lymie's physical admiration of Spud's body, but described without sexual desire. Is that believable? Remember the Seinfeld episode where John Cheever's love letters to Susan's father are discovered, and her father's reaction? This novel seemed to be saying exactly that to us: you can't possibly understand this love. (Interestingly, Maxwell was Cheever's editor. Hm.)According to some brief googling, the novel is autobiographical, which comes as no surprise. I was struck by how incredibly nostalgic the novel could be, like when describing young men's fashions of the 1920s. Or the lingering lines spent over the minute details of a mother hand washing dishes. It definitely felt like you were observing a speaker who was carefully preserving their real memories, and no detail was too small not to be precious.It made perfect sense to learn that in fact, in his college years, Maxwell had a very close friendship with a boy and their friendship turned bitter over a girl, and he too tried to die by suicide. Therefore probably we can assume that Maxwell and his friend did not have a true sexual relationship because in the novel Lymie and Spud do not. I have no problem with whether they did or didn't. Given the eons of the stigma hoisted on homosexuality, avoidance of explicit territory is understandable. But this does take place in the twentieth century and therefore by not addressing the undeniable undertones it hints at shameful feelings – the opposite of what he seemed to want to say about the relationship. Were there no misunderstandings between them about the physicality? No embarrassment about bodily reactions while spooning? It was a gaping omission, a purposeful one by a gifted writer that dropped me out of the “suspense of disbelief” mode. Even the omniscient and wise narrator wasn't faithful on this subject. That hole in the story left me feeling weirdly manipulated, as if I couldn't be trusted. In reciprocation, I stopped trusting the story.And to be frank, I didn't feel much tenderness toward either character. Perhaps I should have, but Lymie became an insecure doormat and Spud a moody and morose athlete, and neither character made it easy to feel tenderness about their relationship. I am not heartless, though, and did drum up a lot of feeling for Lymie near the end when he was describing his long, drawn-out suicide attempt. It was a remarkable tale and oddly, it was then he was finally doing something about/for/to himself.I have a few other quibbles – or just questions, really. What was the meaning of including the chapter near the end, the one about the desert? It was stunning and beautifully written, but why? I also wondered about the inclusion of so many other character's backstories, very deliberate, so much so that they often had their own chapters. They were entertaining and insightful, but what are we to make of that as a device in the story of Lymie and Spud?Apparently, this novel has made it to certain SAT testing. I would enjoy the prep for that. I would like to like and to better understand this novel because I have faith in Maxwell to tell me things I want to understand.

I read up through page 117, then skipped to read the last couple of chapters. For me, it was like talking with a super chatty neighbor. Sure, you want to hear what they have to say, but could they say it a little less...chattily?

And frankly, I disagree with the premise. Humans could be so much more worthy. Too much hateful crap they do. to each other, to animals, and to the planet. I'm human and I am NOT impressed. So a book that explores how a super intelligent being could desire to be human has to present some super convincing arguments to sway me. Yeah, I'm that jaded now.

I read this in college and have thought of the story off and on since. Today, four decades since first reading it, once again it crossed my mind. I found an online copy to re-read.

It's still wonderful. The beauty is that Steinbeck left so much unsaid. I love when a writer respects the reader enough to leave out over-telling, and instead creates precious spaces for readers to think and feel for ourselves. I also dig it when the night stars, or the seasons, the wind, the light, the colors are part of a story. Not as metaphors, but rather as the real world pressing on our moods, our journeys, our insights: a rainy thundering day, the onset of a coming dust storm, the sound of a small creek, and in this case, the fog hanging over a valley on a “cold and tender” winter's day.

Normally, I don't write such a long review/analysis as I have done today, but because I have loved this story for so long I wanted to explore why that is. I read a few other reviews here and still wasn't satisfied with an answer for me.

Why do I love this story so? This is not a review, but my analysis. Replete with spoilers.

Throughout the day of the story, we are given inklings of Elisa's life force breaking out. She's on the verge of becoming better known to herself.

Elisa is an isolated farmer's wife in Salinas Valley California in the 1930s. On the day of the story, her husband talks to two men about selling some of his cattle (that makes 3 men) and later he goes with “Scotty” to move some of the herd back home (another man), and then a tinker wanders onto the farm and tries to sell his services to Elisa (the appearance of another man). That makes it a story of a day of 5 men and no other women (except the not seen one that the tinker says lives “up the road.”)

The tinker is the first person Elisa speaks to in the story. He is chatting her up trying to get her to give him some tinkering work to do, even after she tells him clearly she has none. He's probably not being entirely truthful when he continues his chit chat and tells her that a woman up the road – also a flower-grower – would love some of the chrysanthemums Elisa is planting. This enlivens her spirits. While looking for a pot to put the cuttings in (referred to as sprouts in the story), she also digs out some old pots thrown away fin their “can pile” for the tinker to fix. She has softened after learning he will transport her chrysanthemum cuttings to the flower-loving neighbor; she now wants to find a way to repay the kindness.

Elisa grows 10 inch chrysanthemums – one of the details I remembered clearly and loved imagining. She understands plants by instinct and describes her approach as having “planting hands.” Later, when admiring her talents, her husband teased her that he should ask for her help with the apple orchard in order to grow 10 inch apples too, but he doesn't actually ask for her help. When describing to the tinker the instructions he should repeat to the woman down the road – that kindred spirit who has longed for some chrysanthemums to grow – she describes it in pure intuitive ways, as if she knows the other flower-grower will surely understand.

She asks the tinker if he understands what she has described. He is slightly embarrassed, turns away, and begins to say that he has an idea of it, “Sometimes in the night in the wagon there—” but Elisa interrupts before he can finish. She goes into a reverie describing the feeling the night stars sometimes give her, assuming that it is along the lines of what he was about to share as well. In this impassioned state, she reaches out to touch his leg – “her hand” reaches out, to be precise, a telling difference – but she pulls it back and then “crouched low like a fawning dog.” I suppose it could be sexual, but it doesn't have to be necessarily. She may have just wanted to touch the person with whom she had thought shared that kind of inner experience of the night sky. The crouching is likely her reaction to realizing she had just projected those experiences onto him. Then, must retreat.

Before that interaction, she told the tinker she envied his traveling life and he chided her that it is no life for a woman, but didn't dispute it was a good life. When he leaves, she teasingly warns him that he might one day have a rival because she also can beat out dents in pots and sharpen scissors. Since none of her good pots needed repair and her scissors were sharp when he arrived, she has likely done those jobs herself. She is now feeling feisty, connected with her potential.

After the tinker is gone, she bathes and admires her own naked body then dresses in her prettiest dress. When she and her husband are ready to leave for dinner in town, he notices and says to her, “you look different, strong and happy.” At first she is taken aback, what does he mean by strong she wants to know. Then she embraces the word. Yes, she is strong.

Shortly thereafter, in the roadster driving into into town with her husband, she sees that the tinker discarded the cuttings on the road. It's a jolt. There may or may not be another woman that would appreciate the chrysanthemums. Her work, her talent and knowledge, will not find its way to an appreciative soul. And now certainly, the tinker was no connection of any kind she had imagined him to be.

She then, oddly, revisits the invitation of going to the boxing match that her husband had previously mentioned. Boxing is a man's sport, a viewing of men pitting brutal raw strength against one another. It's violent and causes injury. She mentions how she has read the boxing gloves can fill and be soaked with blood. Her interest and knowledge surprises her husband. Does she want to go after all, he asks. What causes her to think of the boxing again after she was firmly not interested the first time he asked? This change comes after seeing the dumped cuttings. Perhaps for a moment the thought of seeing a man injured is appealing, as a stand in for the tinker, or perhaps for men in general, or just for her anger and hurt at a world that is full of people who are not star-gazers nor chrysanthemum-lovers and prefer any old pot instead. She declines again. Boxing is not the sort of strength she craves.

That day began, “It was a time of quiet and of waiting.” From the interactions with her husband and with the tinker, and on the very day of planting the cuttings of her amazing chrysanthemums, Elisa suddenly and unexpectedly discovered she was strong, “I never knew before how strong.”

Then at the end of the day, the chrysanthemum cuttings are dumped on the road, and she knows there is no kindred spirit down the road, that there was only a soiled tinker who duped her with a small encouragement. The story ends when she hides her face from her husband and is “crying weakly—like an old woman.”

I get it. I got it back in my early twenties, too.

It's no wonder this short story has stayed with me. I know a lot of women, even these days, who can relate to being under esteemed and already feeling old at 35. I even know a few that can relate to the intense beauty of those (sadly brief) moments when we do embrace our strength and talents and have hope, and know profoundly that we too are connected to night skies full of stars.

Elisa's voice grew husky. She broke in on him. “I've never lived as you do, but I know what you mean. When the night is dark—why, the stars are sharp-pointed, and there's quiet. Why, you rise up and up! Every pointed star gets driven into your body. It's like that. Hot and sharp and—lovely.”

Wow. Such a small novel to pack such a wallop, from beginning to end.

This is my first West book and was also the first she published. At 24! I'm dumbfounded by that.

Most reviewers have mentioned the lyricism of her writing, and it's true. However, the sentence structure – often very long sentences – I found an effort to follow; more commas would have helped this lazy reader. Is this the way West always writes, I wondered. Is it some sort of Edwardian thing? Now I see the structure (and the reward for my dogged efforts to re-read the same sentence multiple times) was integral to the tale she was telling: a kind of stream of consciousness with the deliberate building of the private observations by the narrator, Jenny, until the brutal insights and impressions were rolled in that astute lyricism making you jolt at the often cruel meaning. And, paradoxically, the cruelty was the precise thing to invoke reader's compassion too. Jenny's astute description of the other two woman not only told us accurately about their lives and roles, but also unintentionally a brutal insight about herself and the precariousness of her own life.

The three women are stuck in an awful time in history (during WW I), firmly stuck within their restrictive roles, lives firmly defined by their relationship to men. Not one is to be envied by present day readers, nor even hated, although Kitty does appear the least sympathetic. One could, actually, make the case that Kitty deserves our sympathy most. She is the most stuck in her pre-defined life without any escape except down. And her life was not unfolding at all as it should. Shallow Kitty was also lacking the depth of heart to begin to understand the changes happening to her life or how to adapt to those changes. She is stuck in her suffering.

I'm especially glad I read the novel itself before the included 1997 Introduction by Samuel Hynes, the order which I normally do anyway. A “cold read” absolutely allowed The Return of the Soldier to play out every bit of talent and power it has rights to claim.

Rebecca West, I need to read more of your works. You were amazing. At 24!

Who am I to critique or rate this book? Nobody.

The Book of Tea continues to be in print since 1906, written by a well-educated and influential scholar. The book has gone on to famously influence a number of twentieth century artists and introduced this 2022 humble reader to a rich and long history of Eastern aesthetics, especially those that relate to the tea room and the tea ceremony. A most inspirational subject!

Respectfully I confess, though, I was glad The Book of Tea was a slim volume. I have no doubt Okakura knew his stuff – but he also had a beef with the West and sprinkled his displeasure throughout. It's very easy to imagine the ugly resistance to the Asian aesthetic (and to the Asian, himself) he encountered during his lifetime. He spent years with Western teachers in Tokyo and had an academic career in Boston, so plenty of opportunity for it. We know how imperialistic Imperialism can be and it's easy to imagine the sort of racism and ignorance he must have experienced.

You will find among the pages many lovely passages written to educate and elevate readers (just read some of the quotes here in Goodreads to get the flavor). Also within the book you will find his anger that is defensive and dogmatic.

For me, his five star star material introducing Chinese and Japanese history of a unique mindset of beauty, simplicity, humbleness and “now-ness” was undermined by the inclusion of his battle against the West, sometimes to the point of hyperbole. (Did the Western aesthetic really ever think that a flower stripped of its leaves was the epitome of its beauty? Was that a thing? I can't think of an example.) That is the same ugly ignorance I'm sure that Okakura encountered and attempted to set straight in The Book of Tea. Along with a little academic vengeance, perhaps? Apparently his other writings also include setting Western thought straight about a few things, as well as to remind his Asian readers of their long and well-developed sensibilities that are far from inferior.

Seems like even when we reach out specifically for understanding, there it is, even in The Book of Tea – the ugliness when humans mistreat, mistrust, and misunderstand one another. It marred my enjoyment of the bigger message.

Or is Beauty a bigger message after all? Very hard to say these days.

I read this immediately after reading [b:Gilead 68210 Gilead Marilynne Robinson https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1558681761l/68210.SY75.jpg 2481792] and I think my feelings about it suffered by it. Later I do need to read a different Sacks, and then return to this one.

This is a strictly personal review. I'm not going to summarize the book, discuss any of its techniques or literary devices, how broad its meaning or themes, or try to make a case for your reading it.

I just want to write about very personal thoughts that reading it has launched for me.

I'm 63 and have a heart condition. And although I'm not religious, this novel helped me to further ponder on what I had been thinking about already.

I think about my death quite a bit, about being ready for it and hoping I will have left my loved ones with what they need to grieve then heal, and to have few painful regrets or doubts about their relationship with me. I'd want to leave them with the feeling of undying love I felt for them, that they deserved it by just being themselves. That I was here and I saw their beauty, their struggles, their talents, their sorrows. And all of it only made me love them more deeply, more compassionately.

I want them to know that although I was prepared to go (we all go), I did love having this experience of living and sorry that I couldn't live several hundred years just to enjoy more of it. I liked being alive. I even like myself more than I ever have. I think back on so many moments of pure joy that it seems cruel that there will no longer be a me to recall them. Instead, I find solace that joy will continue on within the living as it always has. Sort of a re-incarnation, but without me as me. Instead, I was just part of the continuing cycle, taking my one turn.

And hopefully righteousness continues too. I am proud to have lived to see the good that I only hoped would happen in my lifetime – a black president, gay marriage rights, and so on. Small steps, really, but glad to have seen humans edging ever closer to embracing our full potential by embracing the autonomy of life. Things will continue to progress, they always do even if slowly. Thankfully change happens in spite of those people who invariably object to other people having power of their own lives – which is what all their objections seem to boil down to if you ask me.

Which reminds me, I am sorry about the evilness in the world and won't be sorry to leave that. I do believe in evil (is it an illness? a genetic lack of empathy? selfishness to its extreme?). I am sorry that it will still be here for every generation and no generation has known how to stop it. It can only be resisted each time it shows up. And sadly, it shows up daily, without fail.

I'm sorry about all my failures and the disappointments I have given. Some days I wasn't smart enough. Other days I was just tired.