I'll think about that tomorrow
Solstice thoughts and best books
I find myself, in the waning days of 2023, deferring. No Christmas cards, I’ll write in January. No real decorating, I’ll clean in January. The writing and organizing, exercise and sobriety — it will all have to wait. I’m kind of done.
The solstice is here and I will pause.
captures it beautifully in Keeping the Long Midwinter:The solstice is a pause at the darkest part of the year. Our ancestors, who lived in the absence of clock time, observed that the sun stood still in the sky for several days, rising and setting at its southernmost position. This original meaning is revealed in the Latin etymology of the word solstice: sol stit. In the unnerving depths of winter’s dark, the sun stands still.
A quiet season here this year, no one is coming home. A little sad, but also calm and lovely. We’ll gather in the New Year, but for now, I’m embracing the pause.
has inspired me to look for the joy in the past year and she’s right — when you look, it’s there. I’ve got photographic evidence. We don’t tend to record our miseries, but the flowers and the smiles, the stunning skies and gorgeous food — it’s all there.
Scrolling through my phone, it’s obvious that nature captures my eye and prompts joy. And food, and the best cat. I don’t have many people pictures and wondered why, but then I realized this: My people are my greatest joy, but photos never capture it. The people joy is internal, almost spiritual, elusive and magical. I rarely point my phone at them, their presence wants my full attention. They are, to me, like the atmosphere, filling me daily with something that cannot be captured or held. (Also, they don’t like having their pictures taken. And I regret not having the pictures. Sigh.)
I read some great books this year, though comically almost none that I publicly planned to read. Lesson learned — don’t write another “here’s what I’ll read this year” post. Best laid plans, the road to hell, good intentions, yada yada.
The best were two small press books that I can’t recommend enough:
The Shame by Makenna Goodman is astonishingly good. This book poked all my sore spots (mom forever, creativity back-burnered) and was almost uncomfortable to read, but in the very best way — like medicine that will fix what ails you. She writes calm and steady, but with a molten core. I inhaled it.
Quotidian by Mary Wilkinson is absolutely brilliant. The narrator, a woman in midlife, wanders the rooms of her past, gradually revealing a life’s repressed disappointments, desires, fears and expectations. Mary’s writing is lush and honest, and she lays bare the untapped, ferocious beauty of the quotidian. A stunning, somewhat unsettling read (again, in the best way).
There were many others — some very good! — but these two hit me hard, and I think about both often. It was thrilling to find books that speak specifically to me, writing that pokes me and makes me see myself with new eyes. Smart, brilliant writing, with bonus lessons! Books are the best.
I’ll keep this short, because we’re pausing. And happy holidays! Thanks so much for allowing me to crowd your inbox, see you in the New Year!
Cheers! ☀️🥂
Please enjoy this fabulous collection of Christmas letters.
I wrote while listening to this and it’s perfect on this bright solstice:
Will read your recommendations!
Wishing you warmth and good reading in the still week ahead! xN