My photo of “Reclining Woman” by Fernand Léger (1922).
Reclining woman
Happy holidays
Christmas. Not my favorite. Never has been. Never will be. And for a while there… well, it appalled me.
When we adopted Rosemary in June 2014, it became clear in only a few days that she was one “crazy cat.” As the winter holiday approached, I cautioned that a tree might throw our somewhat calmed kitty back into a frenzy. My daughters reluctantly agreed, and I? Well, I thanked the universe for my offbeat new pet.
In the intervening 4.5 years, Rosemary has mellowed, so I guess I wasn’t surprised when my older daughter gently pined for a little tree this year. I’ve never been able to resist trying to grant my children’s wishes, which are usually so modest and doable; I love making them smile. So, about the tree in my house, I will say this: It made her happy, and when it comes down tomorrow morning, it will make me happy, too.
Lincoln Park Conservatory
We visit the beautiful Lincoln Park Conservatory at least once a year, and for the past few years it seems that we have visited over our winter break. This time, we went before seeing A Q Brothers’ Christmas Carol at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater, a holiday show we’ve seen all but one winter holiday since 2013.
Jólabókaflóð continues
Yes, announcing my “Read from the shelves” challenge a month before I know I will receive a dozen or more new books seems like cheating. But I always receive a dozen or more new books over the winter holiday, so no foul.
Euphoria
From Lily King’s 2014 novel, Euphoria:
p. 79
You don’t realize how language actually interferes with communication until you don’t have it, how it gets in the way like an overdominant sense. You have to pay more attention to everything else when you can’t understand the words. Once comprehension comes, so much else falls away. You then rely on their words, and words aren’t always the most reliable thing.
In which Jólabókaflóð begins early
Recent acquisitions.
Can’t put this one down, either
I recognized the symptoms because it happened last week with John Carreyrou’s Bad Blood, so in addition to the chores and load of laundry, I walked two miles and practiced my solo piece before allowing myself to return to this riveting novel.
Words to live by
From Kerry Egan’s On Living:
p. 180
When someone tells you the story of their suffering, they are probably still suffering in some way. No one else gets to decide what that suffering means, or if it has any meaning at all. And we sure as hell don’t get to tell someone that God never gives anybody more than they can handle or that God has a plan. We do not get to cut off someone’s suffering at the pass by telling them it has some greater purpose. Only they get to decide if that’s true. All we can do is sit and listen to them tell their stories, if they want to tell them. And if they don’t, we can sit with them in silence.
Weekend
The weekend has arrived, and, boy, do I need it. I am going to follow my cat’s example: a warm blanket, a few naps, and maybe a few episodes of Westworld, Season 2. (Yes, I’m behind.)
Can’t put down
By 8:40 a.m., I had completed the morning chores, including a load of laundry. Before a walk and music practice, I granted myself a little reading break. Two hours later, I’m wondering where the morning went and whether I still have enough time to walk and practice before work.
Nerdishly 