Or is it a passing thought while walking by?
Why didn't they say
hello? Asked the sad man who
didn't say hello
Or is it a passing thought while walking by?
Why didn't they say
hello? Asked the sad man who
didn't say hello
My family makes fun of me for a sentence I've just now started to cultivate saying to my sons: I love you, no matter what.
I probably deserve the ribbing for attempting to adopt a dad tag line well into their teenage years, but it comes form a good place. They should know that they areunconditionally loved by me and their mom, and this is the simplest, most straightforward way I can think of to express it.
Do our kids know the things we hope they will know if we don't make them explicit? The rule in marketing is that a consumer has to hear a message seven times before they'll act on it. As the African or Chinese (depending on your Google result) proverb says "The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The next best time is now." I've decided not to let my wish that I'd thought to say this to them from when they were tiny enough to accept it more easily stop me from saying it now in the rich complexity of our father/adolescent relationships.
The serious readers that I know contend with a common problem: the stack.
The stack of unread books, typically on or under a nightstand, that represents our best intentions of reading. Mine has grown during the pandemic for two reasons: First, our library system has allowed renewals up to six months as long as no other patron requests the volume. On top of that, they are not collecting fines, even for books kept beyond that six-month mark. Second, pandemmy walks take me past a lot of Little, Free Libraries. While many of those bear the same promise-fulfillment ratio as a high school dance, I have scored some worthwhile titles here and there. And here. And there.
Long story, short, I entered 2022 with an untenable stack. Two stacks, to be precise, for structural integrity reasons. I honestly don't know if one stack would have fit between the floor and the bottom of my spindly nightstand.
A few weeks into the new year, I resolved to read what was there before bringing any new books into my life, by big library, little library, bookstore, or friend-lend. It seemed like the right thing to do. In part, it was a response to a sobering realization late in 2021 about just how little I will be able to read in my remaining lifetime (NBD) relative to the number of books that get published every week, let alone the span of published human history. There are so. Many. Books. Who's to say that the books under my nightstand aren't the best ones to read now?
the stack, partially reduced |
The books I've finished since my resolution are a mixed bag of genres and came from a variety of recommendations/sources. Those remaining in the stack bear a certain resemblance, which may become a problem.
Success before problems: what I've been reading to get out from under:
Highly readable history lent by a coworker. I was pretty steamed when he gave me this book because it wouldn't help with my bloated to-read list (a whole separate magilla.) Teddy liked this one too before I gave it back.
Decent. I didn't love this as much as did the podcast host who recommended it, but it did allow me to check off a book that had occupied my to-read list for over a year.
Another podcast recommendation, this when the author appeared on Marc Maron's WTF. (Free podcast recs for readers who a) follow links from blog posts and b) will not hate me for adding to their to-listen list). Tallent's tale of his self-published novel during the pandemic when he couldn't book shows pulled at my heartstrings. I ordered a copy as a patron of the arts. Marc liked the book, and I can see why. It's amazingly good for a self-published novel; especially the first half before the editing declines A memorable if often difficult read about a road comic in full blown drug and alcohol addiction mostly bashing his way to self destruction amidst fleeting glimmers of hope.
Another coworker rec (different coworker - nice to work with smart, interesting people) that I really enjoyed. Sacks's final essay collection, published posthumously.
Agatha Christie's first novel, consumed via the podcast Phoebe Reads a Mystery, which I say as a high compliment is the thing that helps me fall asleep when nothing else does. A soothing voice reading at a measured pace a story that's just involving enough to quiet my monkey brain.
Randomly picked up at the library (this is how I get myself into this stacktuation) that turned out just as I'd hoped. Lamott is a prophet endowed with a talent for the right, unexpected turn of phrase.
What's your reading resolution?