Do you ever take where you live for granted? I must confess–I have. Not that I ever meant to, but I allowed my thoughts, the day-to-day stresses of my little world and all the activity in my schedule to blur the beauty of my surroundings.
This year I divorced, moved to a new home, worked two different jobs and have been in the process of adjusting to a different way of living. I’ve been trying to find how to create new patterns and reestablish rituals I’ve let go or forgotten. I’ve been doing my best to keep close to my kids, see them as often as possible, communicate through text and phone when they aren’t with me and make things as alright as they can be. Every day seemed full from morning to night. Exercise, work, cooking, practicing and performing music, chores and errands, driving to pick up or drop off my daughter and spending quality time with both of my kids, with my partner and occasionally, with a friend.
The year transitioned along the usual trajectory of Winter, Spring, Summer and it is nearly Fall. I let the outdoors be outdoors, kept my head down and tried to make order, sense and stability in my days and nights.
Then I injured my neck and back in early August and couldn’t start cleaning houses as I planned to do once my other job ended. But that didn’t slow me down. Rather than sit and wallow in misery, I decided to paint the kitchen. Sure, if I was smart, I would’ve heeded Alan’s advice and waited until I healed up and he could help me; but I didn’t. I pushed through and it took three long and painful weeks to finish. When I finally took myself to the doctor’s office yesterday, she said that painting hadn’t been the best idea and I needed to rest, take ibuprofen and apply heat and cold.
So now I’m in the library, sitting with an ice pack around my neck, writing and looking out the window at the sun dappled grass and the dancing trees rustled up by the never-ending wind. In a few minutes I will walk (slowly and carefully) down the road and take in the view of Cayuga Lake, the rolling corn-filled fields and the general peace of this lovely landscape. I am going to turn on my senses, be grateful and love the place where I live.
by Clare Mackintosh was creepy, but not as much as I’d hoped for. Except for the very end, which makes me think there must be a sequel in the works.
by Jane Harper was much discussed, but I guessed who the murderer was early on. I hardly ever manage this, so I would say it was a bit of a let down. Also, the writing style was dry and dull, like the setting, so I wouldn’t read other books by this author.
by Ruth Ware scared me so much in the beginning that I almost put it down for good. Not wanting to wimp out, I pulled myself together and kept reading. It was worth it. She was a bit like a more modern Agatha Christie, and I had an idea who might be the murderer, but was Red Herringed until the end. I liked the main character, her boyfriend Judah, which is my son’s name, and the claustrophobic atmosphere of the small cruise ship where the murder took place. I will read more books by this author.
by Thich Naht Hanh was my first Bhuddist book and first book I’ve read by this author. Picked up at my favorite local used bookstore, Autumn Leaves, I liked the short chapters and his very practical and straightforward style. Really, I didn’t feel preached to or like he was trying to convert one to Bhuddism. Simply, he shared what helped him or possible scenarios of how one might incorporate breathing, being present, kindness, gratitude, etc., into one’s every day. I will read more by this author, and, in fact, I already have.
Life of Kim 