“Though she be but little she is fierce.” Shakespeare, foreshadowing my Aunt Faye.
As we age, loss becomes more common, but never familiar. It feels new every time. My parents’ generation has been dropping off, one by one, and there are few left. My mother and father each had three sisters. When I was young, I didn’t realize how fortunate I was to have so many aunts in my life, each one of them a standout in her own way.
The last few years, my mom’s youngest sister was the last aunt standing. Faye was the fun aunt, the unconditional love aunt, the one who was young and without children of her own. Though she topped out at 4’11” and probably never weighed more than 100 pounds, she contained an outsized amount of energy and spirit.
She provided her nieces and nephews with experiences we wouldn’t have had otherwise. They may sound small to others, but for kids who rarely left the neighborhood, a day with her was a day of adventure. She played a guitar that was nearly as big as she was, enchanting us with music. She took us to a park where a Christmas village and playground was set up year round. Amazing! Once, bravely, she packed as many kids as would fit in her yellow Volkswagen and surprised us with an outing to the American Royal Horse Show, where we all dreamily fell in love with a palomino named Stardust.
Beyond goings and doings, Aunt Faye provided boundless amounts of unconditional love. Nobody she met ever felt unvalued or unseen. Eventually, she met a nice woman from Wales who was in the U.S. for a while. When the two retired, they moved across the pond, where Faye became a step-mom and granny to her partner’s offspring.
Though she spent the last couple of decades thousands of miles from her family of origin, she kept up with technology and kept in touch, including getting to know many of the children she’d never met in person or had seen only when they were babies. Touching my heart, she developed a close online relationship with my oldest son, offering him support when he was going through extremely difficult times.
My aunt was deeply troubled this past year by developments in the home country she loved with every fiber of her being. She spoke out and did her best to educate the younger folk about the history and dangers of fascism. She was fierce in her dedication to protecting her people and the principles of a just world.
This past week, I received the news I would never be ready for. Aunt Faye was gone. She was 84, but had been in decent health. I’d been chatting with her online just a couple of days previously. It turns out, she passed very much like my mother did. She had what seemed like a garden variety cold, went to bed and never woke up.
I’m not sure I’m adequate to the task, but I will do my best to carry on her legacy of spreading love and fighting evil.
After a loooong stretch of bitter cold here, the snow has finally melted. But February still seems like a good time to share this poem I wrote several years ago.
Snow spire.
Monument
A monument to winter, the jagged snow fort, walls as tall as the eight-year-old who sculpted the blocks lifting each into place, laboring with hard determination, forgoing rest and apple cider. He could be building the pyramids. He mourns the growing warmth of the sun. He wants his work to endure in measure to his devotion, kin to the Bamyan Buddhas, for ages. He’s heavy with the tension between attachment and impermanence. Fifteen hours, fifteen centuries – neither is forever. But there will be other statues, sages, winters, snows, boys.
An amazing thing has happened. The First Line has produced an audio version of my short story, “Efficiency Leads to Fulfillment.” It first appeared in their print magazine in 2020, then was later reprinted in Workers Write.
For once, words fail me. I can’t describe the feeling of hearing other people bring my work to life. I’m enormously pleased with how it turned out.
Also, if you’re considering subscribing and/or submitting work to any literary magazines, The First Line is a good choice. They do blind reads, so all stories are chosen on merit rather than personal connections. They charge no submission fee, and they pay at least a little. Much higher standards than some bigger name publications. I always look forward to a new issue.
Anyway, give my story a listen. It’s about ten minutes long.
Mothers have been in the news recently, putting themselves on the line to protect others. I wrote this poem many years ago, and it still feels relevant.
Epiphanies while Holding Babies
1. I once heard mothers declare without a second thought they would give their lives to save their children. Romantic hyperbole it seemed, until, stroking my infant’s hair I recognized what passes as small talk among mothers: “They grow up so quickly.” “Look at all those teeth.” “I’d give my life to save my child.” Chit-chat about the obvious.
2. Cradled in a rocking chair, newborn son in my arms, radio reporting a war, I have a thought new to me, old to mothers of sons. All of the young men killing and dying are every one of them someone’s baby boy. Achieving world peace is not a dreamy ideal, but immediate necessity – as much a part of my to-do list as washing the diapers and paying the bills.
I finished reading Smith’s memoir moments before starting this blog post. I generally only buy books by local authors or writers I know. Everything else comes from the public library. But I wanted a copy of this for my own and suggested my husband could buy it for Christmas.
A good portion of the book covers her childhood years. What’s fascinating, and maybe a little validating to me, is that such an extraordinary person didn’t have any kind of private lessons, go to summer camps, or travel at all growing up, as her parents were working class and made just enough money to feed and house the family. Largely, she and her siblings were left to their own devices, which meant they were free to make discoveries, develop initiative, and hone their imaginations.
Notable quote:
“This is what the writer craves, in a cafe in the earliest hours, in an empty drawing room of a hotel, or scrawling in a notebook in the pew of a silent cathedral. A sudden shaft of brightness containing the vibration of a particular moment…The unsullied memory of unpremeditated gestures of kindness. These are the bread of angels.”
If there’s a secondary theme, it might be summed up near the end, after she has recounted her efforts to continue a meaningful life after a tsunami of huge personal losses left her to bring up her children and reconstruct a career on her own.
“We are on this chessboard Earth, we attempt to make our moves, but at times it seems as if the great hand of a disinterested giant haphazardly sends us on a trajectory of stumbling. What do we do? We step back and seek within ourselves what is needed to be done and serve the best we can.”
This book explores some of the world’s most unusual libraries–everything from a little free library built into a hollow tree to a “future library” that solicits authors to write stories not to be read for a hundred years. I shed a tear reading about the plundering a destruction of the great Mayan libraries of old, of which only 20 volumes were known to escape. On the other hand, I was filled with inspiration discovering the lengths people have gone to in order to make sure others have access to books, including biblioburros serving remote mountain regions and underground libraries in London created during WWII.
We’ve all read Mark Twain’s story from Huck Finn’s point of view. Now Percival Everett has added a much-needed perspective by showing us events through Jim’s eyes, which at times means the brutality of slavery is shown more starkly than in Twain’s work. I believe this is an especially important book at this very moment in time.
A fascinating read, containing chapters by various authors, each of them doing a deep dive on one person or group within the federal government, showing what work they do and how it helps us all.
The first chapter is about a former coal miner turned engineer who made it his life’s mission to prevent roof collapses in mines, the number one cause of on-the-job death for miners. The slate of writers here is impressive – Dave Eggers writing about the Jet Propulsion Lab, W. Kamau Bell explaining what antitrust laws are, Sarah Vowell (be still my heart) taking on the National Archives (be still my heart again.) I learned there’s a woman who has been working at the FDA, trying her best to build some kind of system for medical professionals to use as a repository of information about the treatment of rare diseases.
I hope these folks haven’t all been purged from government by now.
Novel Where the Geographical Location is a Main Character
This is a novel that spans centuries and several points of view, but remains fixed geographically to one location. One section of forest with a house that endures through several additions and renovations from colonial times on through to present day. A series of connected stories show the lives of various people (and in one case beetles) who inhabit it throughout the years, vivid and complicated characters all.
The writing is absolutely gorgeous, especially his nature descriptions. I would read it all over again just for those passages. There are surprising turns in the plot, but ones that make sense. After they’ve been sprung, you can see how the path was leading there all along.
If you’ve read my blog even sporadically, you’ll know why I was drawn to this nonfiction book. Thor Hanson is a biologist who wants to let us know we are all part of nature and that wonders are all around us. We don’t have to go farther than the nearest patch of green outside our doors, whether that be our own yard or a city park, to make discoveries and experience awe-inspiring biodiversity. The more we experience it, the more we will want to protect it.
He spends a lot of time describing the amazing variety he encounters within 100 feet of his house. This is interspersed with accounts of other naturalists who have increased our knowledge of the natural world simply by going outside and being observant. He has a real facility for describing plants, animals, fungi, and even air in a way that brings it all to life on the page.
Charming and Downright Delightful Graphic Novel That Left Me With a Warm Glow
I don’t read a ton of graphic novels, but I picked this one up for a reading challenge and found an unexpected treasure.
If you’re looking for a low-stress, but still engaging book, here you go. This is a sweet little tale about two high school seniors who are work besties finishing out their last ever shift together at a pumpkin patch. As one of them encourages the other to (finally) find and talk to the girl he’s been crushing on, they take the reader on a tour of the whole place in a madcap goose chase as they stay one step behind her.
Lots of fun and great artwork. Speaking of the illustrations, pay close attention because a couple of wordless subplots take place there.
I read many more books, but these are the highlights I felt like sharing. Here’s to new literary adventures in 2026!
I generally don’t listen to audiobooks or music or anything on my phone during my pedestrian rambles. I also don’t usually set any kind of goal, track my walking speed, or try to solve any of my personal problems. No shade intended for those who get something different from walking. I’m simply describing how the practice is meaningful to me. My brain tends to hyperdrive most of the time, and this is how I find some balance in my life.
As much as possible, I like to adopt a child’s mind approach, open to exploration and experience, to a sense of wonder for whatever I might happen upon. Three phenomena caught my attention today.
First, I was walking near a sweetgum tree. Nonetheless, it took me a minute to realize what the darker object in this photo is.
New and old
At first, I thought it might be an old paper wasps’ nest that had fallen to the ground. But when I picked it up, I realized it was much too solid and hard. Only when I spotted a newly shed Sweetgum seedball nearby did I realize this is what they look like when they’ve been around a while and weathered difficult times. Doesn’t it look a lot like a wasps’ nest, though? Nature’s repeating patterns, I suppose.
Second item was a not-small hole in the ground. It looked like perhaps someone had dug out a small tree and forgot to backfill. Or else dug a hole for a tree and then never managed to plant it?
I estimate the hole to be somewhere between 1 and 1/2 to 2 feet on the long side. Definitely big enough my entire shoe would have fit in. I tried to plumb the depths through the leaf fill using a stick I found, but I’m not sure if I hit the bottom. I’d say it’s at least as deep as it is long.
The third wonder of the day was this patch of grass that’s a completely different hue than all the grass around. Did a spaceship set down here? I don’t really believe that. But why is it like this?
Call Mulder and Scully!Supernatural or regular natural?
From a distance, it looked like it could be straw or hay spread on the ground. But it’s just monochromatic grass. Pacing it off, I came up with a guessed measurement of around 30 feet by 50 feet. It couldn’t be space aliens, of course. But how about fairies?
Truly, you don’t have to travel to distant lands to be an explorer. I’ve been walking around this same neighborhood for 20+ years, and I see new things all the time. It’s just a matter of noticing them.
Christmas Eve at our house was peaceful and good, with just the three members of the household. The husband had to work part of the day but got off early. The grown son who lives here works from home and sets his hours, so he often takes his dinner up to his room and eats at the keyboard while creating code. But yesterday, he not only joined us for the whole meal, he wore his good jeans (no holes) and a nice sweater. We’re pretty casual and have never enforced a holiday dinner dress code, but I appreciated the effort.
Our family tradition is to have all the hoopla, including gift opening, on Christmas Eve, followed by a relaxed Christmas Day. I had four packages under the tree, and they were a perfect encapsulation of love to me. One I had requested specifically, the new Patti Smith memoir, Bread of Angels.
Aside from that, the guys got me a daily desk calendar with quotes from well-known women, a non-skid bathmat for the tub (after I nearly fell a couple weeks ago and made some drama about being on the verge of my first bad “old person” experience) and a reflective vest to wear for those occasions I find myself walking after dark (pretty much every weekday in midwinter, as the sun is already down by the time I stroll home from work.)
My loved ones care about my safety and they care about my inspiration and fulfillment. I received gifts that center the wellbeing of both body and soul. How about that spirit of Christmas, there? Pretty well captured, I’d say.
I got a chance to use my reflective vest already. We’re experiencing near record warm temperatures here, so the three of us took an evening stroll around the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights and decorations. We didn’t even need coats!
This was my favorite house:
The little bit at the bottom is a reflection on a car hood. I didn’t crop it out because I like the effect.
Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! And a wish for joy and peace to all, whether you celebrate Christmas, something else, or it’s just Thursday to you!
I’ll end with one of my favorite songs of the season with some of my favorite performers–John Denver and the Muppets. I listen to The Peace Carol several times every December.
We are still staying at the hotel in the town where my in-laws live. This morning, the hubs and I ventured over to a nearby residential area for our walk.
It was a nice little neighborhood, with mostly standard ranch homes. Several houses were decorated for Christmas or in the process of being adorned.
And then we rounded the corner to the sight of surprise butterflies painted on a privacy fence. What a delight, brightening up the street!
You never know where you’ll find art waiting to be discovered.
Today’s walk involved a fortunate discovery. The spouse and I are visiting some of his family in Oklahoma and staying in a hotel. I really wanted to make sure and get a walk before over—um, eating. Just eating.
Oh, hey, look at this park *right behind* the hotel!
The attractive gentleman below was a value-added component I brought to the experience. Notice anything in the sky? A lot of planes going through the air today.
I maybe have mentioned a time or twenty on this blog that I always enjoy a little footbridge.
Such a sunny day, even the littlest critters around are casting shadows.
Pennsylvania dingy ground beetle
Just noticing the details of the world around is a good gratitude practice. Happy Thanksgiving, all!
Nomadic Noesis 