Hello again!
I’ve been feeling rather like one of those puppets we used to play with back in the day. Do you know the ones I mean?
It’s been far more comfortable to be tucked inside the little fabric-covered cardboard cone of late. But spring is springing, I’m peeking out again and thought I might share some of the things that have been sustaining me through my hibernation.
I did a long slow read of Katherine May’s Wintering, starting in December, picking it up every once in a while, and finishing it in March. I think almost everyone else has already read this so I don’t need to tell you much about it, only how good it was to read and think about wintering in the midst of my own experience of it. (For anyone who hasn’t read it yet, May’s winter is not strictly seasonal, but rather a term for a period of life when you find yourself needing to slow down and retreat. It can be any period of grief, or illness or other big life challenge. I think that given what is going on in the wider world, we are all doing some version of wintering these days.) This passage sums it up best:
When I started feeling the drag of winter, I began to treat myself like a favoured child: with kindness and love. I assumed my needs were reasonable, and that my feelings were signals of something important. I kept myself well fed, and made sure I was getting enough sleep. I took myself for walks in the fresh air, and spent time doing things that soothed me. I asked myself: what is this winter all about? I asked myself: what change is coming? - Katherine May, from Wintering
Speaking of keeping oneself well fed, I became obsessed with this one pan gnocchi with leeks and harissa recipe by Rukmini Iyer. I shared this discovery with several people and think my sister described it best as “fancy comfort food”. I had considered it more of a wintery dish but now that I’m writing about it I think I might need to make it again.
I continue to buy flowers as needed. I got these daffodils last weekend from the flower stand at Rockrose Farm. Their flower stand is a joy to behold. (I bought three dahlia tubers from them last spring and two of them gave me spectacular flowers so I might be on the verge of becoming one of those dahlia cultists.)
Humming. This season we are singing a song in choir that involves a full verse of humming. I quite enjoyed it. Then I was in a yoga class where the teacher had us do an extended ‘Om’, and again, I felt noticeably better after the hum. So much so, that I looked up ‘benefits of humming’ and sure enough - it’s a thing.
More reading: when I’ve had enough of the 21st century (which is most of the time), I turn to the classics. Right now I’m enjoying Barbara Pym’s Excellent Women. It’s my first Barbara Pym, and I am appreciating her dry (or wry?) observations. Have you read her? If so what should I read next? (I am planning to return to the 21st century soon to read Greta and Valdin, which has been highly recommended by two friends I trust for book recommendations and which promises to be funny and uplifting. Please send me all your funny and uplifting book recs.)
I have been craving music without lyrics lately and Hannah Read’s Fungi Sessions Vol. 1 is fitting the bill perfectly. It has become my spring soundtrack - I think I have listened to this album at least once daily for the past month. (Full credit to Alice Vincent for this recommendation. You can listen to a delightful interview with Hannah Read about this album on her Why Women Grow podcast.)
I have continued writing (just not so much here on the stack). Mostly journaling, but I also did the Savour Spring Equinox yoga and writing workshop last month, which encouraged some ‘creative frolicking’. We were invited to use some of India Hobson’s gorgeous travel photos as a prompt. I’m feeling brave so I’m going to share it here, with the photo prompts:
photos by India Hobson
What she liked most about holidays was how everything was new. How everything was being encountered for the first time, like she was an explorer, discovering hidden gems. She knew that what was new to her was the everyday for the inhabitants of this new-to-her place; the mundane. This was the gulf between travellers and locals. And yet, walking through the streets, she noticed how sometimes her awe was contagious. How by stopping to absorb the sight of towels hanging outside a window above her head, a wire basket sitting on a pile of cinder blocks, or how the shadow of a tree she didn’t know the name of hit the brick coloured awning and the white tile building, how seeing these things fresh made those around her slow their pace, follow her gaze, and see these things anew as well. So that what was old and habitual could become worthy of examination and consideration once more.
After that exercise, I noticed myself looking at things more carefully again. Paying attention. Like this building I’ve had occasion to visit every few months for the past year or so. It is a fairly nondescript office building on the outside but there is something pleasing about the lines and especially the giant lampshades on the inside. I guess it’s an example of West Coast modern office architecture? I don’t know. I like it though.
How about you? Are you lingering in hibernation mode, or have you fully emerged into daylight? Maybe you are in cone puppet mode like me, enjoying short bursts of exposure between long periods of retreat? Wherever you are, I am wishing you well.
Sending love,
Rebecca
And I recommend following EXCELLENT WOMEN with Pym's NO FOND RETURN OF LOVE!
Thank you Rebecca. A beautiful read. I recommend A Year of Marvellous Ways by Sarah Winman. X